Tag: words

Dear Lover

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Please feed my soul or I’ll be forced to let go

Wasted are my thoughts. Thoughts of those who weren’t worth my time. Empty shells have come knocking, but once they saw my spirit they fled, leaving less then dust behind. There is one, who is different from the rest.

He does more than feed my soul, he nourishes my psyche. He loves me wholeheartedly. I whispered words of affection into his ear. And he asked me to say them aloud, strong and clear.

“Dance with me, transcend with me, challenge me, be everything I ask you to be, be more than what I ask you to be, be song and dance for not me, but for you. Be life and death with me, progress with me, kill time with me, intertwine both our minds for me, smile with me, cry with me.

For you, I would write a million poems because there are simply not enough words to describe the type of being you are.”

Some say truth hurts and a lie is bittersweet, but I would rather you, be honest and kind to me. Say what you mean, don’t be silent because in this moment, there exist just you and I. In this space we share, this small amount of time. We are in unison in almost every kind of way. We are limited, when it comes to how long we stay. And he never calls me beautiful, because beauty never lasts. But he calls me, his and I tell him every night that he is mine. For we are flawed and free, but unlike our flesh, this love will always be.

The boy who spoke with the Ocean

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Once upon a time, there lived a boy.

He sometimes wished he could be like everyone else. He wished he could live an interesting life. Live in the moment, be wild, crazy and humorous. But he was none of those things, nothing close to it. He laid awake on countless nights wondering, why do he felt things so deeply? Why hold on, when others so easily let go. Why did he care so much?

“I’m not special, so why can’t I connect. Why can’t I find someone who understands. Someone who listens. Truly listens.” He thought quietly.

He would go from home to school and then back again, except on Sundays. On Sundays he would explore the forest behind the white picket fence, that ended the property his family owned. His family didn’t have a whole lot, but they were content. The boy on the other hand longed for more. He would spend much his Sundays wandering the forest, looking for answers to his questions. Only to hear nothing but, the forest’s silent reply. Everyone he had ever met always fell too short of what he needed. He went on through life hoping to have his questions answered. Only to find disappointment and vexation.

One day he decided to run far away from home. And he did, he ran pass the skyscrapers that the touched the sky, pass anyone he would ever recognize. Now nothing that surrounded him was familiar. Ahead there was a field of tall grass that led him straight to the ocean. He sat down in the sand looking straight ahead into the immense sea. “I’ve been everywhere, met what seems like everyone, but still my questions go unanswered. Why must it be this way?” He sighed. Looking down at his feet, he picked up a nearby seashell and toss it into the the water. “You’ve come for answers, and it is answers you shall receive.” The ocean whispered. “You have been searching your whole life for an explanation to why you are the way you are. So tell me child, have you found your answer while searching outwardly?” “Well no…” The boy replied.

“So tell me, why have you continued to search for something in the physical world. When the answer lies inside of you? No two people are alike. Some are more connected to purpose than others, but if you continue to try and find happiness and comfortability in others, you will always be displeased. So look deep into my current and learn from what it is you see. Love, evolve and grow. But do not expect others to come on this journey with you. Because this journey was crafted just for you. Human beings will always let you down, if you attach them to your happiness. So don’t expect more, just be more and the rest of the world will follow.” The ocean howled. The boy sat confused for a moment, but then stood up on his feet, stretching his arms to the sun. “Thank you, great mighty ocean. I should be heading home now. I’ve got a lot to discover!” The boy said with a grin. The ocean smiled back with a crashing wave. “The sun will set tonight, but it will rise again every morning. And so will you.”

wise man

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He closed his eyes & let go of his hatred.

He closed his mouth & listened to the quiet world, that surrounded him.

He opened his heart & took off his shoes.

That day, he walked the Earth with bare feet.

He stared upon the sky & earth, realizing that he & it were one.

The right to be mad

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It runs deep, it boils from the chasmic spaces in-between your bloodstream.

They say contain it, they say smile.

Their lips form shapes that spell out the words, calm down.

Calm down.

How can I possibly be calm?

Must I pretend that the climate of this world, doesn’t put me in a state of distress?

Why is it that only the expression of happiness is deemed acceptable ?

But then I remember they do not want you whole.

They tell you that your anger and your sadness is something that must be purged.

But do not let go of your anger.

For emotion is a thing of wholeness.

But display your anger in such a way, that they cannot call you angry.

Use your anger and show them that you are determined, you are definite.

Even with your anger, you are wholeheartedly whole.

For what is a human without their range of complex emotion.

Many will say you don’t have the right to your anger,

But the right is yours and yours alone.

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I’m slowly forgetting the sound of your voice, the curve of your lips. I’m slowly forgetting the feeling of your arm hair brushing just slightly against mine. And with it, all these small inconsequential memories. I’m slowly losing interest in everything. I don’t listen really, I don’t listen to anything or anyone. Nothing excites me anymore, no small sparks of passion to keep me on my feet throughout the day. I don’t even really enjoy music either, not like I once did. The sound of it leaves me feeling, a tad bit numb. All I can do is write words, words that when formed together aren’t even good enough to be typed onto a blank page. But that’s all that’s left, a vacant space, a hole. I often wonder why it has come to this. It’s no one’s fault, but my own really..Why did I allow myself to fall in? Why must all beautiful things end in tragedy? Why must they end at all? For what is a writer without beauty? For what is a poet without tragedy?

For a poet without a muse, no longer has a reason to write.

But write they must.

And I will,

even if it means, no longer writing for you.

Give them a smile

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He stares into the mirror. Unable to recognize the man, who looks back at him. The joke. Dreary eyed, the skin of his eyelids so thin, they appear transparent. His lips stretched and black, form a smile curling to the tips of his ear lobes. His eerie laugh transitions from laughter to a painful screech, lastly fading into a soft distorted whimper. He knows that he must wipe his tears. “The show must go on.” He muttered. He applies the chalk white powder onto his already dried, lifeless skin. Smearing black circles around his eyes and red paint onto his lips. He smiles, remembering a time when his teeth were not rotten and his spirit was youthful, filled with life and passion. Those days are long gone now. A red curtain behind him is all that lies between him and the act. He exits onto the stage, filled with fraudulent laughter. The audience loves it, but does he?