I wish I knew how to ask you for what I need
But I can't.
Just can't.
I want you to show what you feel more often, and if necessary, use words.
I want to feel wanted, to feel like I'm just as huge a part of you as you are of me.
I don't think you'll ever comprehend what I feel about you.
Lightning.
One day perhaps you'll finally understand. But will I be too drenched in waiting to be able to accept your giving me what I've been waiting for for weeks?
I just want paragraphs. Words.
I want you to tell me what you feel, how you feel, why you feel.
I want to know you inside and out, the way I hope I am letting you know me.
But then there are words.
And we are at an impasse.

Blocking really is the easiest act
a young girl
                      a young man
                                               a child
                      a grandfather
a forlorn widow
can do.

So many people decide
on deciding
to block out
what they should take in.

The sun.
Their lover.
Food.
Feedback.
Family.

Why is it not easier
to bring in?

The sun.
Their lover.
Food.
Feedback.
Family.

Why is it that the best things in life
Are the hardest to represent
by the written word or the utterance of an untrained tongue?

I don't understand
this concept yet,
so I'll do to it
what I
do
best.

I'll block it.

"Don't steal my motif!"
cried the Indian chief
with a feather tucked into his hair.

"It's mine to command,"
said he, waving his hands,
in discomfiture and in despair.

"The chirping is mine,"
he screeched like an anserine,
stomping his leather-clad feet.

"So leave me my birds,"
the chief then concurred
and danced to his Indian beat.

sometimes I wonder why i bother because sometimes it's so easy to just hold it all in, you know, like a tidal wave that pulls back so far that the power it finally unleashes is more pent up and crazy, but that's the thing see i don't want to unleash i don't want to destroy i want to create i want to feel i want to be i want to hold in my hands the way to keep myself whole my identity my very being that i keep trying so hard to find in other people and realizing i have to make myself but it just pulls me down when i know who i am finally and realize that i want to give part of that away but i cant i cant i just want to slice off a piece for you to keep safe and away from my impulses and fears but somehow that's too hard because if you saw how repulsive the real me really is i think you'd honestly run and hide and i don't know if i could take that not here not now and maybe not even ever just simply because you're too far in now you're too huge a part of my life to just up and leave and since the decision lies in my hands i'm so torn because i want you and i want you to stay but inside is all the tearing which i thought had been let go you said you had let me go like i had let you go it wasn't a matter of being able to but rather of giving the other person the leave to begin again, to not be selfish and let them start over and she took it from me and i don't know how to keep going because i'm still ******* in the past and trying to lasso the future and how does the correspondence even work when i just want to live but can't because i see it every day and think of that every night and the two just don't mix like oil and water they pool away from each other and that's frankly the only reason that i can't claim right now that i am or ever will be whole.

I hope you know it's your fault.
I know you don't give a ****
because when I fell you pushed me down
and then proceeded to stand.

To see a heart as it really is-
A pumping mesh of blood and tissue-
And know that love,
The truest kind,
Is disconnected.

We'll stay dead, like the love we made*
I should have known there was something wrong
Long before we took our field trip
To the cemetery.

If I may be so bold
What would you do if you were told
That your emotions can't be sold
For more than your weight in gold?

Your eyes are dry and black,
Your feelings indeed lack
An emotion that is slack;
And without it, you're off track.

Today, I'm going to try not to expect too much...

Don't explore
Don't investigate
Don't fall in love
Don't give in to hate

Just be safe, dearest darling
For daring to be something more than you are
Could cost you the world
And another's heart.

With no Tom Hanks to bring you home
A lover, not a fighter, on the front line with a poem
Trying to write yourself a rifle
Maybe sharpen up a stone
To fight the tanks and drones
Of you being alone*
Writing does help, I guess.
But what matters more
Is when she tells you
She's actually reading it.

But I think if she was,
I'd be embarrassed.
Who cares.

Everyone can read me like a book anyways.
My emotions are out there, and I don't hide how I feel for others.
And I'm good at waiting, masterful, even.
Maybe one day I can write myself into my own dream,
One we can share in together.
But until then,
My ink is my protection.

Hey.

Can I ask you something?

What if?

What if I was taller, with glossy hair and no acne?

What if I was less socially awkward and more aware of friendships?

What if I was less clingy-am I clingy?

What if I was perfect?

Would you still want me....

Trying to write a fable
really questions who you are.

How can I write a story based on morals
That I have not yet mastered myself?

What to write.
Be honest.
Wear your seatbelt.
Elbows off the table.
Honor your parents, watch your sister carefully,
practice piano for an hour a day, go to church every sunday.

Morals are really just should's.

You should take the garbage out.
You should always obey your elders.
You should only speak when spoken to.
You should.

Oh, should I now?

It is the deeper stuff in life
that defies our understanding
and can turn the coldest of days
into a fable day.

Morals and shoulds.
Do's and don't's.

Tell me, what are your morals?
Are they questionable?
Are they repostable?

And most importantly......
are they realistic?

Write me a fable.

just because i've finally got a handle on life doesn't mean i can go back and redeem what i've lost.
but just so you know, i'm a different person.
whoever you are. even if you're just the void. someone has to know.
i know now what it feels like to talk to someone to victimizes herself in every situation, who pushes off her pain onto someone else, who looks to you to make decisions then blames you for them later.
i know that girl, now.
it's an out of body experience.
and hell, i get it now.
*******.
i can't believe you were able to stand me.
and good on you for not.
so void, black hole of nothingness, ask them. ask me.
i've ******* changed.
and you know what's even better? i don't need your validation, and not in a rude way.
i'm just finally here to validate myself instead of stealing it from your bruised lips.
because i'm me and i'm strong and i'm here if you need me.
but if not?
i'll be okay.
and it feels so ******* good to say that i don't need to worry anymore.
so call if you need me. hang up if you don't.

The smell of his smile
    drifts as we
         are called back downstairs
               and the cold comes back

And the shadows danced on the walls that night
and the obscurities all ran free
and the solsticed pure gold ran through all their veins
and their hearts, full of unbounded glee

And the demons danced hard
and the angels sang loud
and the grave diggers crooned with the light of death
and the machines stood tall and proud

And the life glimmered short
and the death died threefold
and the love in her throat did choke her ideals
and stories unspoken were told

And the yews all did spy
and the night tables, play
and the lovers all screamed with force of the wind
and the scaly eyed pecans died that day

And alone in the corner sat
and with not a care in the world
and with the weight of my friends atop my broad shoulders
and i died as my stress did unfurl

And I bled unfiltered light
and I cried from the start
and I made sure my friends would never feel that feeling
and I let them destroy my heart.

She keeps saying I'm not trying to get better.

I don't even understand why I'm like this, why my emotions are so demanding, why my skin aches to be carved into designs and swirls of the brightest hues of red.

If I knew, I'd explain.

But apparently, information that slips my lips is nonexistent. I'm not trying to get better, I don't want to get better, I'm not accepting the help she tries to offer...

Would it hurt you a bit to just listen? I can barely speak as it is, but when I do,the yelling overpowers it.

I just want a hug. And friends.

And death.

I've paddled off into
my
own
s e a

of nostalgia

longing for my childhood
and darling friends
whom I've left behind
in the
u. r. n
c. r. e. t
of m e m o r y

reconnecting
two hours?

is enough for me
to feel slightly
more WhOlE
than I had before

what I have
what I need
is air.

how many times do i have to tell you
to leave me
be

it really hurts to see myself continually
hurting you when you
could leave

i ask you all the time to just let me go
and let me wither
in peace

why

Has someone out there ever felt the need
to be part of something
bigger?

I'm not talking sports
music
school
or family

I'm talking character

Am I the only hollow being in this empty galaxy

who longs for an emotion to call their own?

tis but a spoken masterpiece
that sitteth 'gainst a rock,
yet silver tongues hath sharpened swords
they've yet to learn to shock.

heed, harken, with steadied palm
that which betwixt us lies,
for time, being time, seems true, but thus,
endears solely desecrate flies.

With the whole world weeping into her hands,
Alone on the brink of salvation she stands.

Waiting for an ice shard to free her from time,
Lingering on the edge of a new silken rhyme.

What, once she steps, will Fate for her devise?
Will she, once flown, fall to her demise?

Think not on this, we shan't, for shame,
For unlike to our thoughts, we all are the same.

So tottering over the unknown she will stay,
Red tears shining nuance into the new day.

And once, perhaps, we shall see her soonafter
When, as is hoped for, she'll exist in our laughter.

She shall dwell in the crevices of downtrodden states
And between the rusted old heart's prison gates.

Her solace shall be in the hands joined as one
And the world she once jumped for as she fingered that gun.

I think your initiating initial moves entails, indubitably, an interesting turn of events.....I want to investigate you. Initiate that for me?

Can't you see that my white flag is folded up
And safely hidden within the recesses of
My deep gown drawer?

I didn't want to be rescued.....

And now, as you smile and you dog and you pine endlessly....
I smile and I fake as I wish it weren't me.

I wish it wasn't me who captured your heart
Who made your heart sing
Who stood apart

I wish it wasn't me who you chose to rescue
But that's just your fairytale
I'm helping you make true.....
Even though it makes me blue.
This ache is for you.

So it finally happened.

And I'm feeling so philosophical.

So I'll drop this paragraph I'm supposed to purport Toulmin in and instead, drop a beat through pentameter that means nothing like it should.

Those words were spoken in the right order, in the right way, at the right time, when I needed to hear them most. He knew. YOU KNEW. How, I can't exactly be sure. Hell, I don't even know if your conciousness deigns to dwell in the reaches of digital activity where my poetic inner goddess reigns, but I can hope.

If you're reading this....

Tell me.

How crazy is it
That hair you quoting a song
While talking to me
Makes me feel more valuable
Than my weight in gold?

how could thy beauty
with effervesce and grace
possibly destroy the thoughts
have i for that warm face?

how terrified the pigeons be
when spikes their nests impale,
but love, at once, they do impart
instead of bringing bale.

Keep kissing me.......the kind of love that is unrequited keeps me going......even though yours isn't.

Once you bade me fear not the brew,
but that lightning horse stole me from you.

if the daisies told you to make your own decisions,
would you?
if the rosebuds asked politely for you to be yourself,
would you?
if the hydrangea bush pled for you to think your own thoughts,
would you?

i am lost in a myriad
of tangled, tangled
forsythia;
for shame,
you told me not to write strong sentiment,
that my drafts were best left in the drawer.
scared am I of that thorny vise,
but they're not drafts anymore.

Star studded binders
Dot a Peloponnesus dominated
Landscape
And slowly- slowly-
The jersey lilted land
Uncovers it's treasure

I guess I'm just awkward.
They're always taken, aren't they?
Taken or uninterested.

And I always end up hurt even if it's not their intention.
Why?

I'm just too much
For anyone to love.

And that's only because
I'm so ready to love someone
So ready
But every time I find
Him or her
Each time I think
That I've found
THE one

They're taken.
Taken or uninterested.

The shattered glass that surrounds my eyes
helps me to see clearer

who knew tears
were the best prescription

Absolutely no way around it anymore.....
What if I told you I loved you?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one that can see my black, oil slicked feathers.
They are the reason I don't like getting wet, the reason I fit better in the shadows than in the direct sunlight.
I'm not colorful on the outside, though the glossy yet demure rainbow sheen of my midnight mane may say otherwise.
They say it's what's on the inside that counts; if you cut me open, I'd bleed opal.
Opal, shimmering liquid pearl, luminescent moonshine filling every crevice of my heart, every crack and corner that are not filled with emotions that threaten to overturn the barriers preventing floods over and over and yet over again.
I'd forgotten- funny isn't it?- how easily words can flow and glow from my mouth if I would only open it. But as quickly as I do, the contents that spill out are black as tar, black as my coverings, my feathers, my thoughts.
What else is there to say but that I wish the black and the rainbow would coexists?
Oil slicks and opals are both beautiful.
You can see the rainbow in each, but sometimes you have to take the time to look closer.

That song.
I'm trying so hard to get over you;
your words, your actions, your problems- why are they mine?

No, I'm not talking about a lover.
He is better than ever.

I'm talking about a friend.

One of my cohorts in crime,
my partnering master of disaster,
my worldwide favorite *******.

What exactly are you doing?

Why won't you tell me
what's compelling you to pick up
that gold crown
and drown
whatever is
ailing you?

Why don't you trust me enough to tell me?

They say poetry is a rhyme,
something that comes from long bouts of time,
that its' beats have to match
with nary a patch
and it it always sounds sublime.

But why are my poems sessions
of the beats of my heart
translated into pitter patters
from the keys of
my little old laptop?

I don't know.

Why don't you tell me
Once you've sobered up enough
that the words on this page
don't go flying off
into the depths of
a rainbow colored
outer space.

Iris.

Only song that can calm me down.

You;
Gold Crown.

Iris;
Me.

Vices......

How can I possibly know yours
if you don't pick up the phone
or tell me what it is
that you
want
?

Just because I cave like a chameleon under pressure
Doesn't mean I don't have true colors buried
Underneath this plastic

One day, I'll take off this makeup.

But until then, it's up to you to see through it.

and i'll never understand why you choose to give your homegrown roses to someone
who would let them die

Do not detain my whimsy, do not deny my thoughts their flying rampages on the wings of dandelion fluff long past its' prime.
Do the roiling waters stop for rocks in their path?
No. They brush over them.
Yet my feelings grow rockier and rockier yet and brushing over them has proven hard....and futile.

A sweet substance used as a means
to forget

Do you mean to tell me
That you never recieved the letter
That I sent?

Sparkling crows alight
on a glass bridge
over the running quicksilver
that swallows the
jaded emerald demons;
and yet the igneous townspeople
in their wheaten shanties
are not safe.

Would you be
Standing
With your toes
Peeping over the stone
To gaze down
At the river below
Waiting for their turn
To splash their way
To heaven or hell
-doesn't matter which-
Because if so
My job
Has been rendered
Null

There is no poison anymore.
Past thoughts, past dreams, past hopes,
key word; past.
It has drained into everyone- you have seen this- and it has destroyed more than is healthy. None is healthy. Unfortunately, that is not the case, not even close.
But now the toil is over.

You can only push so much out, can only drown so much.
You're tired, I can feel it.
You're weary, I can see it.
Memories strain against the metal bars guarding your heart and your head

Opening broken boxes of leering letters can **** the heart. I know.
Unearthing memories you'd tried to shatter can **** you.

But better than blocking comes redemption,
albeit harder and a longer process.

But being a whole puzzle means fitting the pieces together,
not throwing away those you wish you hadn't touched.

There are those who wish to build you up, those who wish to beam you into the high place you used to inhabit.

And you know what?

They all miss you.

I had twenty
Beautiful souls
Following mine in a line
To a crooked, poetic summit

But two were lost along the way....
What have I done?
My leadership
Is crumbling.......
The peak is still so far away....