Dandelion seeds tickle my flesh
like your kisses
and such like your kisses
only appear for a few months a year
replaced with something else.
I love the appearance of dandelions
on a lawn,
it gives it color
and a country beauty
that you also possessed.
What would be even more beautiful,
is the sun rising through the eastern window
waking us in the middle of winter,
burdened by the cold
yet comforted by the other’s warmth.
But you only bloom once a year,
and after I make my wish you are gone.
What if I wished for you to stay?
Would that wish ever come true?
Are these memories
My Writing My Poetry About Me
born from the woes infesting my mind
these blood stained memories
I attempt to forget
and I attempt to forget remembering,
yet your demonic eyes
your staining eyes
like blood upon my clothing
burrows beneath my skin
bores into my heart
and breaks past my veil of ignorance.
Your eyes exhume my memories
the ones with in the sepulcher
beneath the weathered tomb stone
with no flowers to decorate the grave.
They puncture my heart like needles of ice
from the piercing rain
drenching the soft dirt
and cascading from my eyes.
The ice doesn't melt
as scarlet seeps from the wounds
the blood saturates into the seams of my white shirt
soaking me in my own blood
as punishment for remembering.
Dandelion seeds tickle my flesh
I said I would write about nature,
but all I can see
is the way your eyes seethe
like the sea when the moon’s too close,
wide and brazen
green and passionate.
I drown in those eyes.
and yet you don’t help me,
no whistle for the life guard or howl of my name.
When everything’s dark in my mind,
and I felt death’s firm hands load me on his chariot,
Your lips like sitcom CPR,
that doesn’t work,
I can taste the salt
and feel your riptide as you drag me out further
waters black in anger
that anyone would take me
since you had already claimed me,
and my heart filled with salt water.
drink water from earth,
poisoned by blood and madness;
vomit and you lose.
kiss my forehead, please
vanquish my aspirations
B for bitch
U for underestimated
R for rough around the edges
D for devastated
E for exaggerated
N for never good enough
Acrostics suck. And I guess so do I.
My emotional mortgage was too high.
My soul foreclosed on my body.
Pluck the roses,
Feel the thorns,
Dye them with your blood,
Because they’re supposed to be scarlet.
Your head will roll for this
Along the ground, through the grass
Just like the meatball from the song.
Down the hill past the pokey little puppy
And past the mulberry bush.
Ashes. Ashes. The head rolls on.
Children sing of your mistake.
You become famous as you burn on the stake.
Ashes. Ashes. The world will turn to dust, but the flowers live on, stained in the outcome of your trust.
my roots have tree rot
my petals decayed to ash
i am incomplete
and the crispness of the midnight air poisons me with possibilities
To beat above the swords
Soaring from bloody lips
Wishing to shred the paper wings
And be soaked in forgiving scarlet tears.
If love bears wings
Then what has hate?
A chariot to confiscate
Those forbidden feelings
Received from above the swords
Those emerald words
Glinting in the eyes
That watch the wings
snow. i have an unappreciated love for it.
its like drifting shavings of my happiness.
it makes me smile.
too bad it all melts away the moment i try to hold it.
I’m so trusting, yet I’m so scared.
I’m so open, yet I’m so secretive.
I’m so extroverted, yet I lack self-confidence.
I’m so depressed, yet I act so happy.
Paradoxes fill this empty shell I call an unheard name
I’m short tempered, but tall-taled.
I’m blue, but orange is my pretend personality.
I’m hard-hearted, but soft willed.
I’m a shattered heart, but a reflection of what I want to be.
I’m a small minded person, but a large candidate in hypocrisy.
and the biggest paradox about me, is that I’m not a paradox, because I am nothing.
diseased fingers stroke everything,
jealous of things that these fingers do not hold.
grimy fingers leave stains upon everything,
just wanting something they don’t tarnish.
bleeding fingers stroke everything,
regret drenched objects that never once were theirs.
Empty, pleading tears.
Laughable. I am.
Go away. Make all this.
Death to the one who lies.