I wish it is an endless sidewalk
So I can make every step out of it
I wish the rain won't stop
So the droplets will keep touching my skin
I wish the breeze stick around
So I won't stop breathing
I wish the cold wind keep blowing
So it can whisper through my ears
I wish you stay
So I can live forever

His eyes glared with my reflection,
His eyes are deeper than the ocean,
His eyes are darker than the night,
His eyes are sharper than the knife.

His hands were moving, approaching my body,
His vanilla perfume linger around me,
He whispered, "It ain't my fault, right?"
He smiled, his smile got my tongue tied.

"What do you mean?" I asked,
He answered, "I don't love you anymore,"
As he said that, he pulled out a gun from my pocket,
He pulled the trigger and a bullet cut through my heart,

He is right,
He is innocent,
It's my fault,
I let him got too close to me,
I let him broke down my wall,
I let him came to my life,
I let myself fall for him while he's falling for somebody new.

your words, your poems were too sweet
even I did believe in every single line of it
but it's not worth for me to read
I doubt if you truly meant it
for what you wrote for me

I was hard to let go
as all I care was you
but you played a game
which I didn't want to play

I was trying hard to keep you
even I destroyed myself piece by piece
just to continue on

now I love the way my body feels
as I do not feel drained at all
for you already set me free

now I do not seek your words
or even your love
I'll try to put together
the shattered parts of me
as my mental health is my priority

‪‪Fake smiles, bloodshot eyes

a heavy heart
from a never ending war‬

‪....with myself. ‬

Wrote this this morning after I'd seen a Swedish singing star interviewed with torn, torn jeans talking about how he came to be no longer nervous when performing.
Sing Your Song All Wrong As Long As It Feels Right

(a prose poem  - meter but no rhyme – well, a little)



I used to be invisibly controlled by rules,

Sometimes blamed on pressures peer:

Perhaps I am still, will be ever.

Rules inhibit, yea, dear reader,

Leading art and your behavior.

Double whammy*, inspiration, guide and model

When you would most like to feel

Creative, and spontaneous,

Well pleased, extemporaneous.



Subtle, so immensely, so intensely so;

Astonishing how much one swallows,

Soaking up, believing garbage as god’s truths

So hard to scrap;

All those rules coming from the praxis of the earthliest of mouths.



What is it sought beyond all else?

It’s freedom, spontaneity,

Belief that what you’re doing

Is its own confession, own possession;

Valid as the others

Always followed and believed the best.



Now I’m older.

Times have altered.

Folk appear on television with torn jeans.

Fashions once thought awful - trends.

In the end,

The young will always be impacted by

‘The others’ they think templates,

Patterns, blueprints, guides.

I have seen the light.

Sing your song all wrong as long as it feels right.



Sing Your Song All Wrong 4.21.2018 Vaguely About Music II; Our Times, Our Culture II; I Is Always You Is We; Definitely Didactic; Arlene Corwin

whammy |ˈ(h)wamē|

noun ( pl. -mies) informal

an event with a powerful and unpleasant effect; a blow : the third whammy was the degradation of the financial system. See also double whammy .

• an evil or unlucky influence : I've come to put the whammy on them.

ORIGIN 1940s: from the noun wham + -y 1 ; associated from the 1950s with the comic strip Li'l Abner, in which the hillbilly Evil-Eye Fleagle could “shoot a whammy” (put a curse on somebody) by pointing a finger with one eye open, and a [double whammy] with both eyes open.

Yes

I see you
imaginary
Naked woman
all of you
Now

Peace so soothing
Whispering in my ear
Kissing my cheeks
Saying things so lovely

I begin to feel less lonely
The lonely artist feels the same thing
Expressing notes
Beautifully

I cry.
yes I do..
I am not  a god
an immortal to all these hurts,
I get lost in the mist
of my own crowded eyes,
searching for reasons to all the emotions  
every droplet a sign of my powerful heart,
that is able to love  so much
and hurt so bad at the same time,
an angelic  paradox of it's own
a testimony of his powerful love .


©mereidow

you thread words
into a ball
which I mistook
for a heart