* I LOVE YOU FOR WHAT YOU ARE *I love you for all the boys I never knew* I LOVE YOU FOR WHAT YOU ARE *2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I love you for all the times I spent with you
For the smell of the sea and warm bread
For the flowers that you put near my bed
For the pure animal that lies within a dove
I love you for all the boys I do not love
Without you I can only see the wide world
The mirror cannot produce the image that was destroyed
The moment between what was and is today
And by forgetting the road I was well on my way
But the hole in the wall did not reveal a lot
So I had to learn about life by the pieces I got
I love you for your wisdom that is not mine
I love you eventhough people consider this a crime
I love you though I know it is all illusion
But my heart is beating in restless confusion
You think you are doubt, but you are reason
You are the sun that will be present every season <>
Becoming LessDo we live because of love, or do we live to be loved,Becoming Less3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Because life is a broken heart.
At some point in life we shatter
And have to piece ourselves back together.
Or maybe our whole life we're broken.
Searching for our lost pieces.
Never to be complete.
Always to be missing.
Or to be grounded down
Into a million tiny pieces.
An impossible endeavor
Never to be put back together.
Which one am I?
I think not.
I'll find that piece.
I'll create something from those glass shards.
I won't bow down.
I won't be reduced.
I won't become
End RemembranceEnd Remembrance2 years ago in Historical More Like This
Remembrance Day originates at the end of World War I. The idea is to honor those who died in the line of duty, defending their country from enemies. For all its pompous words and fancy granite memorials littered with colorful flower bouquets, Remembrance Day and others like it have failed miserably in achieving this goal.
I've often been criticized as having no respect, and that can be an impediment when discussing certain topics. However, I am often in luck – hypocrisy deserves no respect. What changed as a result of the enormous sacrifice of those who died in WW1? As the first bombs of WW2 fell just two decades later, millions once again obediently lined up under various pieces of colored cloths to slaughter and be slaughtered. It became obvious that absolutely nothing had changed, and that the millions of WW1 had died in vain.
Most would agree that all that lip service paid to the sacrifice between the two world wars wasn't good enough. To truly honor their sacrifice would be
Midnight StarsMidnight starsMidnight Stars2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
flurry through the night.
Like the glimmer in your eye.
The twinkle from your soul of beauty
radiates the blackened space
around my lonely
untitledseducing the writeruntitled2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
he'll seduce himself
if you're silent.
The Ice AngelThe Ice Angel3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
An Angel on this Field of Ice,
I hesitantly step on this,
Field of Ice.
This surface of ice,
It is but the most slippery,
Field of ice.
I try moving slowly,
On this surface of ice,
But my Crooked skates,
Knock me off balance.
As I start to fall,
For the very first time,
I accept help,
And In no time,
A hand catches me within the fall,
She catches me from my misery,
And helps me escape the pain,
Field Of Ice.
With the sweetest voice,
Asks me,"Are you OK?",
Even though I seem afraid,
I nod aimlessly,
While I reach for her fragile hand,
I grab her hand firmly,
With the the grip even death itself,
Knows to be too tight.
This grip is,
And Almost unbearable.
Even though it is so hard,
For her to bear,
She continues to hold my hand,
Helping me inch forward on this slippery,
Field of Ice,
At first we move slowly,
But our speed gradually increases,
She lets go,
Telling me, "I will be back"
I watch her c
there's no pain in the rainThe Rain is what connects us to the sky,there's no pain in the rain3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Not a symbol for grief,
It purify all your fears and worries,
So the next time you're sad
And it's raining,
Don't mistake it for pain,
Walk out into the street,
Lift your arms out wide,
And let it rinse you away.
LifeImagine a perfect worldLife3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Where oppression does not exist
We could be free without hindrances
And no one throws a fist
No one would ever cower
And we wouldn't have to strife
Just to have our voices heard,
And stay full of life
We wouldn't be consternated
At everything we do
And no matter what we become in life,
To ourselves we would always remain true
Nothing would be perilous,
So no need to be vigilant
Only peace and prosperity,
Never at all violent.
Such a perfect world
Only exists in ones' mind
There's not much hope left,
And people are still blind
Do they see they boy crying
In the corner of the room?
Do they see the girl clutch the knife
That sends her to her tomb?
Do they see the man on the street
Who has not much left to live?
Do any of them realize
What we never give?
Parents are grown up children
So why can't they remember
How it feels to be compared
To those that are always better?
We're not automatons
That'll always be the best
And getter marks than everyone
Whenever we get te
The Nature of Losshe wakes with dim morning and relieves himself,The Nature of Loss2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
washes his hands and face,
and dresses in the same clothes he wore yesterday.
he walks out to the garden,
following a cobblestone path to the copper fountain
to scrape algae from its basin,
disturbing robins from their bath and fireflies from lovemaking.
the sun rises above thin clouds
and beats upon him; he wipes sweat from his brow,
blackening his forehead, filling cracks brought by years passed.
he waters the petunias, the asters,
leaving the blue hydrangeas after he prunes their dry blossoms,
throwing the waste at the compost heap.
their hammock, tethered between ripe cherry trees, has weathered
and can no longer support his entire weight,
so he rests his hat on her cushion,
the one frayed and molding, embroidered with her name,
resting where she left it.
The Long Waged WarLet out your angerThe Long Waged War3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Let out your rage
Put up your fists
You've got a war to wage
Hatred is the key
To winning this war
And those you abhor
Ignore the burns
Ignore the black and blue
Just smash down the walls
Break right through
For your enemy is gracious
He accepts death with open arms
And never would he ever
Bring you any harm
He loves you dearly
For you he would die
He'd never ask twice
Wouldn't blink an eye
So don't shed a tear
He won't die in vain
When you stab his chest
He won't feel any pain
Only love for his beloved
Which is you, my dear
Too late to cower
Too late to fear
March right in
And claim your right
But instead kneel down
At the glory of his light
He is true love and patience
He is peace and kindness
He will touch your eyes
And heal your blindness
Let out your tears
Let go of your rage
For this is a war
You no longer wish to wage
IntimacyI asked to be slapped—Intimacy2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and your palm met my cheek
with constraint, cupped to lessen
the ensuing redness, the responsive tears
that welled but only in my left eye.
There are things like tealights
and dinners after midnight that we agree
to be romantic: that we consume
through antique filters, lace
between our fingers, but your palms
sweat when we hold hands
and I've never liked skin webbing,
nor the catch of calluses—
So, I propose to rewrite
a definition: mostly for my sake,
but also for the sakes of others
who have found themselves wondering
if they might be a-something
because they don't like to be touched
softly on the skin
or loathe surprises of any sort,
who would like to make love
then smoke a cigarette,
go for a jog without meaning insult
to the man in their bed—
Because when I asked you to slap me—
I meant to say I trust you,
Pull-Me-Over RedI still don't know how they're related to me: Javier, David, and Rigo. They're from my dad's side of the family, and I was told they're cousins; but my dad only has one brother, who has no children of his own. If I had to guess, I'd say they were second or third cousins, but I never figured out who their parents are. All I know is that they were at every family party: three lanky teenagers who would disappear within the first hour and return right before everyone was about to leave.Pull-Me-Over Red2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
When I was eleven, they were sixteen or seventeen. Javier was the friendliest; he made a point to say hi to me before they left, ruffling my hair and calling me Junior or Mijo or Rosie once he discovered my second middle name. He had big white teeth and always wore his pants below his hips, with t-shirts that were too short to cover his boxers. Once, he pulled me aside and showed me a picture of his girlfriend.
"This is Stefanie. Sexy, right?" but I was too shocked by her bare tits to say anything about her
The Dance of WordsWhen will I learnThe Dance of Words3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Not to say a word?
They always leave me to burn
Making these feelings absurd
It's such a waste of time
A useless exercise of rhyme
These feelings just repeat
Leaving me at their feet
I realized long ago
That my reasons to try
Would soon softly die
How could I not know?
Questions without answers
Flit across the page
Like tragically beautiful ballet dances
Wondering where they belong in this age
My place is undecided
And only with the pen
Are these feelings confided
Then left to rot in the liar's den
__The Path__I am running; forever running.__The Path__3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There is no path.
There are no surroundings.
There is only blackness.
And I am running through it.
But then, a light flashes far ahead of me.
It is bright and warm and welcoming.
Its sweet song calls to me.
I am running towards this light.
But now the ground shakes beneath me.
My vision blurs, and for a moment I stumble.
There is now a path.
It is thin and rocky and weak.
On either side is empty blackness.
I am running along this path.
There is a loud bang that resonates through the air.
From either side of the path I'm running on, sound bursts forth
It is loud and deafening and distracting.
I cover my ears
I am still running.
And now images appear.
They are dancing obnoxiously around me.
They want my attention.
They are distracting me.
They are leading me off of the path.
I close my eyes
I am hanging by my arm from the path.
Blackness swirls below, eagerly reaching out to me.
I am in pain.
The path is exhausting.
WritersI am a manipulator:Writers3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Of words to fit my needs.
I am the general,
of twenty-six lettered troops.
I am a chieftain
of the Composition Tribe.
I am the composer
of an inked symphony.
I am a Master
of the art of Syntax.
I am a dialogue dictator,
A narrative ninja,
A freestyle fighter,
And a pen protector.
I am a Writer.
DriftwoodDriftwood3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
around the dawn
as if begging
for a favor,
so smooth and sharp
worn bare by August -
a mermaid's rib
rubs salt from sand,
the battering lilt of seagulls
against the summer sun.
A Cloudy June SunriseI had been awakeA Cloudy June Sunrise2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
since rain fell against the window:
exciting the glass
but not disturbing your sleep.
Instead, you woke to the alarm and found me
revising my thoughts on humanity,
our frailty and guts.
You asked if I was okay,
if I needed anything while you were out,
and I answered, "Just some sleep."
Unconvinced, dressing hastily,
you promised to come home earlier than you had
any other day that week.
"I just want you to know
you can bother me with those obsessions
that make you feel evil
or at least a little fucked up,"
you said before leaving, though I can't blame you
for assuming my pessimism.
It is, after all, the disease I came fitted with,
as well as my tongue of choice
when problems convolute,
but that morning
the sky was so beautiful,
and what I needed to tell you was this:
I offer my poetry
as a blatant exhibition of trust
for you, for your curiosity,
because I didn't believe any man
had inherent goodness
until I met you.
DGM-Confessions: Chapter 1DGM-Confessions: Chapter 14 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
My name is Road Kamelot and I am a Noah. This is my confession.
When I was young, I lived with my mother and my father. My father died when I was ten years old. My mother had been absolutely in love with him when he died in an accident. Although she knew I was involved with his death, she never mentioned it or tried to talk me through it.
I knew from the beginning that I was different than the other children in my school. At first it was little things, like the fact that I never seemed to get sick with colds or the flu. Then a strange incident occurred.
I was always a hard child to manage due to the fact that I was, and still am, easily bored. While walking home from school with my friend Robert one day, something caught me eye. I ran off to check it out, and because I was so focused, I failed to notice a carriage travelling down the cobbled path. Because I darted out, the horses pulling the carriage became spooked and r
ForeclosureWhere are they now?Foreclosure3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
emerald city slums,
dirt in the sky.
The child fell off his bike and
skinned his knee. He cried when
I tried to help him up. Ants carried
his blood away. We don't need
that kind of pride.
A woman in Pasadena sold a slice
of toast with F.D.R.'s face on it.
I thought it looked more like you
standing in the rain.
We were asked to recreate the Gospels and
you suggested Michael Bay.
Some things never change.
Columbus found America,
the same way Descartes found existence,
the same way my brother found bourbon
the same way a horse finds religion.
It was always there so
just be careful with it.
We're all afraid of snakes.
sunup, sunriseto speak on the inconsistency of dreams would be redundant;sunup, sunrise2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we swept the walls for dust
and took down each pillar with a chisel no bigger than my hand,
no bigger than yours,
in the dim-lit factory filled with ivy leaves and cracked concrete;
beneath us, the turtle groaned and swam closer to the sun,
its scales beat dry by passing stars,
and the windows had all been broken or boarded with lace;
the orange became our shading,
and the walls shook with sunup, with the dim-lit walls and the ivy
quivered; the sunrise, sunup with the swimming fins drifting dust
that rose into our nostrils,
and the chisels dropped through the floor with the pillars, the ivy
broke the lace and the lace quivered;
orangeburst in violet, the violent sunrise on the cracked shell and
the factory groaned,
the turtle moaned beneath its weight;
to speak on the inconsistency of dreams would be redundant.
The Rain's CallPitter-patter, pitter-patter,The Rain's Call3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The rain falls.
A rhythmic drumbeat,
The rain calls.
Onto rooftops and streets,
Nestling into the grassy ground,
Pitter-patter goes the rain,
Drowning out all other sound.
Into wet ground,
The rain falls.
Amidst the splashing of feet,
The rain calls.
As children jump and play,
Their laughter rising in the air,
Playfully, the rain falls,
Pitter-patter without a care.
Outside closed doors,
Muted by walls,
Into open fresh air,
The rain calls.
The elderly stay within, content,
With warm cookies and hot tea.
While the rain puts on a show for them,
Pleasant to hear and to see.
Pitter-patter at the bus-stop,
Rain like tears falls,
Under dark skies,
The rain calls.
To a cold and lonely figure,
Lost in a memory's hall,
Pitter-patter says the rain,
A companion in misery's pall.
Breathing new life,
Into gloomy halls,
A breath of freshness,
The rain calls.
Windswept wet streets,
See two lovers re-unite,
Lips touch in a lovers embrace,
A beautiful, touching sight.
The WhispersDo you hear that? I can never make them out. They are subtle and shy. Soft and uneven. They tangle together and crawl into my mind, hoping to drive me to insanity. Shhhh! I can't tell what they are saying... They float and drift.The Whispers3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
They are the Whispers.
Inserting themselves into every day conversation. I can never get rid of them. I try to silence them. But they never quit. Here they are. Please run. Otherwise you could hear them. And hearing them is...It is...unwise.
For they would tear you apart. Thought by thought. Ripping you until all that's left is a shredded mystery that even the coroner would wonder what had happened. So please stay away or they will infect you. The Whispers are inside of me.
They eat a part of me every day. Taking away any and all surpassing will. I hope you can forgive me for being controlled by them. For the Whispers are everywhere including the inside. I am twisted and I feel numb.
Shhh...I...can finally...hear what....they are...saying...
Dear Teen Me,I know what you're doing when you avert your eyes; you're not listening. You think you have everything figured out because you're not involved in 'trivial adolescent drama' and don't understand the 'minor emotional pitfalls' others 'slavishly weave their lives around'. In fact, you believe yourself to be spiritually enlightened—on the path to another pipe fat full of Who-Knows-What from Who-Really-Cares, but let's be frank: you're an escapist, a thief, an addict, and not fully recovered from the day I'm speaking to you. You may not have been afforded the best opportunities, but you squandered the chances you were given and wasted your intelligence pattering around—and for what?Dear Teen Me,2 years ago in Letters More Like This
The answer, before you can invent one, is nothing. However, I'm not here to belittle you; it would be a waste of time for both of us. Instead, I'm going to make a list because we've always been partial to those.
One. You figured out your sexuality early on, with little shame, and I am proud of you for that. You