He who saved me from sadness,

I gave him my twinkling dimples

He who gave me sugarcoated words and gestures,

I gave him a signature of my lips

He who told me broken promises and lies,

I gave him second chances

He, who asked for forgiveness

I gave him indulgence

He, who made me a journal of tears,

I gave him poetries he deserves

He who left me with a bleeding eye,

And I gave him myself, ready for another try.

I write poems

because I must use metaphor to carry the word

lonely

when it is too heavy for my tongue.

If the echoes hold nothing but the sound of my own voice

I must learn to say things

filling enough

to sooth an empty stomach and a cavernous heart

on days when there is not enough food or love to go around.

My voice must be soft, and warm

comforting like a mothers hug

Pulled from her heart by scratched knees and mud stained cheeks

so I can wrap it around my heart

warm blanket

to keep the frost away

My legs can not shake

because the past is only one step behind

fingers grazing ankles,

waiting… to claim me.

And I can not run

Because the future is asleep in its bed

And will not wake till tomorrow.

All I can do

is…

endure.

she couldn't stomach it anymore;

not the storms 

nor the black eyes

nor the cries of carved mouths in driftwood.

she couldn't wait

for someone to grab her hand

and take her somewhere good.

she was tired, for lack of a better word:

tired of everything and anything

in the dark of the ocean.

so she took her own hand

and cupped it to her chest, folded in

like paper

or water lilies 

in half. 

and she tucked herself away that night,

into a bed 

wider than the water

and blankets

colder than the sea.

she tucked her heart

into exactly twelve pockets,

and threw away what didn't fit.

she was alone,

and at once so full of everything-

as if that lonesome night

she had swallowed the world entire.

They say I have an old soul

That I think about things people my age don't do

Things like love and nobility, 

accountability, maturity 

You know? Ideas

Spoken in languages of sages, 

haven't heard from in ages,

Dialects of mages,

Intellects conversing in mazes, 

Frenetically searching through the pages, 

Frantically breaking the cages. 

By ancient souls that existed before the creation of the world, breathed into life by the whispers of God's voice

Echoing into the void, 

Speaking to these bones, 

Shouting to the noise,

Expelling the voices 

Raising up the courage to say something 

Because people are dying, 

Cock and loading, shooting,

Killing themselves

With no remorse, 

How did we miss their morse code, 

Cry for help, begging an ode from thee

Songs of praises to uplift their broken souls, 

Notes of anecdotes dedicated to celebrated goals, 

Passionate conversation to direct and guide them to reach another day, another dream, another conquest.

Turn it around, it's not too late

It never was, it shouldn't be 

This is the reason why I sound like an old soul,

It's so I can reach your youthfulness and make it fragile, weak in truthfulness 

Because Your life...... is a maze

A beautiful, jigsaw puzzles series of events

That won't be fully understood until you reach old age.

We find 

little fault

with the mouth

that bit 

the apple

when the lips

bowed and juicy

rival the yield

Does it cease 

to matter

the message

candy-coated

in a poison

so sweet

you can

no longer

tell the difference?

Beauty has

beguiled the eye

longer than 

our tongue

has tasted

the forsaken truth

its a miracle

at all 

that we 

even set foot

beyond Paradise

when her

ripe fruits

keep us 

infatuated with

the wretched tree.

I saw a light in a cave.

I saw a candle's flame flicker, unafraid.

I saw my hopes, my desires, my mistakes.

I felt the wrath of the wind rattle my terrain.

I felt the fear of a priest hiding his faith.

I felt instincts to survive, basic, ingrained.

I heard concertos of the past, felt the baton of the greats.

I awaited sunrise like a pagan, sacrificial blood drained.

I clung to the mountain, its timeless movements, its forever change.

There's an unseen, there's a brutal, yet serene, reason for being.

Yet we'll never grasp what it means.

For it goes beyond our given quest for "me".

I felt a divine sanctuary of the soul, of the brain.

I felt an inherent veneration for the sun, the cloud, the rain.

I felt my presence irrelevant, yet a reason to remain.

I saw a reflection of my pain.

I saw a memory yet to stain.

I saw a flicker.

I saw a flame.

I saw a light,

A light in a cave.

Flying paint drops in the air

landing from I know not where

splatter out a pattern there

to naked earth still unaware 

What shape and colour will I make

when life is done and death half baked

calls me down to leave my home

to where and what I haven't known

I see the earth as it arises

no more can I claim "Damn life surprises!"

I look about brief glimpse of course

through wind harsh blurring sight in force

My fellow drops in shapes of square

fat triangles drop from who knows where

An oblong sighs and says "Wasn't ready."

while its neighbor red cube soft prays eyes unsteady

So many shades and shapes cannot number

what is and what was before marching thunder

announced our descend from home in the cloud

"Goodbye little drops." to death on the ground 

I have been a victim of my own doing, for overthinking the thoughts of my own thoughts.  I can't believe I thought, what I thought on what I was thinking for it is most definitely, the most twisting thing, I can think of.

Because what if my original thought, wasn't my thought, so now I am stuck on thinking about someone else's thought and now how do I know that this analysis isn't the work of someone else's thoughts??

And Why the hell am I wasting so much time on thinking about why i am thinking about someone else's messy thoughts?  Mine are clearly enough for me to handle without interjecting the thoughts of some other ass-hat...

All I want is a nice bottle of Shiraz with some decent cheeses and grapes and well, OK the Shiraz and the charcuterie board with meats and cheeses and grapes and some bread and then I am fine, right?  Right...all I want is the Shiraz, the Charcuterie board, some french bread and cheese spread and then time to think...think about thinking as I am getting smashed on my awesome Shiraz...where did the day go, it's pillow time.

It was foretold

We'd grow old,

Yet this household

Quickly grows cold.

Lo and behold,

Our paths unfold

Testing the threshold

Seeing who'll fold first...

I guess it was senseless

To cherish, caress you

To address our problems,

Express my concerns,

Assess our massive mess.

You felt distress?

What about faithfulness?

Why'd you undress

With him...?

Unless this game's success

Craves my distress?

But I digress.

Yes it's true, were finished.

You and I grew apart.

My view seems you knew

This end's overdue.

So goodbye.

Through it all,

Undue anger maybe

Blew some proportions.

True it's past due

To make do however things ensue.

That's your cue to leave.

Few words would imbue

The hell you put me through.

But this breakthrough is long overdue.

A chance to show my debut...

Of life anew.

So thank you.

And also screw you