* 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
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.
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.
Forgive MeI'm tired. Loki. Why are you coming in so late in the night?Forgive Me2 years ago in Drama More Like This
What is it that you want from me, my son? An apology?
Oh, that's what you want, then? An apology for my actions so many years ago?
There is no way I can apologize for what happened. You were already torn from my arms. You were already stolen off. You were already reared by another. No mere words I speak now will be able to undo that. Nothing I can do will bring you back into my arms.
How could I ever apologize for doing something so egregiously wrong?
I left you behind.
I left you behind!
I didn't mean to. Of course I didn't mean to! You were our boy who would grow into our son. Our precious baby.
Once the Great War started, once the blood of our brothers began to guise our true purpose, my priorities began to shift in the wrong direction. I could not think evenly when our--my--people, those whom I had sworn to protect until my dying breath, were being slaughtered. They became the priority.
I had to eva
Musings Of a Foggy MorningTo the left is a meadow,Musings Of a Foggy Morning3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sun rising just above
that surround the dew drenched grass.
A perfect Sunrise,
all purples and pinks and cream
shadowed by the remnants of Night,
and accented by fire in the sky.
Opposite that is a field
by a river
And all that the Fog touches
Rusted trucks and weeping trees
none are warm
none touch the Sun
so close at hand.
And on the rural road between
We AreWe Are the generation who never learned how to speak.We Are5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
We Are the offspring of the decade
20 years hence.
Post 60s love, 70s drugs, 80s hair.
We don't know where we fit. Not yet.
We were the last to grow up on Sesame Street before it was unsuitable for children.
We are. Statistics.
Lost in a world that doesn't recognize us. We let our different colored ipods define us.
We are. Plugged in. To every one else.
Caffeine-addicted alcoholic cyber-socialites.
We are. 3-am internet junkies.
Learned our 1s and 0s before our yes's and no's
We are. Complacent uncaring electorates.
We think joining a Facebook group is an act of protest
We are. Godless. And Godful. Indifferent and morally pretentious
We are. Affixed to our LCD screens.
The Network manifest, Viral Video machine.
We are. The self-destructive invincible
We are. The philosophic insomniacs
Unread blogs of misplaced ideals, deified.
We are. A cavalcade of unwavering conformity
The will of the collective unconscious.
Mirror, Mirrormirror mirror on the wallMirror, Mirror3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
who's the fairest of them all?
must you count my every flaw
slash my heart and make it raw
mirror mirror on the wall
tell me please just what they saw
from my faith I start to fall
in this pain my heart does call
Misconceptionsthe extrovert isn't—Misconceptions2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sun in the sky of a million
blue silks sewn together:
that summer to come,
a laundered morning strewn
with white yearning—
and the introvert isn't—
scraping coins in an alley,
smoggy eyes above a mouth like
lines: red-cracked but parting
when stars break gray clouds,
calling on their mica beds
to reflect off his face—
the extrovert is—
the man sweet-talking the first ideas
of his tongue,
waiting for reception—
while the introvert
KushThe more I think about the thingsKush2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
which transcend this physicality,
the less I want to smoke.
HisOn an underwhelmingly pleasant day, Sherlock decided John was his. He came to the conclusion while he lounged on the couch in their flatshooting holes in a picture of Mycroft he had pinned to Mrs. Hudson's already damaged walland began to reason out why exactly John was his or what John was to him that he could own him. It was not often that Sherlock couldn't put words to his thoughts, and it was not often that he was so stumped that he considered asking someone. Of course that wasn't actually an option, so he shot another three holes before he reloaded the six shooter pistol. He raised, aimed, firedHis3 years ago in Romance More Like This
One. John was not his friend. Sherlock Holmes did not have friends, unless it was beneficial to say so. He talked to John, and he knew John's habits, but normal people were so simple to catalog. They were boring but
Two. John wasn't boring. He was often near Sherlock on boring days but was never a cause for more boredom or grief. His blog could be quite an annoyanc
my body is a funeral servicethis morning i emptied your ashes into the sky, hoping to watch them sift through my fingers like an eagle taking flight. but the wind carried them backwards and my face became an ashtray for memories. you came back to me, like you always do, like a kiss or a reoccurring dream that i can never forget. i became cloaked in black grain, the remnants of your body. your cremated smile was caught somewhere between the stinging in my eyes and the ash on my jacket.my body is a funeral service3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
in that moment my body became a funeral service. my lips preached your names to the trees. i forgot what it was like to feel anything but hymns pressing down on my back like the heat of the sun. i smelled of incense and bones burning in a fire people are paid to create. it was more than i could bear. for weeks, i obsessed on how someone could lift a motionless shell of a body into an inferno, watch people die a second time and accept their paycheck at the end of the day.
i wanted to step into that crematorium and pluck pulses like f
Gospelsend a messiah,Gospel2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a handsome blue-eyed hero,
a wise-worded miracle maker
that run off our backs like water,
forgotten at the hand of the next writer;
divinity who patiently sews together
an everyman's problems,
asking for no pay but a loyal follower;
one to rid the country and a world
of hungry mites and dust
pushed under presidents' persian rugs,
unafraid to do what's right
in spite of wealthy condemnations;
superman or jesus will do.
Tattoodo not write poetryTattoo2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
on your skin
unless you mean to contemplate
Monster -- scene prototype Liza Provita weaved her way through the forest, drenched. Having been left behind by her relatives in their rush for cover, she was only a little bit lost, a situation aggravated by the worsening weather. But it wouldn't be dark for several hours, and she knew the manor couldn't be far. So she pushed on.Monster -- scene prototype3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
With an exasperated sigh, she bunched up her infinite skirts in her fistsonce pale-blue, now muddy-brownas she tromped through the mud and the rain in a most unladylike fashion. She herself couldn't care less about what she looked like, her thoughts more preoccupied with the current task of getting home. But she could imagine even now the acute displeasure that would be her Aunt Yvette's. She envisioned the tall, bony woman in her mind's eye, saw her thin, painted lips puckering as they always did whenever things were not going to her liking. Liza, she would scold, her eight-or-so layers of skirts forcing Li
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
hermanitayou said mami named you out of the grabbag,hermanita2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
one painted green-white-red and blaring brass:
pick three, we need two for the middle,
mexican female protagonist with hope
and something easy at the front,
something gringos can say.
ruffled hair, dyed black by my hands,
you twisted and spat,
sometimes i wanna go by esperanza;
screw sandra cisneros,
the tin way others say it,
it's a beautiful name but you'd still call me maria,
so i told you, maybe,
maybe everyone would but it's okay to be maria—
as long as you don't pick bella
i'll still say i'm your brother.
you laughed like crackling static,
raw throat and all bones: hug me and we clatter,
laughing harder, all bones.
at least they loved me—ambrose?
saint or no,
no wonder you're a maricón.
and we laughed like crackling static,
19:38-21:23i have not prayed since i was a child,19:38-21:233 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
unless You count the times i disregarded formality
and addressed You coarsely or candidly.
that's not to say i don't believe in You
or have disavowed your Grace,
but i think everyone's noticed You don't pick up the phone
or maybe You just have a lousy secretary.
i'll make this very brief because
and i have work in a few hours;
when i thought i saw You on the horizon
somewhere beside the setting sun,
taking the shape of a cloud more violet than the others,
were You there or am i desperate? were You there
or was i reaching for nothing?
You don't need to respond,
but i'd appreciate it.
UncheartedUncheartedUnchearted3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Home is where the heart is.
Where do you go if you have no heart?
The end is where the start is.
How can you proceed.
Without a fully motorized engine?
The inanimate body still bleeds.
How can we function and operate.
Without a soul purpose?
Love and pain refuse to cooperate.
Life becomes incomplete
The journey becomes obsolete
Unrelated Poemsone. Trust IssuesUnrelated Poems2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'd prefer less dependence on water; I'm shy
of commitment to things that keep me alive or
purge toxic entities who may have had the answer
to the question I've yet to find.
two. Elyn Saks
Empathetic to Schizophrenia—
brief sketches in the radar flicker to paranoia,
an almost understanding of something that isn't there,
yet inexplicable to a man passing on the street,
his shoes casting loud shadows up to the doorway:
inherent to metaphysics, your hands shake,
cusping on the sensation of something observed.
three. Fixed Reality
You died but are capable
of imagining yourself a hero: retrospective texts
written the night before,
pressing into the mass of circulation,
influencing your remembrance as historians shine
the gilded calf.
four. your fascination with geology has made me—
evidence of your inadequacy surfaced
in the wrinkled striation of your unwashed laundry:
browbeaten by her repetitive questions,
eons elapsed in the span of a guilty confession: