Is it okay, if i go ahead and say thank you to everyone? This isn't necessarily a poem but more of a little letter.

Dear you,

Thank you so much for your feedback, whether it was negative or positive. Either way, it's helped me learn new ways on how to write better poetry. I really want to thank those who have been giving the most lovely comments and everything. You guys literally always make my day when you do so. When i first joined, i never expected i would recieve really honest and kind feedback. It's almost as if though im on a stage and you guys are my rad audience. Its great to see that people like, relate, or even enjoy my poetry. You guys are amazing and rad and fab and everything. So yeah, thank you!

hearing distant tunes playing beyond mental creation

when listen to closely- hairs stand up on edge

sensations flutter throughout from feet to head

thoughts fade away, last that was heard echoed

finally the moment has been let go

going toe to toe with broken emotions
laying back, stretched out,
comfort rolling in like an ocean wave

water soaked the page and extinguished the rage

distinguished patterns whimsically moving
as eyes look into the page

spirit is suddenly trapped in
the margins and lines act as the cage

my breakfast of thesaurus
and chorus.

as to not miss
that quick bliss,
moment
of genius.

forcing wit;  i’m done with it.

i lay in bed and moan:
"mouth was a blue sash of rain
raining convocations of flesh."
like Sonia Sanchez said in her poem
to Nina Simone.

“owls coo, only see blue,
and through storm windows,
they yawn like nothing’s new."
what did my words just do to you?

i hate all the rhyming
all the timing.
the
whining.

all this meditating
and levitating.

but if you don’t swat the fly,
you become the fly.

But where am I supposed to roam
when the bullying follows me
everywhere that I go, even *home?

the only thing i can explain, is loving you.

the only thing is dreaming.
is feeling, that wheeled feeling of knowing what love was.

it started with an awkward hug.
it ended with an awkward hug.


i took you to the river. held your hand to the washed and out. breathed the smoke of your body into lungs of new days and danced to thoughts of escaping the empire with you forever. so forever. waited while you biked into far-fetched and distance places. american girl. beautiful creature. creature tessellating; growing; enhancing into a starry-stepped woman. i leaned on you, made you stumble to walk. now most days i stop myself from calling you. the space. the only thing that ever made me so dizzy, so good, was the space between us when truly together. close. utterly as one. wrote poems about you before i even met you, like a dream girl, like a premonition, which you were, a dream girl, a preconceived notion of one and only love. and there probably will be none other. none other. because i fell in love with you long before i even knew how to say it. never really knew how to say it. blurted it. bled it and yelled it and dreamt of it endlessly.


[still dream of it. endlessly.]


slow down, slow town, taking minutes. city of trees. city of good and bad and a little love that grew and bloomed and boomed before our eyes and died. and perhaps dead isn’t enough. reanimate. zombify. walk the dead. the dead and idaho life is american dreaming, drunk. us humans walking, texting, breathing, dancing. i would pinch your ***, smack your ***, so silly, so object, so mammalian and animal and bad on my part. sorry about that. but then again i loved your ***. still, sorry. you deserved more. deserve more. more to the picture. and i love your smile. your deep sweep of happiness. could devour me whole with just one laugh. and this is all so stupid, you probably hate me by now, somehow, seeing as you disappeared into thin air and here i am writing this bombast of love lost and still plan on sending it to you by mail or carrier-pigeon in hopes of simply expressing something. texas chainsaw massacre 2. totoro and the miniature crystal glands of rips or roars or sour patch sprinkles. burnt underwear. that stream of consciousness sweet beating block of love you ink-stamped to old paper with some kind of fierce spirit, just love, i love, and can’t help but love you so ******* much all over and over again, even if you broke my heart. the heart is strong that way. or i am simply doomed that way.


howling. howl. imbue. rimbaud. & urizen. kien. class, and when we skipped a day or two, once or twice, to make-out by the river. true beginnings. rock piles and bonobos.
my kind of woman.

you loved me before anybody loved me.
and i loved you, because there was no other way.
lost that somewhere. somehow.
life and days taken for granted.
and i’m the fool.
the stoner peeling off layers of clothing
as i prepare to be blood-sacrificed before the ancient ones.
while you are the girl.
the girl who made me forget what death is.
the girl with that last blunt.

                   new soul, spelled in crayola crème.
                   new summer, spoken then lived.

                   you were the love
                   of my life.
                   plucked my heart like
                   squishy fruit.

                   we once turned night
                   into paintings & poems,
                   particulates of
                   a golden time gone by.

You released a mechanical type of chemical inside of my brain it drove me insane but *you did it anyways.

poetry gone

You fall a thousand times, and each
one, I'll pick you up.
hundreds of knives dropped from sky
high and I look
everywhere but up.

I'm burying my soul I'm digging my grave I'm getting too
**** attached to save myself,
and I am only to blame.
I don't want to trust and I don't need to know I don't need anyone
I just need to be alone,
even though I loath...

The walls whispering in the night, the sheets around my throat too tight, the most comforting things bringing me to my very brink of terror.

They well tears in my eyes
and raise the tiny hairs across my
pale arms.

They're coming for me, but
don't be alarmed,

you can't see them so
they shan't cause you any harm.

they're in my closet
they're in my bed
they're in my kitchen
they're in my head.