Wholeheartedly.After the yelling,
The broken glass and
Bent dreams that were
Thrown away in the black
Glad garbage bag
Hung over the knob of the cleaning cabinet.
The floor was dirty.
Covered in sticky, spilled beer and
Half empty soda cans.
Paper plates and coffee filters and
Ashes and cigarette butts and
Littered with expectations and hopes
That spilled out of every orifice
Of the human who lost them.
Crushed by the weight of knowledge lost
When the blood came.
And when it came,
The soul escaped
Along with the hopes, dreams and
Expectations for the new beginning
That caused the end.
It shone and glittered
Casting light on the dank,
Claustrophobic nightmare that she ran to,
Because running away
Was too painful without a destination.
Sacrifice Returns the SoulCrying inside,Sacrifice Returns the Soul3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Begging to know
The secrets that possess you,
The thoughts behind your eyes
The locks to the happenings
Inside your mind.
But not daring to ask,
Out of fear.
Fear that you wouldn't say,
Or worse, that
You would blame
All this heartbreak on me.
Knowing in my heart
I am to blame
For this bedraggled version
Of the person you used to be.
And those beautiful eyes,
Cocoa- colored eyes,
Stare blankly ahead
Through the cracked windshield
Which is all I can offer,
Because its all I've ever had.
I can feel it,
Slowly, surely seeping away.
The emotion, the feeling
The soul in your body,
And all I have now
Is a ghost, going by your name
The name you never preferred,
The name you now obligatorily
And this ghost
Commands her fingers
To close around
A cup of cold, bitter coffee
From the convenient store
That sells lifestyles on the side.
She tells herself
Leave the store,
Walk to the car,
Sit down on the moth-eaten,
A poet's broken words.Most people don't even knowA poet's broken words.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
what a poet is nowadays.
It's not someone who writes poetry,
but someone with the ability
to create beautiful things
with pain and hate them.
I traded my soul for letters,
that I later transformed to words,
together they wrote out all my pain
but I'm starting to miss my soul.
All I have left is these broken w o r d s
and I wish I could call myself a poet
but to hate something beautiful,
before you have to create it.
How can you write when your words are broken
and your soul is missing?
holding on to broken angelsi. i never told her this,holding on to broken angels3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
but sometimes i feel like she's my broken angel.
she can't see what i see,
she can't see this person who saved me.
ii. my hazel green eyed girl.
not you, please not you,
i can't have any more scars in my life.
unless they're my own.
and that's not going to happen.
i. why does she keep falling with me?
why do we keep falling?
isn't there a bottom for us both to hit?
i don't know who's falling faster,
i don't know who's further away,
i never knew a thing about physics.
i just know this is an eternal free fall.
iii. i'm sorry i can't save you,
i'm always falling,
you can't hold on to me.
because i'm falling.
and i'll drag you down with me.
i wish i could drag you down with me.
iv. i miss you,
but i--- i don't need you anymore.
you should be here with me,
you took your distance,
and left me,
i still love you.
you'll always be my other half.
but you left me when i needed you the most.
i don't think
YouI scooped up your soul but it slipped through my fingers.You5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
That's how I knew your spirit still lingers.
The coarseness of you leaves several abrasions.
Thoughts of the past take hold like invasions.
Your mood swings are a sand castle so fragile.
I can't escape for your strike is so agile.
I started believing this is what I deserve.
Hiding myself behind quiet reserve.
Can't let loose what I really feel.
Caging the beast behind four walls of steel.
Suddenly feeling like I'm going to blow.
Friends keep telling me I need to go.
Feeling alone and lost within.
Your words plant seeds and leave cuts on my skin.
I cry alone after everyone's gone
And pick up the knife to continue on...
2 Cold 2 BleedOn frozen nights when it is too cold to bleed,2 Cold 2 Bleed9 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Those are the times I am afraid to dream.
When conversation brings unwanted memories,
Tears flowing in streams until I can finally breathe.
The truth is that getting over things
Is what I do best sometimes it seems.
But how the sun shines when he speaks to me!
And I find myself wanting to know everything.
I want to look through his eyes, to see what he sees,
I want to know if he ever thinks about me.
In the end though, I shyly retreat.
I can't allow him into my reality.
I know I could love him, most certainly.
But we all know what happens...
when someone is loved by me.
Writer's BlockWaking up at three o'clock,Writer's Block3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
with this dreaded writers block.
It mocks me sitting on my paper,
maybe I'll write something later.
Tired of making words that rhyme,
I really just don't have the time.
Rhyme, grammar, emotion, meter,
maybe I'll stick to being a reader.
That line doesn't fit in that verse,
putting that word in makes it sound worse.
Can't think of anything to say,
my thoughts are all in shades of grey.
Imagery is overrated,
big words are so outdated.
Why does inspiration avoid me?
I'm very uncreative, you see.
I can't think of another line,
I can't make another rhyme.
So for now, writer's block, goodbye,
I'll be back tommorow for another try.
Make it BeautifulSome say that writers have a giftMake it Beautiful4 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
To write about the mundane.
To make it beautiful; set thoughts adrift.
But if you'll listen, let me explain
That making beauty is not great;
Especially beauty from pain and hate.
Poets turn love into what it's not;
A devouring monster or sweet peace,
What is love truly? Your scribbled ink-knot?
Reading that sadness grants no release,
And happiness is always so short;
Happiness is many poets' final resort.
Are we the doomed generation?
So many of us are liars by trade
Can the few poets give an explanation,
Or are we also just liars, unswayed?
Poets fill hearts with a burning desire
To experience passionate things
Yet a poet might be a glamorous liar
Or just able to feel awe for all life brings;
What I say is probably slander
Against the poets that write with candour.
StarsIt isStars3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when our eyes
I see you
reflected in your eyes
you don't feel
Winter loveTwilight on the California beach,Winter love2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the soft cry of seagulls fill the air.
Sand crabs dance beneath my feet,
as the low lure of the waves draw me in.
Hand gliding through the surf- flowing
with the strength of the deep- grasping
unto the tip of a feather.
That is when I remember you the most,
your frantic scream breaking me from my daydreams.
“Are you crazy lady? It is thirty degrees!”
Those words, they continue to run their course.
Stepping from the ocean, blackbird feather in hand,
I turn to look at you, to see that dumb founded gaze.
“You don’t know the half of it.” I laughed.
Winters are unlike summers, where
summers have flings, a couple months of
momentary kisses that never linger longer than
Winter however, brings less of a bitter sting.
or so I thought until you entered my life.
Your eyes were always in a bubble of adoration,
like a loyal dog gleaming up at his master.
You became my best friend, fingers entwined.
In time, we w
In MemoriamA child once told another,In Memoriam3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"When the world was created,
it was covered in powder-sugar snow.
The angels left the first footprints,
took the first steps,
and it's what's left
of those angels that's in us,
that makes us love morning snow."
And the child dropped her eyes,
unwilling to look at the honesty
in her friend's face,
the idealism she could only fake.
I sit at the window,
holding my tea mug,
more for the heat on my hands
than for drinking.
The warmth cupped in my palms
could almost belong to another person.
I wish it did.
My book is closed,
placed to one side.
It rests innocently on the end table,
printed paper cover against stained wood.
my escape from Hell barred,
her inspiration from Paradise dimmed.
I'll return to it, as always, when
I need to breathe again.
For the moment,
I'm too busy remembering
the child she used to be,
the child I used to be,
snow I never saw and still enjoyed,
footprints I thought I left,
steps I know she took.
hello strangerhello stranger, i love you.hello stranger3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i don't know you- your favorite band, if you like coffee. the lop-sided grin and the friendly eyes make it easy for me to think that knowing doesn't matter. i couldn't say what it is you do on saturday mornigs. the way you walk with me in the halls makes me think maybe we could be just as perfect as those five minutes. i don't know who you want to be or what you want to do. the way you talk to me makes the future become irrelevant compared to your voice right. now. i don't know who it is you admire, or whether you like kissing in the rain. thinking about life without the possibility off seeing you makes tiny raindrops slide down my cheeks. i love the way you irritate me on purpose just so you can watch me get frusterated and hit you. i could spend my life like that, with you.
hello stranger, i love you.
i care about your story, the tale of a broken heart. the look you give me says maybe i could mend it. i love your dancing, awful thou
Sending You AdriftThese ashes of mineSending You Adrift4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
are nothing beautiful
they are not to be cherished
not to be kept
These ashes of mine
are cold and dirty
they lay dried out
in a stone case
These ashes of mine
are undoubtedly useless
there nothing similar
to what they used to be
These ashes of mine
are not warm, comforting
they do not love you
the way I did
These ashes of mine
are gathered into
your pale, soft hands
delicately thrown away
FriendshipFriendship is a tapestryFriendship1 month ago in Free Verse More Like This
Woven through the years
With threads of joy and laughter
Happiness and tears
It's a work of art so priceless
It's shared by a precious few
Yet so easily created
By a loving friend like you
ImpairedI used to think,Impaired3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you were an architect;
you demolished my walls,
so I would invite you in.
But maybe you were a wrecking ball;
tearing me down,
and making me small.
I imagined you an engineer;
tinkering with minuscule pieces,
until they formed a mechanism,
that fit perfectly in your hand.
Perhaps you were an open flame--
and never leaving them the same.
I believed you were a doctor;
a cardiologist of some kind--
sewing together broken pieces,
and making me whole.
But maybe you were something,
I was too blind to see;
maybe you were just a disease,
out of me...
If Time Could Sing A Song ItselfThe stirring of ticking clocksIf Time Could Sing A Song Itself3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Fresh and still from the craftsman's shop
Rupturing their fragile hands as they fall into rewind
Until we're centuries behind,
Gamblers play solitaire with the larks
Every string of your heart plucked like a silver harp
Violins ringing with bittersweet sorrow
Bid us farewell should we see no tomorrow,
Pressed flowers in a crystal vase
And children dressed in patterned lace
Like the listless expanse of time and space
And the lost virtues of love and grace.
Open WindowLooking out the window, wishing for a smileOpen Window3 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
a broken winged angel, crying in her footsteps
I walked out in the rain, with a blanket and cup in hand
I invited her in, she excepted with a hug
After awhile, I was in love
and I watched her smile, and saw her wings heal
We closed the window, and shared a kiss
Ripper LullabyMy dear, I do not mean you well--Ripper Lullaby8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I mean to open up your chest
and see what mangled mess did dwell
behind your loose, much-handled breast.
I mean to, on the acrid air,
taste that which once your veins carressed.
I mean to finger your insides
and know each soft and cooling part--
your calloused knees and glassy eyes,
your blackened lungs and ruined heart.
Some place where no one will pass by
I mean to take you all apart.
I'll slit your throat just so, dear miss--
you will not have a chance to scream--
razors were made bad girls to kiss,
to open them to drain and dream.
You'll barely feel its gentle touch.
I do not think you'll mind it much.
Oh Dear.He is an Oscar Wilde inspired man-poetOh Dear.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Whose subjects are as real as glass.
He is a silly chorus boy
Spending far too much time in the music room.
He is a reader,
Who hums to himself while his eyes float across the page.
He is real-
But I don't even know his name.
And I am already infatuated.
Six Word Story 1He gave her his last breath.Six Word Story 14 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Dream~Dreams~Dream3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Replies of wide eyes
And finger to lips
Hands beckoning me to follow.
Silence is golden,
But the rays of the full moon
Creeping forward with stealth,
And pulling the blanket of leaves back
Reveals what made my heart clench.
Suspicions made true,
My mind's not deceived.
In the most tender of ways,
The sweetest smile
Visibly glows in the dark.
And across from that smile is another,
With train tracks
Running through it.
The smiles meet.
My heart chokes.
My palms sweat.
My eyes flutter open.
I wish on the stars above me
That I could call it a dream.
Another taste.Push me up against a wall, and show me how it's done.Another taste.1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
Put my hand above my head, and tease me with your tongue.
Put your lips close to mine, and push them onto my face.
Leave me breathless and excited, longing for another taste.
© Rocio Belinda Mendez
ballroom dancing with jesusimagine a boy, eighteen years old and scared to death as he stutters "dad,ballroom dancing with jesus2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
i want you to meet my b-boyfriend." and picture not a look of anger but a look
of pride as the father grins and asks to be introduced. because love is love, and
no person deserves to be despised based on who they make out with.
think of the soldiers, battered and bruised and burned beyond recognition,
or how this little girl, perfect in her imperfections, had her fate decided for her;
because even though she said her please-s and thank-you-s she preferred kissing girls
to boys and in someone's mind, that made her unworthy of living.
in someone's mind, she didn't deserve to breathe the same air as a straight girl.
and so maybe the next time you tell the fag to go hang themselves from the rafters,
imagine a young boy curled up into a ball as he contemplates the best way of how not
to grow up; whether covering the parquet floor with grey matter would be more or less
disturbing than using his father's tie to choke h
Dual RedI can't say anything when you stand there, igniting the air around me.Dual Red2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I can't tell you how it really is
Burnt. Ripped. Slashed.
I can't stay away from you when you stand there, igniting the air around me.
I can't look in your direction, a warm flickering flame, inviting.
I close my eyes and
Into the fire of your heart.
Embers of hope
Ashes of pain.