You dont understand Chris
You are the best thing for me
You are a collection of dusty white illusions, desires, love on window panes
the color and tinge of which I am so excitable about
putting up in our new home
your face inspires me to write
like the angels
your face inspires me to be free
the compassion,
if only you knew less,
and more of how much it makes me
sad
because you relinquish the love in my heart
by
folding it half in half, half in half
till there is nothing for the world to be seen
reverted back to where I've been
touched by an untouch
closed
because all of the love that I've known
is not tangible
never tangible enough

I've waited months
I've waited near a year

because how can someone own up to all my dreams
materialize them as all I see
need me
but not enough to enter into security
the commitment of short chance
the security of knowing nothing will always last
and that doesnt make me seem bitter
feel bitter
in the upturned corners of my heart
its that something
something keeps you from rolling into me
something to conceal yourself from me
its not what you want
its not what you feel

if that's the case then why cant I leave?
why cant I walk my spirit out of your life
without you noticing every detail
without some sadness in my wake?
because you want to brush your angelic knuckles across my streaming skin
because you need my mind to guide you, to get inside you
because you dont know
but you like it when you touch me
you talk to me like a concerned parent in your sleep
when I'm fine
quiet, assuming of the worst
because this would, and was the very first
that he's all that he projected himself to be
he loves, and so tenderly, so carefully, so fully
so it makes sense
that he wont give of himself to an item that includes me
and its not me,
you say honestly
but you cant say it isnt you
your perceptions
of what are boundaries
and zipties
isnt true
I'm not like your women
I know what it means to love

I give you air, I give you breath
I give you laughter, and the wind
I give you earth, I give you security
I give you pools to soothe your ridgid mind, to let the heaviness sink and be left behind
a place to allways land, to always fall
EVen when you loose your precious mind
Always know I'd be there to closely follow behind
I give you understanding
I give you your genious
because I have enough of it to not take yours for mine
I know what it means to love
I know what it takes to love you
even if you dont know, its true

mixed up beautiful man
just silence yourself and lets walk away
hand in hand
because I wont take up half your bed
I wont make you build a second-life
from the lies you have to tell your parents on behalf of me
and I wont kick and scream when time comes for life to carry you away from me
and I wont put taxes on my body, because if its my land
you can have it freely
and I wont tell you one thing, then judge you based on another
I wont follow you around the house
I wont take your money
or make you pay my way
because you are darling to me, because both you and I are different from they

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

Cast a Vast Million Colored Words, a Canvas of Solace


Dedicated to Tajudeen Shah
who wrote those words,
a fellow poet, a comrade in words.
----------------------------------------

With words we paint,
With syllables we embrace,
Tasked and ennobled,
We are forever fully employed,
Missionaries to all,
You too, are one as well,
Your fate can't be renounced,

So,

Before you pen words of
Lost love, woe begotten troubles,
Nature's royal blues and purples,
Spirits, demons, speeches, mumbles,

First

Write the uplifting sounds,
Cast a million colored words,
Upon a canvas of solace,
Bring one molecule of comfort
To the misbegotten, to the downtrodden,
In any way you can, form matters not,
But let this be our mantra shared,
Let this be our only morning prayer,

A prayer we are obligated to utter,
A prayer we are obligated to fulfill.
Solace, given,
Solace, granted.

So you say I’m harsh
Very well.
I admit
I am not very nice
At any point in time
But I try.
I try to make everyone happy
I try to help
But in the end of the day
I’m just a bothersome pest
A shallow, annoying
Pest.
Yet when I don’t reply
You say I don’t care.

Sorry if it hurt you
Sorry if it added on to your problems.
But harsh?

Everyone’s had it tough
Not only you.
You’ve definitely had it really rough
With him out there
Doing God knows what.
Sure, your life hasn’t been really happy
Well you know what?
So hasn’t mine.

My books
The stories I lose myself in
To escape
You took them away.
My connection
With all the friends I adore
You cut me off
The things that I enjoy doing
You turn them into work
Making me loath them
My emotion
You ban them
Make me suppress them
Making me pretend that I am
Once again
The cheery, innocent little girl
From years before
Who will never
Return
Keeping my guard up
Even at home
Only till I am safely under the sheets
In the dark
With the door closed
Alone
And yet, I still do as you please.

Fine.
Say that I’m selfish
Say that I demand too much
Say that I do too little
Say that I’m hopeless
But I’m only human.
Am I?
Who knows.
Probably a monster.
A leech.
A burden.

So.
Harsh?

There is this bare stalk in my backyard. With upraised branches, all dried,  painted in contrast to the lush greenery all around: sometimes, I feel, like the branches of a swirling bolt fulminating against dark, brooding, boding skies.

I have seen three seasons pass by. This stalk has remained bare. All around, trees have gone from withering to flowering and onward. This one though, stands constantly poignant, almost embodying pathos, endlessly mourning.

Insects - termites? ants? I don't know, but I see they have covered large parts of the stalk. Raised to the skies, like an enigma, a puzzle thrown to the distant stars veiled by the firmament. Yes, I know this slow death that sustains life.

Yes, I can relate to it. It is like this pain that haunts my soul. Like the song of the smudged moon on a misty night, sung to uncaring, asleep worlds. After skies weep out their agony, the music of the last tears dripping off tips of drooping leaves.

I hate it when you talk down to me.
Relax this and breathe out that.
You need a break, it doesn't matter.
I am not a little child anymore,
Little more than someone to be led,
Down this way, up by the creek.
You can't tell me what to do.
Get some rest, you will be calm tomorrow.
Do I look like I want to be calm?
Stop telling me what to do,
I hate how you sound like a *******.
You make me want to scream.
Leave me to be mad in peace.

When I see myself in a mirror
I want to carve knives into my body
When I hear my miserable voice
I want to rip out my vocal cords
And when I think about myself
I wish I was never born.