Like a release, of sorts— A scream of all cells, A microgasm of everything. That's just the poet within me saying: It's alive.
Look, No one explains what it is, And maybe I don't know what it means.
But for me, It is to sit by the car window, To look at trees And not really see them, Never honing into the speed at which they move But focused on their relentless scream.
It's like living a paradox: Unconsciously awake, or consciously asleep. They are dreams Waiting to be put to words, But not most of us do.
For some, It's honey dripping from their tongue. For some, It's a chemical scent— Drenched On a pen's tip.
But for many, It's just fast trees, Screaming from ear to ear. And still, No one explains it. Maybe no one must
Yet to put it to words: It is being alive
Who do I lend an ear Now that all is gone At what rate shall my feet tap the floor Now that no music plays
When alone, who am I
I’ve been known to follow the many’s march Synchronized myself to that chaos Sway to the strings the crowds shall play But today as the music fades Who am I
Now that silence remains I create From dust i pull out artistic value I turn the shaking world to words Even today, When no soul quakes for music I create my own
Who are we ?… well
We are the image that comes forth When walls return the gaze We are colors Dripping from the plain ceiling Into a canvas or book We are creative’s
So away from prying eyes We create
I hate that im open to you still Waiting on you still
For moments held firmly within you
Still hoping that you feel_ like you don’t need to hide yourself
Paranoid thoughts had your back arched
Curved in a stance Hands pressed against mine
I felt it and yes I hate it
Express your anger Test your limits again Tell them I am yours
Lock your eyes to their jugular, rip out their throats
I know, it’s not your desire To hurt, make worse a given situation
But fuck forgiveness All this sorry for your loss shit
I hate this feeling
Let me scribble it through this page Clean your dishes for you Steal some weight from your plate
Tell me I’m yours
Sick of your messes All your good intentions make me sick to my stomach
This perfect self you’ve perfected Self preservation at it’s best I feel nauseated of what you’ve become
Im sick of you
I remember nights spent with your pen Held us both till the AM
I was the blue inside the ink The tap within the sink
But now your sink remains untapped You said we’d meet again
You told me I was yours
I cried, poured my heart out tried to rekindle a flame, un existing
No more lamp lights or Nights sparked with our thoughts
I think we’re through
You don’t need me Say you do, but you don’t mean it
I can see it in your eyes Decided choices don’t have me in it
So I’ve blocked you
Angels working
Tethered strings closes in connected by bad weather
‘Do u mind if I stand under your umbrella? Let out a sigh and I’ll walk away’
“It’s ok”
Threads ends loose meet at last Now two paths have crossed as intended
‘A heavy rain today? mornings like these have me wishing I was in my pj’s
Under the covers counting thunderous roars like sheep
Nature’s sweet melodies tucking me in as I sleep Crash-endows ring Quaking the outer windows of my room’
‘I love the rain You’
[Hesitates to say but fates game she must play]
“More or less the same
I like to crawl along side my pets as their feline friends pour from the outside
You know how the saying goes” ‘Yes, Cat’s and dogs’
“Well i like to keep warm to huddle up with me at its center To cuddle for warmth were cold seems more prevalent”
Conversation had one bound to the other
Ties of human connection
lines drawn between dots tied together
For fate may bring rain But not the heat within the umbrella
“Let there be…”
In the beginning you were like divinity All consuming
your grace embedded, itself, deep within me
Like spirits moving You reached for my soul as formless as it was It stood still, cupped within your palms
Your hands, soft, held me for the first time and brightness grew
You said onto me “Let there be two in one” and there was moon and stars
And now I am art
Free is he who bites the hand:
if this is true Does this mean There dogs that know freedom
With able mind and soul that roam the streets with bruises on their backs from fighting its own breed
I wonder, Is this freedom?
To be alone Bobbing for scraps to lay your scars on the cobblestone Cold to the touch and what parallels dose this have_ to my life what does the lice in his fur signify?
Why should It be me _ the one that bites?
While other’s skin remain clean within the confines of their leash
Should I be a flea and take, from those, with plenty to give
Become soft and drink to my fill Only to be killed with a simple flick of the wrist Or the **SWISH!**of a strays paw
Who wishes to be pest anyway?
It seems to me that the cost to be free Is paid in blood
The lice and flee of the world scurry along the backs suckling on fine juices while the free roam rabid
I guess they must be a dying breed
So last night I got inspired by music I Put the muse in this pen And it's rhithm I move with
Subtle fluids stain my hands as I write my feelings in blues
I have so many paths Too much narrow roads to choose
I would write every day but my soul won't let me.
Too heavy to move this pen on the daily and reflect dreams of those who love me
“So whats in your veins and pumping your heart?”
I have so much in my blood couldn't add them up
I've been infused long enough I depend on love
I pulse to the drums before me, have struck
“ So is that who you are” No, I'm not “ Tell me then”
Important is the ink It's like_ a miracle man to me I feel the spiritual through the pen
Written into thin slices each line ripples of all my friends what I've done and who I am It's not pretend I swear
“ Tell me more” I don't think this feeling can ever stop
“ Tell me more” I never really wanted to grow up
“ Tell me more” Is it greedy for me to go on my own To choose the path to roam To find why I was born
“You tell them what you've told me”
“Show them what you've shown me”
“There's a place the blood doesn't reach that's your story but don't write it in blues Choose a color that is your own Which best reflects this is you reborn”
For what is love? Is it a hug, another's touch, Or is it a word that unfolds from the tip of one's tongue?
If so, is it enough to be in love, to open up— the words from a can that can't close? To be exposed... Is it enough? For what is love?
So this is love—
I grew up, I now know enough
To write it as poems, compose letters into song
I met this girl
She talked of love, now I am hers
My sorrow drowns in her eyes
This is enough
So this is love
Is it?
This girl I met She tore my world, forgot our song What we had blown off like sand
For what is love If it is not to be felt once? If you're not back drowning... So this is love It has to be I've had enough I've given up
What is love?
For what is life
To watch your step, live off checks
Or is it—
[OOPS I'm sorry]
For what is...
I've had enough—
I met this... Umm
What was life
Before my steps led to those pretty sets?
Have I gone insane?
Wasn't it enough? I've given up
Then why can't I walk away?
Why do I insist you to stay?
So I met this girl Then gave love a twirl, brought her home My mother hugged her as so I kept this girl She was enough For she brought back my love
So this is life With a wife and kids of our own To spend each night by her side So this is life To be exposed, to her alone Her hair tickles my nose So this is...
[CAUGH_CAUGH] ["Hey are you ok?"]
So this is life
This is what it's like to be grown
To prepare for the storm
So this is it
This isn't right
I can't do this alone
Because in this life
You can't give up, please get up
Our time is not enough
Why is this love?
For what is love? Is it a hug, is a dad enough? I have to live with this I have to grow from this With their love I must
I presumed, that when metal ZOOM! Past through a barrel It would hit someone_ it's familiar with
The ground to be stained from the punctured wound_ of its intended target
As they bleed, begging for mercy
“The enemy”, I persumed
But enemy of whom Who's perspective must I respect to draw more breath_ here, alive
To have a celebratory death In bed held by the ones I love
A casket held open for those left to mourn me
My mother said It was the tounge that could manifest power then any Mac 11
She prayed for me Her hands pressed harder than anyone I knew Even in the mass that had pews shoot past window sills, still she prayed
She prays the day doesn’t come Were my hands press against my own punctured body
She prays The only flash I see is on a celebratory day Perhaps a wedding
She prays Im not the one with the holster Thumbing through emotions
That shes close to know if I was
That I’d listen to her That I could see her through a barrels smoke That the only squeeze these hands have known Are Sunday mornings her having to drag me to mass the ones were pews stay unmoving_ in-front of the cross
She prays for me For us all She prays