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Come interrupt me

And fill my soul

With your own words

As I am not able

To find

My own

Teach me

Your language

Soft and slowly

So there will be

More of you

More of me

More of us

Be my poetry

I’ll be your poem.
 Feb 2014 Patricia Tsouros
r
From Hatteras south to Ocracoke
The Queen Anne she did soak
A'bar at Springer's Point
Where kin of Teach
Take pride in speech
And with pirate's blood anoint

On down coast by Emerald Isle
Eighteen sailor  miles
Till  sail through Tops'l Spit
Beneath the waves
Lie many graves
Of fools whose widows knit

r ~ 11Feb14
For Billy, my 'hoi toid' friend on Ocracoke Island.
She spends hours writing love letters
Post marking them for a later date
In case she thinks of something
More loving along the way

She adds an even number of flower petals
With a slight hint of perfume
The scent of lilac is her favorite
Sometimes a touch of cinnamon when it fits her mood

She dot's all her  " I's " with flowers
And all her punctuation marks with hearts
Because she feels that love is and always will be
A lost form of art

When she does send them on their way
Single stamped and single file
Giving each a lasting kiss
And bids a part of herself farewell
It’s the place we live
A place of treachery
A place of trembling hope
And sorrow

A place where centuries of salty tears
Have cried the oceans high
Where the pines, the redwoods, and the oaks
Have fled high to the skies—learning from their earthly mistakes

I want to know it all
But I know I never will
And I want to feel strong
But a feeble human existence can never fulfill

And when the thorn ******
That’s when I’ll feel pain
But to the pain I feel when I lose you
Every few months-it is nothing

You were here on the first day
And we know-- and He knows
You wont be here for the last
But I hope you will be, for the talks in between

We don’t really talk about it
Instead we talk to talk intelligently
And I like that
And you like that

And that is why we’re the same
I wonder when I’ll have faith
Perhaps, when you have faith
Have faith in me and have trust in my words

Sorrys spread themselves wide—too wide
With every rise of the sun and turn of the tide
Despite the try, despite a determination of independence
They are taken

I worry I lack some sympathy
For I did not cry the day I heard
But you do not cry on the days you die
And you die for quite a few of them

Do you know who knows?
Or do you not care
Does it matter?
For me, it does, and you know, and he knows, and she knows

I scoffed the day I heard you believed
I laughed that I figured you a man of reason
You said you could be both
I still scoff

When I shall count the stars
When I shall breathe evenly
When I shall free the butterflies from the pits of me
That’s when I shall—when I shall free you of the blame

I know you deny it
And you may right not deserve it
But when I’ve read of all the little live things
We too, will be alive

Do you count your lucky stars
Or do you rest assured
I call the arrogance a bluff
I call it today—for tomorrow

The blanket of grey
Which comforts me so nicely
Will always remain a compliment
A compliment, remembered, and not deserved

It’s a humbling experience to realize
Not one idea you will think
Will ever be
Original

And it’s a disappointment to realize
Some ideas
Ideas of others
You will never even think

In that I call injustice
But no one will make it just
And I will rest aside
Quiet… less than robust

My existence is frightening
So is yours
So is his, so is hers
Though arrogance makes for a fantastic façade

And we’re all incredibly concerned
That today will be lost before we have achieved something--anything
Yet too distracted by tomorrow
We fulfill the prophecy, and yes, we lose today

Pride is a thing to tussle with
I want to be proud, but more so, I want you to be proud
Of me
We’ve been told to not be so proud

To be humble and oh so very honest
Though those before me have proved, time, time again
That to be anyone and to get anywhere,
Humility just won’t do

And that’s the juxtaposition I live
The contradiction I’ll never escape
How to make it all of worth
While upholding a worth of self

Your mood changes with the moon
And I try not to mind
For I know that mine
Is as steady as the tides—not very
bad
"Is it bad that I never made love, no I never did it
But I sure know how to ****"

god i might not know how to
say those three words,
but i'll kiss you against your soft
cotton sheets
and sprawl bare against them,
and make you think it all the same.

"Cause I had some issues, I won't commit
No, not having it"

i'll slink my body
and move my hips around the atmosphere
we'll both be drunk,
slurring on the beat
that my tongue moves to.

"I'll be your bad girl, I'll prove it to you
I can't promise that I'll be good to you"

my mouth is like
nicotine,
you'll never get enough of it.
but baby,
its so self destructive.
spending my four in the morning procrastinating on an essay listening to relatable rap songs and writing ****** poetry~
Just another morning,
just another day.
Drag myself to the sink,
splash some water on my face.

Sometimes I look down,
at my trembling hands.
I want to wash them clean,
but I can't.
The stains are too deep,
skin like sand.

I work in a cubicle,
nine to five every week.
I come home to a wife and kids,
who don't understand me.

And every single night,
right before I go to bed,
I pray that these demons,
will leave my head.
Somethings that I've done,
are better left dead.

I feel the knife inside me,
twisting and digging in.
It's serrated edges tearing,
at the flesh and skin.

I feel the bullets sinking,
into my broken heart.
Sometimes it's easier,
to just hit restart.
I wish this world would realize,
war is hard.

I wish this world would realize,
war is hard,
on a heart,
now torn apart.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
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