if i slip on a banana peel
will you be the one to catch me before i fall
or the one eating the banana and laughing?

something done when you want them for all of eternity

Poetry isn't about the words,
Or the emotions,
Or sounding beautiful,
Or looking smart,
Or knowing big words
Like ephemeral.
It isn't about alliteration
Or similes and metaphors.
Poetry is about what it doesn't say.
The silence between the words,
That's what matters.

There are three major stages of the English Language
According to historians and linguists alike

There is Old English when Beowulf defeated Grendel
And Middle English when Shakespeare birthed his sonnets
Finally, Modern English when Harry Potter spun his magic

However, I believe historians and linguists
Will say we are now in the midst of a fourth

I like to believe we are part of the history of language
But what will it be called? Tecno English or Neotext English?
IDK, but u will c um right. Just :) and $ me lates #stagesofenglish

He is from fields, endless prairies
runs with buffalo on the Oklahoma plains
all of nature runs through him
restless as a river, he is winding
weaving, fording the depths of soul
masterful, he spends days exploring the outer lands
his hands must be winter leather worn, and warm
in Spring he gathers flowers for his lady's home
sees her essence in sky blue clouds
wanders the salt creek way back home
or sometimes lost in the wild hills
he may lay all the day, watching shadows fall
the wane of sun that melts into moon
or watching storms in gradient greys
windy skies sway with darkest rain
he is soaking in all that he can hold
all of nature transforms his soul
his words are woven - spun gold
sublime, are his poems
to behold.

Worthy enough to be respected.
Worthy enough to be love.
Worthy enough  for only one.

Too good to be hurt.
Too good to be treated bad.
Too good to stay forever mad.

The approach to you is different.
All because you are different.
Something many that know you fail to mention.
When men are seeking your attention.

Not just anyone will be welcome into your world.
All because your love is very special.

drowning as a cliche
hoping a wave might catch my gaze
and pull me all the way under
(I am all the way under your covers)
wearing black as a default
maybe looking like a bruise will get rid of my black eyes
they've got dark circles from dreaming with them open
(I am awake for some of my best dreams and worst nightmares)
cracking my bones as a hobby
i like it when you're around to crack me, too
crack me open, apart
until my ribs loosen and fall across your carpet
where we'll float in thick salt water
and wait for another wave of covers
because your bed sheets might always be a little tangled
and mixed in my long blonde hair

your sheets add a nice scent to it

Tomorrow I present a story to class
about a man who cremates himself
they will
ask if he is a reflection of myself
I'll have to nod my head slowly
taking in my fill
of "why's he so grim" and
"his mind is so ugly"
but I describe death
better than anything
I'm sorry for the horror story
that is
me