real artyou already told meMore Like This
if a girl were art,
you'd fuck her brains out
but you should know
a bed is a bed
and not a canvas,
her hands are not bristles
but palms and fingers,
her face is not a figure
of pastels, but a face,
and her arms and thighs are
not tools, but arms and thighs
and her voice does not
hold reds, or oranges,
or violets, or greens,
it holds a human.
Mirror.Why do you do that?More Like This
That-- with the water,
flowing from your eyes.
You mean cry?
Oh, is that what that's called?
Well, yes. Why do you cry?
Because I am not beautiful.
But you are,
way beyond normal measure.
You can trust me, I see you everyday.
You wouldn't understand,
how could you understand?
But how could I not?
I sit here
day after day,
no real identity--
merely reflecting all around me.
I wait every morning for you to look at me.
I'm only beautiful when you stand before me.
No one can see me as I truly am,
they can only see themselves--
and you think you're the one
that deserves to cry.
Puzzle Pieceswhat is everything but an array of pieces blending together,More Like This
connecting, winding, clashing,
for nothing is complete without each fraction
connecting, winding, clashing, and joining as one,
and as one, can be simplified into two components...
for a half is never complete without another half,
she is my half,
every ingredient, every element, every branch,
must connect to something...
even as a half stands on it's own,
is never truly alone,
for there, somewhere, is another half to complete it's circle,
because one half is always part of one whole,
it is these two halves that balance each other,
with good, with bad,
creating a flow that never ceases to end.
she is my half.
Her Innocence I LoveI am unholyMore Like This
Tainted and bad
There is nothing safe about me
And people are drawn to it
I am pitch black
I have found stark white
I have found Innocence in her
Is it fake, No?
Is a trait I adore
Some may see it as a burden
But to me, It is change
Her wide eyes as they look around
So stunned in awe
Utterly unaware of those who watch her
Trying to unearth who she is
At one glance
I know she doesn't belong she is too pure
I want to take her hand and pull her away
So she may keep her innocence
When she comes close, I am immovable
Her eyes, like diamonds in the sun light
Gleaming with a powerful strength
She seems so frail
So Innocent and at peace
But in those eyes lay another truth
Something has happened in her life
At once, I want to render
Who ever has done such a crime
For hurting her is a sin
One look in her eyes, I have seen a past
One of running and fear
Of loss and grief
I want to hug this Innocence
Keep her safe and tell her it was a dream
To My Beautiful Artistso beautiful is the pen marking paper,More Like This
curves of bold, slender, and jagged lines,
filling itself onto the soul of this white sheet,
filling the paper with each passing day,
permanent, forever engraved
giving everything it has inside it's being
until the ink runs out
reaching to every corner of this once blank sheet,
the ink and the paper are now one,
forever etched into each other's existence.
Were I AmMore Like This
I want to go home
But,I don't know were home is
I want to be free
But, I don't know were my cage ends
I want to be lost
But, I want to be found
Most of all I want to know
Why you keep coming around
Last poemMore Like This
The last poem
I wrote to you
The days are long
And painted blue
Consumed by bordom
My lies are true
The last poem
I write to you
9 Lone strangersSorrowMore Like This
on the wind
as 9 dark strangers
led this story to begin
they entered alone
without a sound
each one slithered
into the center of town
in the middle square
where life had began
houses ran as the vains of the lanes
all boarded up windows and door frames
9 lone strangers
entered the square in town
they gethered amidst the cold
without making a sound
watching their moves
through the board cracks
and shrouded grooves
bringing down lightning and thunder
tearing the ground
9 strangers came
and were gone in a flash
etched into hooded eyes
was a whole new wonder
life, color, joy and sound
started to pour from the breach
clashing with sorrow in the air all around
as the sadness's end was almost within reach
the final push of the sword hilt drew
the battle to the end
as the newfound courage and love slew
the love that was once pretend
This hamlet viewed from the rest of the world
is only a heart of man
whos love once was lost in a bleak abyss
the trans-, the pan- and the asexual. i.More Like This
He couldn't feel like a boy
And a girl
At the same time.
So he grew his hair long
With colorful dreadlocks
And wore eyeliner
But kept his name.
They told her that
She could either love boys
So she fell in love
With the boy who
Was born as a girl.
He didn't feel love
For the girl with the large chest.
Or the boy with the sparkling eyes.
But that didn't mean
He didn't love them
In his own way.
If that boy's way of loving is
And the boy with the long hair and eyeliner's way of loving is
And the girl who had a taste for personality, not gender's way of loving is
Then aren't we all just
The Starving Are No LongerHer feet pounded into the ground. She stumbled, keeling over slightly before narrowly missing a tree and using that to press off, to push forward. The gun shots were harsh and sharp behind her ears and that whistle kept blowing, its cries loud and persistent, seemingly following her even though she knew that they didn't know she was there.More Like This
A road came up. She slowed, sandalled feet slapping to a halt in some of the thick bushes to the side of it. Bodies littered the highway, blood pooling in thick dark pools, staining the orange dirt beneath. The sun was just beginning to rise and, as its light began dispelling the shadows from the area around her, she put a hand over her mouth and nose, half wishing the sun would never rise again to lay light on this place.
The haphazard lines of bodies stretched as far as the eye could see, pathetic mounds of clothing slumped over in what would have been an uncomfortable heap if they had not been deceased.
A lone stray dog, thin and tan coloured, tro
PovertyIt is Sunday, and a girl is dying.More Like This
You must have seen her, with cracked hands
And cheeks as hollow as her eyes, staring defiantly
At every person that passes her without a glance.
She thinks they must be able to smell it on her:
The bitter tang of metals and grit in her water
And the faint but penetrating scent of sickness.
She sells candies and paper flowers from a cart,
And stands up straight with her dress hanging
Like a sack, though it was a lovely yellow once.
Every so often as she passes her wares to a buyer,
She thinks that the petals and colorful wrappers
Look like wishes should; but she cannot have them.
She must always return to the same cramped room
And dream fitfully of fresh food, health, and comfort
While life pales from her face, like the waxing moon.
One cannot live on bread alone,
But that would be a start.
painted heartA little boy in Uganda is learning to countMore Like This
on the ridges of his ribs
as they rise like fingers
from the folds of his ragged
His heart is beating like a fist
against his sunken chest
against the closet door
gasping for breath
until the day when those ribs
don't cage his lungs
like prison bars
as he paints straight faces
onto the cells of his DNA,
tears dripping onto the canvass
of his skin like ashes.
Heaven is on fire
from all the hatred-kissed
swollen lips of supposed Christians
who preach Godliness
as Jesus cries thou shalt not kill.
These children stuff roses
into their captor's guns
like love can stop bullets
like love can put out fires,
and paint hearts on the dusty floors
of jail cells where gay men and women
stare at the ceiling and imagine stars
while HIV runs through their veins
like pretty red ribbons run
through the hair of preacher's daughters
and senators who wipe their bloody hands
on the sands of Uganda.
Washington's hoarding the water
while bones burn like B
DomesticHer lashes were crinkled feathers,More Like This
brushing up against her bruised skin;
violet and red speckles.
The scars on her body
were translucent lines
making patterns of
regret and bitterness.
Earthquakes were running
through her fingers.
domestic abusethe bruises that cover her armsMore Like This
are black and blue
the tears that run down her face
from her eyes to her chin
she walks with a limp
but refuses all offered help
on the bus she sits alone
her music blaring
she looks down into her lap
with a sombre expression
the sag in her shoulders
shows that she gave up long ago
the abuse seems to have followed her
from her childhood to her adult life
only the faces have changed
her stepfather to her boyfriend
they always blame her
and she is starting to believe it
The Wife of a Thunder Stromshe sat at her table,More Like This
fiddling with her wedding ring,
wondering if she would ever be able
to walk out her front door.
the draft in the house
caused her to shake.
in the distance she hears her spouse
and the brewing storm.
a defensive position,
begging the winds to change.
the gusts begin
flinging her body to the walls,
they howl of sin.
and then, the rain starts.
specks cover her face,
her clothes and pretty dress.
seeping liquid into lace.
an explosion of thunder.
once loved items break,
her bones, and body, and soul,
leaving only ache.
as lightening strikes again.
leaving only darkness.
Domestic Demisescreaming, yelling, crying and fightingMore Like This
holes in walls
and trash strewn out all over the place
tears creating puddles of depression
in the carpet and the soul
and the wounds have grown
from the violence and anger combined
calmness can never reside here
in the walls of pain and sorrow
and the glass, and booze have caused a fear
that will be felt longer than tomorrow
not just a week, a month but many a year
children screaming, crying and cringing
in corners dark and wet with pain
with fear as palpable as the rain
bruises, cuts, scratches and sprains
take their toll on a broken soul
the violence starts to reach a peak
and only anger and fear remain here
and out of the blue not a moment too soon
the angry man comes up with a plan
and the violence comes to a halt
after the booming blasts that will always last
in the eyes and the ears and mind and fears
of the children who were there in the past
watching the light of the life of the wife
slipping away, never to
Pollution City, IllinoisGreeted upon waking by stagnant airMore Like This
The morning birds are choking outside my window
Factory smog clouds my vision
The dusty dusk skyline has an eerie glow
The flowers are wilted
Even the weeds can't survive
And though in the midst of mass-pollution
Our economy's barely alive
Showiering in near-opaque water
The grass is brown on this side of the plain,
Where only the festering foster
Any joy, save for corn and soy,
In Pollution City, Illinois.
This city.Walking down the street,More Like This
I cough as if something's
stuck in my throat.
But there's nothing.
Different from the one I'm used to.
This air is deadly,
we helped create it.
My beloved city,
once so clean.
Is now covered in trash.
Trees cut down,
to make way for
The air around us,
You can see it from miles away.
It's where I lived all my life.
It's changed for the worst.
This trash, this poison.
This damn pollution.
Icey SorrowsAs the winter breezeMore Like This
blows by my knees
and the tears rolling down my face
start to freeze
I don't even notice the cold
Only thinking about what you told
Desperate KindnessWalking down the streetMore Like This
No one knows my name.
The people that I meet,
They all seem the same.
Blond hair, blue eyes, big smile,
It doesn't feel that real.
They said they knew me for a while...
But they don't know how I feel.
Tripped over my own feet,
No one caught my fall.
A single glance tells me
That no one cares at all.
Standing slowly on my own,
I wipe the dirt off of my knees.
No compassion shown,
Not for anyone, not for me.
The sky seems very grey,
It''s essence completely dark.
No one seems to pray.
No one has a spark.
Blind to where I'm going,
Sightless when I'm running,
Do I have a home?
Branches slap my face,
Cuts and bruises on my skin.
Running from the truth;
Fleeing from what I've been.
Huddled in the darkness,
Trying to keep warm.
See the flashes of lightening,
Hear the rumble of a coming storm.
Wind whips my hair in knots
I know I cant get out.
Rain slices across my face,
Under thunder, no one hears my shouts.
No one would hear my screams,
Not in a