They’re psychoanalyzing my pride.
I’m ignoring the obvious: a war vet with ear plugs on the fourth of July.
You’re that pyrotechnic glow on my mind.
This memoir is a token of antisocial expression.
Our vermilion bond was anecdotal at best, demoralizing.
You’ll only ever see it as a victimless crime.
siphoning bits and pieces of our symphony’s chime
Sitting in my oval office with petitions to sign
writhing in inconsistency not filling in shoes fit to size.
Concealing true identities, revealing my shrine
The answer is rhetorical, when I ask who am I?
Enough of the superstition.
My existential crisis is to feel like I kiss your iris every time I blink your eyelids.
Tag: poetic
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I’m stronger than you. Or I thought I was. Maybe I am. Don’t touch me. Make up your mind. Tell me you love me. Fuck me like you mean it. Mean it when you fuck me, love me when you tell me, you love me. Tell me a secret. Show me your ghosts, and I’ll show you, my demons. Baby, you should go. Maybe we only got along because our monsters played nice. How can I atone? I’m so over being alone. But I’d rather be alone than prone to abandonment and holding on to consolation that’ll never be known. Fuck what your sentiments wrote – they lied to me and let it be shown.
A lantern is only a guide if the lights lit, and you have your sights set on looking for home. Hope you sow what you reap, motherfucker, my eyes on you. You’ll be holding up hollow fruit with no seeds in between. you asked me to keep my poetic words away from hurting your soul. I aint keen on breaking promises, but no. Hold on a minute, hold on an hour, hold onto my throat. my broken heart is telling me you told him you won’t.
Fuck it, I’m definitely stronger than you. If I did half the shit you did, you wouldn’t be breathing.
I could feel it. My heart was beating faster than it should. I kissed you while crying, my eyes blurring the truth. Moments froze. A cryogenic holding cell, to serve as reconnaissance. Mild dilemma. Miles of enemies. My field of daisies wakes up to your bombs. Rot in your holding cell. Holding your rotting cells. Selfish, cold, hell. I hope that you’re happy. Well, I’m happy you’re hoping. We look at the present like it’s not as good as the past, try to absolve ourselves from what the future brings us. Cumulonimbus. Futuristic. Who are you kissing?
It’s me. Look at your constellation tattoo and connect the dots. I am that shining star. Do you ever look at it? It’s the letter Y. The same letter as the question I ask. Phases unphased. Finding myself in the middle of nowhere. Then, I’m finding myself in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know what I am, but I do know what you aren’t. Humans are complex. We show emotions that we don’t currently feel and hide the ones that we do feel. I’m a crab in my shell when I’m screaming to let me the fuck out of my own skin. Someone once said it is impossible to be selfish and happy – and that’s terribly true. I just hope you stop being selfish.
You tell yourself you’re a free soul, unbound by any chains. But my love, you’re holding your own chains. You’re not free. You’re just running away. There are no underground railroads for people who run away from the truth. There is only one way to unlock the chains. Your lips need to stop telling lies. Now tell me with your eyes how you’ll make that happen.
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Dear anyone,
Heartbreaking, shattering, crushing, blasphemous, bludgeoning, over-saturated. Don’t be surprised if we can’t be separated. Science needs a new invention to mend hearts or a swab test for tears, where a story is written by the chemicals in them. And the chemicals in them are only ones that I can create with my signature on them, my blood, and my distinction. Nobody else. Well, that is interesting. Cristian doesn’t want it to end like this. The story is written by an author who has no business writing it. Don’t be surprised if one night we’re looking at each other eye to eye, holding each other close, so close, so close, I can feel you brush your passionate breaths against my lungs that fill with air, and move your head. I feel you slipping away. And by now, the category 5 hurricane by all and any expert is said to have definitely slowed down. The eye has shrunk. Our eyes have shrunk. It isn’t a category 5 anymore and it won’t ever be a category 5. And sometimes, looking at the weather, I believe it will slow down. I don’t want it to. The chaos of it all is intriguing, inviting, warming. Sometimes, though, other times, I don’t believe it at all. Other days it’s category 6, maybe 7, 8, or 9. Category 20. And I feel this storm going up in numbers, up and up. It’s the size of the entire planet now. I’m the only weather reporter that believes this. I have hope in my math. Don’t believe in machines. I want to categorize 20 different parts of you that I fell in love with. Category 1, 2, 3, 4, 5: I love you. Your love is a hurricane; it comes and goes in September. It came and went. It went. 6: Your honesty is like powerful gusts of wind that rip trees from their roots, that blow stop signs from their post, rip roofs off house tops. 14: I love how much we loved each other. It’s like, I thought it was real. Maybe it was. Maybe it isn’t. I have so much to give. You wanted to give, at least still do. I don’t know. 21: Please don’t do this. I don’t want to feel like an acting lesson, your only Oscar. Don’t if I couldI’d bring a version of you back from a time machine so I could talk to them about the future-you. Maybe I could understand better, feel better. I regret anything I did that brought me here. Did I say too little, say too much, love too hard, love too soft? Was it me crying? Was it my silence at 5am? I didn’t mean to. I’m… I’m going. Well, I was… I was going through some things. These things now are different things, though. Hurricane Artois. They say don’t chase what you can’t catch. I caught feelings. You caught my heart. I chased. Don’t be surprised if you can’t find something like this. Nobody can do what I do, like me. Not even close. Can’t extinguish flames with a whisper. Don’t be surprised. Don’t be surprised when I don’t stop. If you jump, I jump over frontiers written in bold text saying “invade me” with invisible feeling into bewitching allure of where my heart is kept in your cage, backstroking through the perfect sound waves where each word spoken fits in my ear, words where you made me imagine us together with wrinkles. I was so drunk when we were together. My submarine descends into our own fucking galaxy (I’m STILL HERE!!!) of silk and honey being handwoven by broken hands (20th time) into this fucking perfect perfection we perfected. I was so hypnotized. Was that an eclipse or did the moon kiss the sun and did the sun close her eyes while he did? I was captured by your solar flare, tunnel vision, tunnel feeling. The moon and sun deathly slow, slow dance to the Spanish passacaglia, raising goosebumps on your arms. We jumped to the moon. The moon jumped to the sun. The sun burned
hellhound.
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It’s almost complete, the distance between falling apart,
From whispering secrets, a sequence you act nonchalant,
Like a purist in person. I told you to stop kissing my heart,
Questioned why, choking back tears, “au revoir,”
So insincere. A brassiere draped over post-traumatical scars,
And it’s worthless. Holding hands under Jupiter and Mars,
Deafening stare, kaleidoscopic, where we grew afar,
Or began growing, knowing it was doomed to begin with,
Congruent in interests, confusing indifference
With sultry disclosure, whispering secrets, a bottle of Stol’,
Acting as if you didn’t already know,
Marlboro rogue, leads in my chest, heart in my throat,
It’s okay because a month is barely a whisper,
Speaking sweet nothings with nobody to listen,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
Evolving into something without your permission,
Where’s the accomplice? Bonnie with a gun to their Clyde,
Are we only partners in crime when the love has subsided?
You threw me a bone, how oddly Shakespearean,
Homeopathic dosage, delirious,
Slowly becoming Romeo through the experience,
Juliet, my rose, you told me not to pick flowers for you,
To let them grow and die without interference from you,
I slowly understood what you meant, what you said,
When you blinked once and said nothing in bed,
Trojan horse Valentine’s gift, hold it close to your breast,
Let me invade you, while we both hope for the best,
How to enjoy a private dinner without making a noise,
Paris to my Helen, keep kidnapping my voice,
Cross an ocean, fight the army waiting at Troy,
Calloused rejoice, carry the spoils from my battle deployment,
Wearing a cast on the places you touched out of choice,
Colliding connection, copacetic, catharsis, caress,
Coalescing conversations under our breaths,
Touching soil under toes, label it normal behavior,
Letting out guttural moans, sultry, fluttering flavor,
It’s okay, I get it, it’s just sand in the wind,
To drinking from chalices any chance that we get,
To get lost in inebriation, just to forget,
How we treat each other when we kiss with our…
My mother once said, “My child, you love without any condition,”
A gift I admire in you; it worried her sick,
To be at arms with a love lust, gun to your neck,
Shot glass throwback, wipe off the taste from my lip,
Barely consent to this insatiable tryst,
Listening to playlists, and the rain hits our heads,
Save me a seat, musical chair gallantry version,
You were the last one standing when I asked myself,
“Who is your perfect?”
And who can touch you in ways you haven’t learned?
Also, who is the single most dangerous person?
And who gives you this doable courage?
And to that, who is the only one that can hurt it?I’m sorry.