you've been dead for a year, my deari met you on december 21st,More Like This
the longest night of the year.
you had solstice eyes: cold, dark, alluring.
i knew you were not meant to last,
powerful as a gale but fragile as
the tulip stems you snapped,
a sickening cycle of you,
an overwhelming tidal wave.
they say two wrongs will never make a right,
but i made so many bad choices that
i wound up back where I began.
it was too easy to love you,
but getting you to love me back was impossible.
i clawed at your chest until I struck blood,
until my nails split into shards.
you were born a phantom,
and i, your corpse.
holding onto you felt like drowning in quicksand;
i fought but always sank into your arms.
i breathed in dirt, breathed in dust, and
found my organs choked with you,
smothered by your existence.
you sucked out my breath
every time i kissed you.
i died every day with your hand
knotted in my hair.
You left on june 21st,
the longest day of the year.
i bit down sorrow and deconstructed
the labyrinth within me,
the one you hadn't th
i haven't forgottentell me, boyMore Like This
who is your god.
do not say it
is the limbs
that spread you
do not tell me it is
hands wrapping a head
board, nor a mouth
tugging your name
i want to know who it is
that makes you lucent,
bent beneath the dark,
because there is no divinity
like the one that makes
how to become a writer.don't.More Like This
stay away from
pencils and pens.
or at blank pages
of notebook paper.
to the emerald sigh of
the shredded sheets
everything you've worked
your whole life to run away from.
don't live in the moment.
let love and fear float by,
just a skimming whisper,
because a whisper
is better than nothing.
a whisper is better
than the brittle falling-apart
suffer from catoptric tristesse,
but don't think about it
(for too long, anyways.)
look at the mirror
but never look yourself
in the eye,
because who knows what you've become?
don't write what you're feeling.
you don't even know what you're feeling.
leave the pencil alone,
because the pencil will not submit
to the slow,
of your life.
Just Say YesThe influence of her soul celestial dawn. Each morning light up my senses.More Like This
For me you are the sun, that flooded my heart…
The road to my salvation…
For me touch your hair, It's like being in heaven…
Between the lights of your eyes, and the warmth of your soul...
The only secret I keep inside me ... is the immortality of an eternal love.
Those intense eyes mysteriously watching me... Because it was your soul, by nature was all the good that can be: compassionate, patient, honest, virtuous and full of love.
Today I decide to love you. I want nothing more than in this life. It's torture, an insult. I decide. And I decide to reject it, and why? Just to be with you.
You've been like finding the full grace, an experience beyond any trivial sense. As a religious experience.
Because, since I had the good fortune to look at you, the only thing I can remember clearly is the death of a heart that only lives to adore you.
A bitter sob burns my throat. I would not sleep anymore
Not by PowerAnd these are the daysMore Like This
Held together, not by power, but by smiles,
Not by industry, but by will,
Not by people swept into the cracks between the shiny tiles,
But by brother and sisterhood,
And those who help each other up and over
Each and every hill.
J. Shidler, 2013-07-28
RingThese are the days of sick pale sunlightMore Like This
Worms writhing in the soft muddy ground
Baseball played in black mourning uniforms
By ghosts of summers past
These are the days of gulls dashing against rocks
Of stories half-remembered read from yellowed books
Confused dust fumbling about in slanted light
In ancient hospital rooms
These are the days of wanting to be more
Fuller, more colorful, vibrant and alive
But these days squirm in semi-darkness
Eating shadows of the past
I see you removed your ring; it was cheap, and left a green circle on your finger.
Nothing is golden anymore.
boys that want you, boys that love you.1.More Like This
there are four kinds of love.
the first is honest.
the first is messy.
it’s smeared makeup.
it’s tears over a martini.
it’s people dancing alone.
it’s off-key singing, at the top
of your lungs.
it’s unmade beds.
it’s the hickey on your neck.
it’s the gasp he gave
when he first saw you,
how he missed your lips
when he tried to kiss you.
after he made you cry.
the second kind is what you feel
for the boy lying next to you.
there’s cigarettes in the ashtray,
panties on the floor,
a lump in your throat,
and he does not love you back.
the third kind is when you'll meet
and that little moment will stretch
into something huge and permanent,
into a month/six months/a year
of a million glances that you'd thought
it’s when you'll say nothing
and neither will he
because there will be no need
because he'll very nearly smile
and you'll know.
infinite/opposite.being an adult means knowingMore Like This
that there are things much scarier
than spiders, or snakes, or clowns.
the ocean, for one.
losing your parents.
empty tequila bottles.
waking up, still reaching
for someone who left you
a long time ago.
i live like there’s an end for me
because there is.
plants will wilt.
forests will burn down.
eventually, even the stars will burn out.
people will come to us.
they will touch us. they will hurt us.
they may keep us. they may not.
but i never hold on too tight
because when it’s time, my time,
i’ll only be letting go.
the heart has valves
that constantly open and close
giving love, taking love.
and my best advice
is to be selfish.
know when you’ve had enough.
know when you deserve better.
close the valves and
keep some love for yourself.
know that you are perfect
even if you eat that second cheeseburger
because there’s magic in this world.
we’re proof of it.
is fear o