some walls are
load-bearing,
some doors
need their locks,
some words speak
much louder when
we cannot even
talk
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I cheated: this poem is a repost 🤷♂️
Tag: words
Don’t Play the Game
I hate for you to see me like this–
not weak, but vulnerable.
You may wonder what the difference is
and to be honest,
maybe there’s not much of one:
I would be just fine
with a kick or ten when I’m down.
I’m weak, you know that.
But for you to see that a stray word
richocheted and grazed
this heart I try to hide on my sleeve,
wounding me,
would break me.
I’m not strong, you know that.
Is it pride? I don’t know.
I’m just sorry you had to see this.
Let me rest my eyes,
lay down my head;
you can throw me out with the trash
come morning.
I’m vulnerable, didn’t you know?
Something in the Air
Other things would make more sense,
would work out more, be far less tense,
and still I’m reaching for a star
to fit a hollowed puzzle’s scar,
to cauterize my wounded heart
by poisoned lips disguised as art
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Started writing a new story, which sounds great until I think about all the other unfinished ones. Also, this will probably be a busy week so you’ll get one of two extremes: either I’ll be procrastinating and spending too much time here or I might potentially disappear for a few days. Seems there is no middle ground 🙂
Have a good week either way!
Breaking the Ice
It’s not that I don’t care
but that
even the languages
we all share in these poetic words
are delicate mirrors
into ourselves and others–
it serves a purpose, let’s us see within,
but it’s imperfect, not quite accurate,
and the slightest disturbance
can shatter it into deadly shards.
It’s not that I don’t care
but that
I get excited to share my imperfect words
and break the thin ice instead.
Intimate Definition
I’m cautious using certain words
when crafting poems
since I have heard repeatedly
how great of a “love poem”
a certain piece is.
But friend,
aren’t they all love poems?
Who ever set in stone
that each one was and had to be
one of romantic love?
Are we not allowed friendship
in this vale of tears?
Are we not able to enjoy
the company of others
without the burning of flesh?
Aren’t all poems about love and lost love?
You can change its meaning
but it will not change;
love or leave
the intimate definitions.
The Ailment and the Remedy
I always thought that it would be easy
to run out of words
to convey a single theme,
a single idea,
a single person from
the endless crowds.
I thought it would be easy
and I thought that I’d forget you.
I thought a lot
but it was nothing at all
while the subjects spoke freely
without my help.
I thought it would be easy to stop
yet I can’t seem to separate
the pen from the paper
even when–or even especially when–
I want to.
Good or bad, come what may . . .
I write
Where They’ve Been
I knew that I loved you–
no question of when . . .
like when you were dancing
with words through your pen,
when the paper lit up
like flames with no fire,
when the smokeless smoke rose
yet even higher,
when the clouds formed above
through smoke and through haze,
when the words came back down
completely unfazed,
when I saw them dancing
back home once again,
and you looked happy
when beaming your grin . . .
I knew that I loved you–
no question of when–
even though they’re just words
you know where they’ve been
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I’m posting this here because both were inspired by the same song. I usually write specific inspirations in the tags but if I’ll give non-existent points fo you if you can guess it.
Hint 1: it’s an older song.
Hint 2: it destroyed a few pianos on the Looney Tunes 😄
Where Have My Words Gone?
My knees go weak
and collapse under the weight
of unsaid words,
dry yet drowning
as I fall into their depths.
I didn’t do a thing
yet here I am,
lost in meditative murkiness
and swimming towards
the clear,
no water in my lungs
yet gasping at and grasping
for you
Add title
Start writing…
but what?
Where do I draw the line
between the words
and the inspiration?
Will they know
what I’m saying
when I don’t always know
myself?
Maybe if I cut the line
instead of drawing it
then there would be
room for change.
Start writing…
and tiptoe
through your mind,
stomping with
evasive words
Fame and Infamy
Fame and infamy
are separated
by prefix and action,
one thing leads to another
as the dominos fall together
at the quaking earth.
What happened to the heroes?
They were never heroes.
What happened to the villains?
They were never villains.
What happened to the average folks
who lived average lives
in average times?
They were always average.
A prefix, an action,
a word or two,
a new generation torn between
fame and infamy–
shaken to their very core.
The Unnecessary Blog 