Untitled

What is “Literary”?

Perhaps your poetry as opposed to mine

But what does it matter if you read Shakespeare and I read Silverstein?

What does it matter in a world of Peter Pans?

You are not my Wendy, you cannot tell me what to do

I will stay here if I want to, playing with my flute and fairy

I will stay here, even if my poetry means something only to me

Because I promised, I write

I heard it said once that what we want isn’t always what we need. There are many things I want.

Notwantin the normal sense of the word; not the way a childwantsa lollipop.

No.

I desire, yearn, and long for something that seems so unattainable, it’s depressing.

And you can ask as many questions as you want, but my lips will remain closed on the subject.

This desire of my heart is only for me.

i’ve been wandering

(can you hear me?)

there are eyes i see in dreams

a mouth that forms in the few minutes before daylight

your golden head leans down on my shoulder

i’ve been waiting

(can you see me?)

i promised i’d wait, i promised

but the slipper is cracking, it’s breaking

and i’m not sure it will fit after all

because i see, in so many faces,

people i thought would be you, and they weren’t

i was so sure

then they vanished and i was left with nothing

waiting is agony

facing waiting is agony

dreams, the dreams are fading, they are frayed at the edges

i have none now

nothing to keep me waiting

but still i do

i wait for You

It’s a blur of darkness and nausea piercing and renching until I feel my eyelids close in weariness from the pain

Somemixofrandomthoughts

I didn’t think I could tell you, I made this up in my head

Nothing really seems worth it when I’m are gone like that

Lostintime,

Hair plastered to my clammy face

As I stay isolated on the ground…

That was my beginning

I feel you here,

In these moments

In a sudden burst of memory

When time stands still

For a moment,

I remember you

I am still flesh and blood

Tear off my skin and there still remains,

Human

This is not just something I do when I am here

Ruminating, nervous ticks

I pick at the tender skin around my fingernails

And scratch hard where there is no itch

Dry skin, now caked in old blood stains my fingers

And a maroon rash has slipped into hidden crevices

I want more, I want it all

I want you to tell me it will be alright

But instead, you tell me to stop picking at my lips

And to leave my face alone

Where is that little girl from the picture? You ask.

And I reply, She is gone.

I see now what would have been

But I was too young

And now you are lost

I can call you back from my soul

But her, you would have to leave

And I do not know that you are strong enough

We could have been everything

We

I could have loved you

There is a silent smile, an intent gaze

that comes from beneath your eyes

I’d like to dive into their depths

and explore that fire

A whisper breathes from your closed lips

and calls me forward

Into a time of childlike innocence

that I’ve never known

Where we will explore mysteries

that are kept secret in the world

And you will keep your hand always in mine

as if it were the cord that connected our two souls

Red, I’m ready

I am aware that the fault is mine

I saw it in your eyes

For they touched my very inner being

And left me breathless

Your countenance spoke nonchalance

And whispered charm

Yet, I let it seep throughout my whole self

So now I write to heal a heart

That was not broken evenly