I am candle wax,
Heated by your flame.
Melting underneath you,
It burns as you touch me,
So let me blister your skin.
By evening I am soft and sweet smelling,
By morning I am
Still,
White,
Hardened.
The ones that make you sweat,
And quickly shut your eyes,
And hope that nobody saw,
And hope that you, yourself, did not see.
Seems senseless to try and swallow,
Let alone taste.
Please leave me to consider,
My harder truths.
People around me love me.
They smile at me, they hold my hand.
They have raised me and praised me,
Held me and kissed me,
And showed me just how great I am.
It’s so nice, it’s so fine,
Feeling loved all the time.
But at night,
Oh at night.
A gasp of relief,
That delicious feeling of being alone,
That sweet isolation,
Letting me breathe.
See, there’s this side of me,
That really resides in me,
That despises all of society,
And it's incessant, earsplitting noise.
No change in pitch, in words,
Or in language.
Their voices are always the same.
They open their mouths,
Producing one piercing tone,
And these haunting vibratio
Delighted but conflicted by,
And reminded yet restricted by,
Total euphoric distress such as this.
Baffled, remaining helplessly,
Suspicious of any parody,
Desperately, probing for some flaw.
Conscious of emotional mockery,
Yet all-consumed with compelling beauty,
Wondering, frantically, is this wrong?
Absorbed by dark, heavy lashed eyes,
Their stare equipped to hypnotize,
Yet trying in vain to omit from this raw mind,
That I've fallen for eyes once before.
Hysterically searching for anyone,
Please, anything, to blame.
For when I think about another love,
I am ambushed by your name.
When it snows,
All lives that have ever been lost,
Are set free from the sky,
In one grand wintry toss.
They journey back down,
To the land in which they grew,
Falling on people that miss them,
And strangers they never knew.
They fall to make clear,
That despite our burdens and pains,
Regardless of our dreams and achievements,
From afar, we all look the same.
We melt into the earth,
And though we never know when,
There’s a hint in every snowfall,
Once we melt, we rise again.
Each snowfall,
A reminder,
That it's more of a dazzling downward dance,
Than a fall.
A droplet dripped down the morning,
Reflecting a whining infant sun,
Magnifying all that's breathing, glowing,
Admiring gossamer webs undone.
Is this all a result of neurons?
Tiny cracks breathing electricity,
In patterns planned, like ships to land,
A clock work of simple chemistry?
Warm breath seized by the spineless wind,
Hibernating in such transparent fur,
Painting in circles, stuck forever trying,
To find, to visualize the color of Pure.
A droplet dripped off the page black this morning,
Not poetic, stark, not beautifully.
Just an unforgiving dullness, blandness,
So meaningless, so brutal to me.
Thin knuckles pushing the
Never will I finish any man's sentence,
Never will I be polished and knelt,
Only to eternally see loving association,
As a sentence in its desolate self.
How ungrateful to turn a cheek heaven,
A gift so beautiful, so rare to see,
It was a blessed tactic advised to a pawn,
How can I admire its brilliant artistry,
Grow tiresome, and simply move on?
How the gnash of iron,
The clash of tin,
Was once a symphony of metal,
A knight's armor once against my skin,
And though he sings,
Still proud and strong,
How is it that I,
Wish to mutilate such a precious song?
What monster am I,
Never desiring what I own,
Choosing to wade and w
As part of me dies,
I watch it go.
Like waving from the back of your car window to a neighbor.
Another part will be born,
New and young.
But for now it remains struggling through a long labor.
The power of ridicule,
Perhaps the strongest of all?
Real feelings,
Now how could that be?
How could one be so honest,
so truthful, so open,
Revealing your vulnerabilities?
So we laugh at you,
Though we love you dear,
You force us to reflect on ourselves,
Our self: a beast that we fear.
We laugh at you.
So don't tell us you leave,
crumbs of your body,
In every room that you go,
Because we will laugh at your honesty,
Your brutal be
While pondering a life time,
And watching the world turn by,
I thought about the order of things,
And couldn't help but wonder why.
Why have we got it backwards?
Growing old instead of growing young,
The last few years of life,
Strung out, wearily, one by one.
We begin in a place of comfort,
Nurtured and forever loved,
Grow to be curious and free,
Filled with childish energy.
We end with wisdom in our bones,
But also the pain of experience,
We've found ourselves silently alone,
We've lost everyone who did exist.
Why can't we grow younger?
Pass away in a mother's womb?
Why are we hidden underneath cold dirt?
Buried in a sile
Blank anticipation,
Waiting to be touched,
With the gift of human creation,
Were there is no such thing as enough.
Screaming to have meaning,
Pencil still and silent in it's eager dance,
The air itself waits for the feeling,
Of life spread upon the paper, the blank canvas.
Swirling, tumbling emotions,
Fighting for their spot in line,
Sifting through the feelings,
Finding the ones with color,
The ones that rhyme.
Maybe an artist is just a man,
Who needs to share his pain,
His burden falls into his paper,
It absorbs his feeling,
It is his drain.
I'm searching for a pathway,
A portal, a tunnel, a simple road,
In the midst of
I am candle wax,
Heated by your flame.
Melting underneath you,
It burns as you touch me,
So let me blister your skin.
By evening I am soft and sweet smelling,
By morning I am
Still,
White,
Hardened.
The ones that make you sweat,
And quickly shut your eyes,
And hope that nobody saw,
And hope that you, yourself, did not see.
Seems senseless to try and swallow,
Let alone taste.
Please leave me to consider,
My harder truths.
People around me love me.
They smile at me, they hold my hand.
They have raised me and praised me,
Held me and kissed me,
And showed me just how great I am.
It’s so nice, it’s so fine,
Feeling loved all the time.
But at night,
Oh at night.
A gasp of relief,
That delicious feeling of being alone,
That sweet isolation,
Letting me breathe.
See, there’s this side of me,
That really resides in me,
That despises all of society,
And it's incessant, earsplitting noise.
No change in pitch, in words,
Or in language.
Their voices are always the same.
They open their mouths,
Producing one piercing tone,
And these haunting vibratio
Delighted but conflicted by,
And reminded yet restricted by,
Total euphoric distress such as this.
Baffled, remaining helplessly,
Suspicious of any parody,
Desperately, probing for some flaw.
Conscious of emotional mockery,
Yet all-consumed with compelling beauty,
Wondering, frantically, is this wrong?
Absorbed by dark, heavy lashed eyes,
Their stare equipped to hypnotize,
Yet trying in vain to omit from this raw mind,
That I've fallen for eyes once before.
Hysterically searching for anyone,
Please, anything, to blame.
For when I think about another love,
I am ambushed by your name.
When it snows,
All lives that have ever been lost,
Are set free from the sky,
In one grand wintry toss.
They journey back down,
To the land in which they grew,
Falling on people that miss them,
And strangers they never knew.
They fall to make clear,
That despite our burdens and pains,
Regardless of our dreams and achievements,
From afar, we all look the same.
We melt into the earth,
And though we never know when,
There’s a hint in every snowfall,
Once we melt, we rise again.
Each snowfall,
A reminder,
That it's more of a dazzling downward dance,
Than a fall.
A droplet dripped down the morning,
Reflecting a whining infant sun,
Magnifying all that's breathing, glowing,
Admiring gossamer webs undone.
Is this all a result of neurons?
Tiny cracks breathing electricity,
In patterns planned, like ships to land,
A clock work of simple chemistry?
Warm breath seized by the spineless wind,
Hibernating in such transparent fur,
Painting in circles, stuck forever trying,
To find, to visualize the color of Pure.
A droplet dripped off the page black this morning,
Not poetic, stark, not beautifully.
Just an unforgiving dullness, blandness,
So meaningless, so brutal to me.
Thin knuckles pushing the
Never will I finish any man's sentence,
Never will I be polished and knelt,
Only to eternally see loving association,
As a sentence in its desolate self.
How ungrateful to turn a cheek heaven,
A gift so beautiful, so rare to see,
It was a blessed tactic advised to a pawn,
How can I admire its brilliant artistry,
Grow tiresome, and simply move on?
How the gnash of iron,
The clash of tin,
Was once a symphony of metal,
A knight's armor once against my skin,
And though he sings,
Still proud and strong,
How is it that I,
Wish to mutilate such a precious song?
What monster am I,
Never desiring what I own,
Choosing to wade and w
As part of me dies,
I watch it go.
Like waving from the back of your car window to a neighbor.
Another part will be born,
New and young.
But for now it remains struggling through a long labor.
The power of ridicule,
Perhaps the strongest of all?
Real feelings,
Now how could that be?
How could one be so honest,
so truthful, so open,
Revealing your vulnerabilities?
So we laugh at you,
Though we love you dear,
You force us to reflect on ourselves,
Our self: a beast that we fear.
We laugh at you.
So don't tell us you leave,
crumbs of your body,
In every room that you go,
Because we will laugh at your honesty,
Your brutal be
While pondering a life time,
And watching the world turn by,
I thought about the order of things,
And couldn't help but wonder why.
Why have we got it backwards?
Growing old instead of growing young,
The last few years of life,
Strung out, wearily, one by one.
We begin in a place of comfort,
Nurtured and forever loved,
Grow to be curious and free,
Filled with childish energy.
We end with wisdom in our bones,
But also the pain of experience,
We've found ourselves silently alone,
We've lost everyone who did exist.
Why can't we grow younger?
Pass away in a mother's womb?
Why are we hidden underneath cold dirt?
Buried in a sile
Blank anticipation,
Waiting to be touched,
With the gift of human creation,
Were there is no such thing as enough.
Screaming to have meaning,
Pencil still and silent in it's eager dance,
The air itself waits for the feeling,
Of life spread upon the paper, the blank canvas.
Swirling, tumbling emotions,
Fighting for their spot in line,
Sifting through the feelings,
Finding the ones with color,
The ones that rhyme.
Maybe an artist is just a man,
Who needs to share his pain,
His burden falls into his paper,
It absorbs his feeling,
It is his drain.
I'm searching for a pathway,
A portal, a tunnel, a simple road,
In the midst of
She was once a verse by Baudelaire
something about flowers
that were loyal to none
and I kissed her
when no one was watching.
She was a stanza by Byron
who stood on
the white cliffs of somewhere
and praised her eyebrows.
She is nothing like summer
or a lost continent;
her landscape
is too bold for that.
Her shoulders are not
a country
or a battle to be won.
I thought she was a poem -
Cynara,
or maybe an ode
or sonnet -
words teased and woven
that beat and bled
upon my humble pen,
not the flesh and blood
of thighs and hips
ripening beneath my gaze,
waiting to be written.
I saw you in the ghetto -
with your yellow star,
pulling teeth
and collecting shoes.
And then on the last train
to Birkenau
(or maybe it was Belsen),
hunched in a boxcar
like cows to market,
our shadows old
and unspeakable
as the wheels
broke us down to the floor.
We drank our urine
and told the children
the train was an adventure
that did not need
their tears.
Survival is a funny thing-
not always for the fittest,
and conscience can be
a silent sniper.
I want a girl
who thinks
with her eyes closed
(in black and white)
and does not drink chamomile tea.
She does not watch movies
by Nicholas Sparks
and thinks God
really is Morgan Freeman
or someone she has not met
yet.
She reads Goethe, Sartre
and Salinger
and knows Orlando
is more than just
a city.
She wears plain white tees
and jeans so faded
her skin has lost its
color
and her shoes
chew the pavement
with real distinction.
I hope you have a wonderful birthday! I hope it isn't too cold over there! I'm getting used to the cold November rain; hopefully December will bring me some snow. :3