Hope to live,
Live to die.
Love to stay,
And stay to cry.
Sigh your last,
But never pretend,
To hope that hope,
To live again.
I remember.I remember the last time I saw you.
You lay alone on the vast hotel bed with a tube snaked around your head pumping oxygen through your nose. The machine made a sound like the ocean: smooth and even. You looked like pile of bones with skin attached and a tumor in the middle. I stood between your sister, sleeping peacefully on the couch, and you in the grand bed which I had lain in beside you just five minutes before. I stared, so wanting to walk over and shake you awake to say goodbye. It's the last time I'll ever see you. But you were so weak, and you could barely sit upright the night before. I wanted to let you enjoy your dreams while you could. I wondered if you would wake later that day and think, She left without a word.
Because that's what I was thinking.
I felt my face twist into pain. Eyebrows curled upward, lips pouting. An expression soon to become familiar on my face. I wondered if your sister was awake. I didn't want to sound ridiculous, talking to a sleeping girl,
Words Never SpokenWe all stood up to say goodbye to Anna Lee. As we did, I finally saw my chance to break away and see you. I looked toward the front of the room. You lay there, your face above the lip of the white casket. Pale and thin, but just as I had last seen you. My throat was tight. I didn't want to talk anymore with your other friends who I had just met a few weeks ago. You were the one I came to see. So as they were all turned, I walked up behind the old couple in front of you. They moved away after a moment and I got a clear view of you.
You looked like you were only sleeping. Last year, you were so plump and full of life, but laying here, your face was thin, cheekbones sticking out, eyes sunken, and your hands... Your hands were at just the wrong angle. There were bruises on your fingers. Did you notice? Where did you get those? I wanted to touch you. I wanted to talk to you. You looked as if you were about to sit up and say, "Boo!" because that's exactly what you would do. I couldn't believ
A new friend? Amateur..."Alright then, I'm sticking to you like glue!" The idiot said.
Are you wondering what just happened? Let me explain.
I was lounging on a dark night in the local park, where there were few people. It was about 2:47 or so, and I was enjoying the breeze. But then I heard footsteps. I thought about going limp and pretending I was asleep, but, for some reason, I lifted up my head. I was actually hoping to see a beautiful young lady who might be running from a sex offender, and maybe I'd save her and have a snack.
What I saw was not running from a sex offender, it was not a lady, and it was definitely not beautiful. My neck settled into a normal position, and I found myself nose-to-nose with a stupid-looking blond haired boy. His hair was obviously bleached -- and badly done at that. His eyes were wide and quizzical, shining with wonder. The worst part was the moment he opened his mouth.
"Are you a vampire?" He asked hesitantly. There was a long silence between us. Why not just say it?
Peacemaker My name is Peacemaker. I have no gender, and I have no race. I do not take a democrat or republican side of politics, and I look at things from every angle I can. My history is lost, and my future is unpredicted.
Many people come to me every day and ask for help. They all have problems they need assistance to take on. I give them the advice they seek, and they are on their way. Many of these people called me wise. A few have told me I was "perfect" or "flawless".
That is not true.
If I have one flaw, it is that I cannot take my own advice. If a friend and I argue, the terrible, hard reality comes crashing into me like a raving river.
The question is: what happens when I, the Peacemaker, can no longer make peace?
InamimateI find more love in inanimate objects than in living people.
It's a strange feeling.
It's almost sad.
The pajama top that I took off wrapped it's arms around me, as if it were hugging me and keeping me warm.
The teddy bear I hug is leaning against my chest, as if it were saying to me, "I need you."
The radio at my side is softly playing me my favorite songs, as if it were singing a lullaby to me.
Sometimes it's not enough.
Because after a while, the pajama top is just a shirt.
Because after a while, the teddy bear is just a doll.
Because after a while, the radio is just a device to be controlled.
Because after a while, you need a real voice.
And somewhere in the world, someone will make it all better without doing a thing.
Even though, I find more love in inanimate objects than in real people.
Because I am not that familiar with the latter.
I'll be...I'll be green, I'll be blue,
I'll be anything just to get to talk to you.
I'll be high, I'll be low,
I just wanna know
How you feel, and everything else.
I'll be goth, I'll be prep
If I just take a step
to being closer to you.
All I want...
Most people can...Most people can sing the ABCs.
Few can sing an Opera.
Most people can dance the Hokey Pokey.
Few can dance the Nutcracker Ballet.
Most people can read off a few lines.
Few people can make you believe their actually Romeo or Juliet.
Most people can aim a camera.
Few can capture the emotion and feeling.
Most people can draw a stick figure.
Few people can actually draw a person.
Most people can draw a triangle.
Few people can really paint a mountain.
Most people can do this.
You can do more.
Rainbow SongListen to him singing the song to me.
Listen to him singing --
Listen to beauty and love as he sings,
Yes, listen to him...
Look at me listening to his love song.
Look at me breaking his frail heart.
Love is a sensitive thing from the start.
Yes, look at me.
This is so nice.
So majestic and I'm
His heart shatters
In my hands.
Soak my life again.
Listen to him singing the song to me.
Listen to him singing --
Listen to beauty and love as he sings,
Yes, listen to him...
?.:-LOVE-:.?Love is like a jacket.
When it catches your eye, you try it on, and look for the right size.
You take it home and wear it and show it off.
It covers you and keeps you warm.
For a while it really interests you, and you pay a lot of attention to it.
But after a while, it doesn't interest you as much, but it's a part of your daily life.
Soon, it wears out, and doesn't always keep you warm in strong winds.
It thins and grows holes.
Sometimes, the holes are convenient.
Sometimes, you patch it up.
Sometimes, it just gapes.
Eventually, you sell it, or throw it away.
Sooner or later, you get a new jacket.
You forget about that old jacket.
And that's the end of the jacket.
And that's the end of love.
ElenaElena followed me home
from work one night
and stayed for tea and eggs,
and all that minimum wage
and wars between the sheets
She said she was a goddess,
daughter of a carpenter
with her long red, red hair
and eyes as warm as hazel nuts
on Christmas morning.
Her hands spoke braille
across my back
and made the silence
of Sunday into a prophecy.
She left one October
just like she said she would
when the fireflies
had turned their wings to ash.
And I found revelation
in red, red wine
and cheap red, red fabric
that came off in my hands
there's something fatal about coughing up verse.i got written up for writing poetry on the desks
i don't think they liked the language i used
when i wrote how my heart was beating
like headboards against the walls of people fucking
at 3 am to the sounds of joy division
whenever you read me paintings at dawn.
they were going to send me to the counselor,
but i said my therapist probably wouldn't like that,
so they just let me go.
but this saturday, when i'm cleaning lives off of every desk in school,
i'll just be thinking how much i'd rather be sitting on your roof
and laughing when we argue about rimbaud
and sighing as we start to die.
WineHead on a patisserie table
with a wine-scented napkin
that I scrawled your name all over
in the hopes it might necromance
or just romance you
to this place, at this time,
so we could be together again
and although the guitarist knows
that I'm broken beyond blue
I keep reaching for the bottle
in the hopes it might recreate
or just replicate
I'm too poor to feel so middle class.My teeth still ache from the dentist,
but it doesn’t stop me from nibbling
the cheese danish I bought at Kroger
this morning, warmed by thirty
seconds in the microwave. My mug
of hot chocolate is too big, and I
drink it all. The washer is on its last
cycle; the cat is purring at my feet.
Netflix is background noise
to clacking keys, typing a transcript
of middle class morning that I’ll later
call a poem or a turning point,
wondering when I became such an adult.
the polar opposite of translucencycradled in the echo
of a cloudburst,
the earth curls invisible fingers
about my achilles' tendon
she cries that i am not
intended for the clouds,
that my mind must not wander
between their susurrous concaves
furious with her insistence,
untether myself from the soft,
diaphonous comfort of the heavens
down into the weight of gravity.
listless green blades welcome my soles,
stimulating a tickle,
a sneeze; i never have done well
she is calling for me,
soft-tongued and crisp in her
& i am sorely tempted
i am not for the soil.
she becomes my inhale;
my alveoli shudder
beneath her force--
i am not for the air, either.
i stand beneath her onslaught
until she tires,
her molten heart beating beneath my toes;
unable to woo me with her facets,
cloaking me in one last attempt,
a final shadow.
my pores bloom
& i r
to the ghosts with you, my deari came not to be kissed,
or to have myself cradled
in the curve of a throat,
but to be broken,
to be diminished
by your lack of affection
& over indulgence of sexualization.
uneducated in your intent,
found myself left entirely whole
& incapable of the fury
i had sought to sow between the
ridges of my aching ribs.
she suffers melancholy like the plagueshe cannot raise her voice to reach
the notes that she adores
without the ocean escaping from her eyes,
and she cannot kneel in prayer
to the god that she tries to love
without copper staining the pavement,
but she can scream into a room and not be heard,
and she can deprive her stomach and not be seen--
these are not the type of talents to be appreciated,
to be loved without condition,
and so nobody does.