I think I might have loved you - once - when your head was on my shoulder and you cried into the fabric of my shirt as we stood over that casket and I remember holding you as you cried and hiding my face in your hair as you clung to me
What else were we supposed to do?
Who else would understand and
I’ve seen your secret heart in its entirety it is beautiful it is small it is fragile and it is entirely perfect to me and
It is that heart
That I wanted nothing more than to protect.
So I tore it from a warm chest thinking to selfishly preserve it, to keep it
Perfect and beating, fluttering in my palm like bird’s wings like
The fire within it could never be quelled but
I squeezed too hard I wanted too much I asked for nothing and everything and you demanded so much without words, so many human things that
A crooked creature like me
Cannot yet hope to understand so I
Did the only thing I know how I
Buried my face in your hair as you cried into my shoulder as I cried into you because what else is there and I
A little more.
When I was small problems seemed so trivial, because they were
They ended as abruptly as they began.
Even hardships : Disease, death, moving, longing,
Each were overcome with time and trial.
But scorn. Scorn and pity. Two emotions I shall never understand, and never be able to escape.
They follow me, stalking like hounds and waiting like hungry wolves. They circle teasingly close, begging for a morsel of flesh.
Sometimes I wonder if I am wrong to run and hide from them, rather than face them head on.
Through running, I live another day in fear and paranoia.
Through running, I protect the last shards of my broken soul and clutch them greedily to my chest.
Through running, I save what I can save and leave the rest of me to be devoured.
If I were to fight, I would lose.
Rage is like a fire
A thousand shards of glass
And though it might expire
It will really never pass
Though I try to kill the fire
With a million tons of ice
The flames only will burn higher
And nothing will suffice
Until rage, it has consumed me
And the flames, they will burn on
Til I am gone completely
And have faded with the dawn
Never Try To Write a Poem While Listening to Music:
You may be smart, you may have guile
But after only a short while
The phrases cease their lines to rhyme
The music keeps its special time
Your words end up a jumbled mess
You reach the middle, forget the rest
So listen children, and take care
The words in your head,
The face in your eyes
The tones that you hear:
Your mind’s telling lies -
You want the attention,
You’re too scared to say;
Hiding ‘hind your fell mask -
Pushing us all away.
If I said I was sorry
For what I said the other day,
I don’t suppose the words
Would simply melt away?
I make mistakes—I’m mortal
Frail as I could be—
Confused, broken, insignificant :
The melancholy me.
I don’t know how to love,
That much, at least, is true,
But teach me how to love…
And I promise to love you.
When I was small and fancy free
I fancied no one’d bother me
The world was new and fresh, you see
Too nice to be poisoned by men.
For all I tried and failed to say
That naïveté slipped betimes away
And left my world empty and grey
And longing for final ends.
For every tear I never shed
For ev’ry lover never wed
For my empty heart now cold and dead
I cannot see again.
Carne, carnal, carnival.
Carnivore, watch him fall.
The sweetest meats on which he sups,
The way he drinks that red blood up,
The mask he wears to fool the town—
Carnival turned upside down.
(( Nothing to say that the words didn’t already. ))
For a friend on a snowy day during a tough year at school. I regret not showing it to her then, but I was embarrassed. Maybe she will see it this year, and it will help in the here and now. Ah, well, better late than never?
I can see the light, sparkling
Through snowflakes and bare trees, reflecting
Into a cold, barren classroom.
Every head turns to look
The teacher laughs - and students
Can only frown.
Another day, another test, but we forget :
The papers are like the
It seems there are thousands
Each a different assignment.
Cold, calculating -
It will soon be over, and done.
And life moves on.