In distance
He caressed her face
Sang her lullabies
That rocked her to sleep
he smiled so brightly
you would’ve thought
it was her all this time
soon
he would come home
disguising his love for her
as his hatred for me

Maybe
if I turn
my back
you can
see
for yourself
the
******
constellations
you drew
with your
knife.

along a brown dirt path free of leaves
well worn and travelled
many a vagabond straggler
and homeless waif
or ne'er do well
has walked before
into the valley
of not death but woe be me
I crawled at times
got weary wasted sore kneed
and thirsty
until sick sad and lonely
I bedded underneath
the nearest kind looking tree
for a bit of nap
and upon awakening
found my last ten cents was in
my pocket then
went missing
later I discovered I had fallen
blindly into dreaming
under what I call a money tree
which to my thoughts and reasoning meant
it was bountiful
and reaped great rewards for
the soul
to my surprise it means  it's limbs will reach
down
while you dream
finger your pocket and take
your last cent
then stand  there
bark brown still
and grin green or  russet red orange a grin
as you search for footsteps
and fingerprints

Harvester of words gathered in the
Trenches of life between
The dawns early fire
And the dusk of our gathering,
A reminiscent corridor that takes
A reader and places them in
The belly of your understanding,
Digestive reading.

And we become all things
All at once
To find a meaning to the wonderful
Chaos,
The stubbornness
Of the human condition
Gazing at broken things and finding
Light in the void of humanity.

You poet
Armed with a language unique
To the written word of your being,
The benevolent ruins of time
Assaulting the moments
Gazing into melancholic skies
Bringing them to read our hearts.
Bringer of wisdom from our own
Stupidity,
Spinning the compass to one another,
Bringing closer the faceless
Soul breathing in words,
Syllables like embers raining
On the angels watching us suffer,
We compact the understanding
Into a small requiem of experiences,
Ripping the face off of the world
And giving it our own touch:

I, you, We,
Poetry the birth of ruins
And dissolves into forever,
Poets, bringers of languages
Never spoken like dictation of spirits,
Time before time,
After and before collide
Birthing the momentous inkling.

Take it,
Its yours,
Poets living in the dream
Suffering the expense
Of the reality,
Constellation of our suffering....

Poets, living martyrs.

I'm learning to swim
in the words that form
In your perfect mouth
I was drowning in questions
When I should have been floating
On acceptance

I haven't logged into my Hello Poetry account in so long and wow...
I am so sad at what I'm seeing. I cannot believe that there was a time in my life where I hated everything. It amazes me that I'm still alive, after reading these forgotten memories, they bring me so much pain. Today I'm in a very different space and I can't thank you guys enough for all the kind comments you left on my worst nights. As I'm reading these entries, I remember all the hatred and darkness that fueled me. I feel the tears and the ache and I feel it all so intensely..

But I also feel the light now. I still have those days where I fall but these days I know how to pick myself up. I hope to anyone who is or was in my situation, I hope you all feel the same strength I do now. My sickness didn't **** me, I am alive and everyday I fight.

Everyday I'm surviving.
I hope you all continue to fight with me.

Life has swung by
I'm no carpenter
My lesabre can't handle the miles
The slow decline of love once raw
Interference from past lovers
Dooming our future
Rotting away
The promises we've perched
No more nicotine
No more soothing combustion
Busting bare inside you
Flare gone but addiction swelling
Seeing and smelling
Kissing and telling
Ignoring and yelling
I'm no carpenter