15 | 31 Poems for August

I’m slowly progressing but progressing nonetheless.
The worst thing I could do is give up on myself.
The worst thing I did this week was give up on myself.
Sometimes dreams delayed feel like dreams denied.
If you asked how I’m holding up and I responded by saying “I’m okay” then chances are I probably just lied.
Everyone’s caught up in their own world, if you don’t see me tomorrow then know that I tried.
I’m sorry I don’t want to bother or burden anyone with my problems.
I know you’ve never seen me cry but I can no longer hide all that I’m feeling inside.
Some people suffer in silence because of self-importance and a little bit of pride.
But that’s not me, I put my heart on paper and I let it all bleed.
But lately I’ve come to realise that not everyone likes to read.
So I ask myself, who am I writing all these resplendent poems to?

Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air

That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of—was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?

I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they’re gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.

I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.

Now no joy but lacks salt
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain

Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.

When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand,

The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.

I'm not saying I'm contented with the past
I think the future is a gamble and means
Forgetting all the chapters, the good and the bad
The easy and the hard, the clear and the blurred
And what's more, the friends and family, my blood
I'm not saying I should not move on and It's all I want to do
But where is "on"? Is it north, South, East or west?
Is "on" up so that I can construct wings or is it down
So that I can gather the tools of strength and start digging?
I'm not implying I enjoy the nightmares of knowing it was all *******
But I just cannot plough through this in an instant like a mad ox
I don't even mean you know nothing about the pain of a loss
Your loss was your way and,I mine,knowing don't me you understand
I'm not saying you haven't been there and seen it all
All I ask for is more time to ounce by ounce lift this burden off my chest
Wash my mind in forgiveness and cleanse my soul
I'm not asking you to get so upset and leave
But It's your choice,you can stay and watch me grieve
I appreciate you being kind and beautiful
That's why lying that I'm over it will make me a fool
I'm not saying I want to embrace the memories like I'm cursed
All I'm trying to say is some stories are best sellers
******, happy or sad because at some point all life is hard

Twisted
Burning
Toiling
Anguish
Wrapped,
Concealed
Deep
Beneath
D­isconcerted
Contortion
Attempting
Feigning
Effervescence.

[NEW]
Scientists know more about the
                 moon
           than the ocean.

[WAXING CRESCENT]
Light can only dive 200 meters
            down into the ocean.  Below it,
the “Midnight Zone” glows in the dark.  
(By standing in your shadow,
I am hoping to become
                                         bioluminescent.)

[FIRST QUARTER]
Life has a tendency to thrive in hostile environments.  
                                                 ­                        For this reason, Jupiter’s moon,
                                                           ­              Europa, may be able to support
                                                                ­         life within the global ocean of
                                                              ­           liquid water that is hidden
                                                          ­               beneath the ice at its surface.
(This is why I am able to bloom in the dark.)

[WAXING GIBBOUS]
The ocean bows to no one but the moon.  Turn
off the lights.  Turn up the stars.  Low tide wants to
fold back inside itself and lap against the
                             shores of the Sea of Tranquility.  
High tide just wants to be noticed.

[FULL]
But a heated black body sunspot,
                (isolated from the rest
                of the photosphere),
still shines brighter than the moon.  Wolves should
be howling at the sun instead.