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Wednesday, February 29, 2012


This is me begging for feedback. I would prefer it to be constructive if it is negative and not just "this poem sucks," but I will take what I can get at this point. I need more points of view. Pretty please :0)

Monday, February 27, 2012

I Forgot

I forgot.
It really is true.
Didn't know what to do,
Cause I forgot.
Over and over she told me,
With a scowl she kept reminding.
Promise, promise, she'd say,
Don't forget night or day!
My heart I did cross.
By pinkie I did swear.
Even called on the good name of the Girl Scouts
To get my point across. 
So I have no excuse
For this neglectful abuse.
And of all the things she's asked me,
Forgetting this one's really the worst
With this one unfortunate error
Our friendship's suddenly cursed.
All because I forgot!

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Not a Damn Thing to be Done About it

I want him,
Shouldn't, wouldn't, can't,
But I want him.

I think about him,
Things that never happened and never will
But I think about him.

I ache for him
Hands and lips that will never twine with mine
But I ache for him.

I love him,
And there's not a damn thing to be done about it.
But still I love him.


You call me a martyr.
You who started the fire,
Built the cross,
Swung the axe.
Tell me, did the splattering of my blood dirty your soul?
Is that the reason odes have been written,
Tears have been shed,
And voices in anger use me as an example of all the wrongs of society?
Does making me less by making me more ease your battered conscience?
By teaching me to the minions, plebeians, simple-minded societies,
I become a legend, a history lesson.
You have taken away my humanity with your myths.

Don't you realize I'm human!
You saw my breath in the cold of winter,
Looked into my eyes and saw my terror as I stood before you.
You saw my tears and the defeat when you judged me,
And saw my blood pool at your feet.

Now what gives you the right to pick me apart,
Like a buzzard pecking away at a rotten carcass?
Haven't you hurt me enough?
How much damage must you do before I am no longer a threat?
The damage can never be undone,
The lies you spread have become the truth,
And I have disappeared within the saintly vision you have constructed.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Worst of You

I can still see you now,
Curled up in a ball
In the corner of the dark musty room,
Your hands white knuckle clenched.
I can't remember why.
Was it because anger's sharp pointy teeth
Were tearing through you?
Or were you trying to suppress the overpowering wave of despair
That hovered a breath away?
I can't remember.
I just remember your green marble eyes
Fixed on something through me.
You were painfully beautiful
And unbearable ugly.
And it was then, with your destruction, my destruction,
Painted in the shadows, I left you.
Left you to reassemble the sharp cutting shards of yourself.

You got married yesterday,
Said a friend of a friend.
Married to someone pure and true,
Encapsuled in holy bliss.
But she'll never know you the way I do.
Never own the worst of you,
Never be bound up tightly by your desperate mixture of love and hate.
And if I had to choose between sunset riding everafter
And the sweet ache of your disdain,
I'd choose your hate.
Because it's as honest as you've ever been,
As honest as you ever will be.
And all I ever wanted was your bone breaking honesty.

Monday, February 20, 2012

Thank You

When it's my time to go
Thank the nighttime stars
For granting me a smallness
In this vast universe.

Thank the man in the moon
For listening to my prayers,
And offering a smile
To a lost and lonely girl.

Thank the springtime flowers
For coloring my world.
And thank the fallen leaves
For giving elegance to death.

Thank the whipporwill
For singing my heart's tune.
Thank the babbling brook
For lending a friendly ear.

Thank the roaring fire
For lighting up my world,
Wrapping tight around me,
And warming up my hands.

Thank the gentle summer rain,
For quenching my deep thirst,
For singing me sweet lullabies,
And washing past pains away.

So when it is all over,
Give life my gratitude
For showing me such beauty
And the heart in which to view it.

Ghost of Us

He lives on in this room.
His voice and touch slip around me.
The things I took for granted,
Now bring sweet longing to my heart.

Alone in this cold, empty bed
I dream I'm wrapped in his warmth,
And in the quiet stillness,
I hear whispered I love you's.

They say I need to move on,
Forget what used to be,
Turn away from the shadows,
And raise my face to the sun.

But I'll stay here in this darkness,
Living in what might have been,
Tightly clutching your memory,
Haunted by the ghost of us.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

Breaking My Toys

I always break my toys,
It happens every time.
No matter the gentle intentions,
I never play within the lines.

Somehow all you see
Is an angel in my eyes,
You don't see what's broken
And the lies I try to hide.

You smile at me so sweetly,
Your heart is open bare,
Your hands hold me gently,
I know it isn't fair.

To me it's just a game,
And I always play to win.
I'll break every rule
So I won't lose again.

You never stood a chance,
I've been hurt too many times.
Broken beyond repair,
By men of the wrong kind.

The scars have made me cold,
I calculate every move,
And harden up my heart
From feeling any love.

I'm not worth the risk;
Moth, run from the flame.
Turn your eyes away,
I'll cause you too much pain.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Poem I'm obsessed with

This isn't my poem, though I wish I had been the one to write it. I had to share though, because I have read it at least a dozen times in the last couple of days. It is what started my current writing spell, and it was the catalyst to starting this blog. It is so good that I had to post it. I copied this version from (

So you want to be a writer?
By Charles Bukowski

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

Fickle Heart

I'll love you today,
Wrap you tight in this moment.
Right now you'll be mine,
And I won't look at another.

But my heart, it is fickle
And soon it will stray.
It'll look for new comforts,
And long for another way.

So enjoy me while you have me,
And love me all you can,
For as much as I love you, baby
My heart never learned how to stay.

Don't Ask Why

Why should I speak when my words disappear,
Quickly lost to the march of time?

Why should I smile, or cry, or laugh
When it's nought but a fickle change of mood?
In a moment it's gone, and I'll have moved on
As though it never happened at all.

Why live a life filled full of strife
When you're only one in a billion?
Is it worth all the struggle for barely a ripple
That's gone in the blink of an eye?

I haven't the answer, not even a clue
But I'll keep marching forward
And never question the reason.

Maybe it's simple, something inside,
The fear of the end.
The fear of life's death.

And I guess it needs no explanation.
It's simply the thing that you do.
You just go on living, put away all misgivings,
And keep on day after day.

So settle in tight for a long bumpy ride
And don't give up 'til it's over.
And maybe someday the why will be answered
But even if not such is life.

Battle Scars

I bear the scar of the moonlit doe
Soft and breathing peace,
The roaring of the crowd
My heart beating with the base.

I bear the scar of words of old
Written in flowing rhyme,
Of brand new worlds in new ideas
That change my point of view.

I bear the scar of frenzied tasks
Accomplished and full of pride,
And the still, quiet moments
Where I question why am I.

I bear the scar of friends and foes,
Of hugs and hate-filled words,
Every bittersweet goodbye
And every teary hello.

I bear the scar of what could have been
And all that used to be,
Of my family's truths of yesteryear
That took root inside of me.

I bear the scar of ones that got away
And ones I never kissed,
The ones who held me too tightly,
And the ones who ran too fast.

I bear the scar of the look in your eyes,
And the tight hold of your hand,
Of your whispered words of sweetest love,
And promises to always stay.

Each day as I breathe in and out
These things that make me me,
I'll proudly wear this tapestry
Of the battle scars of life.

Monday, February 13, 2012

The Calling

I felt the pull, the draw consuming,
It tickled at my fingertips.
I clutched it tight, white knuckled, to me,
Desperate to stop it from slipping away.

I need not have worried,
It wanted me too,
And held me as tight as my arms did grasp.
It pulled me inside and sank into me.

Rooting around, it fought for a voice,
And searched for words to speak out a truth.

It lost its edges and I lost mine,
Melding into a singular form.
You can no longer tell me from my calling,
We stand strong together, one and the same.

These Silly Words of Mine

These silly, fickle words of mine
Bombard and tie me up in knots.
Incessant chatter in my head
That will not rest 'til I lay them down.

These silly, fickle words of mine
Poke and prod me half to death.
Answering the who's and where's and why's
To place into a pretty phrase.

And while this wordy hurricane
Twists and turns inside of me,
I'll grab a pen and try to purge
These silly, fickle words of mine.

Caged Birds

The cold and taunting darkness,
The breaking of a wing,
And only Maya knows
Why the caged bird sings.

The Drop

A trickle drips
Taking paths for which my mind and womb ache.
A single drop brings forth the flood-
The growl of hunger caused by years of starvation.
The need starts slow at first, gains momentum.
The painful lack of consumation overcomes.
I seek solace, lost in addiction to a drug I've yet to taste.
A drip that belongs not to me, but to the mind and womb of another.
But still I ache.