poetry month

What speaks

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thrice I have Fallen and Thrice risen
Death no longer opens his door to me
for I have returned from beyond his threshold
I’ve seem too much of the worlds spinning and the vast machinery
to anymore be fooled
by the simple sweet release
that mortal death appears to promise.

Packing a bag

Pelgris4 Comments

Kiss me though
These thorns expose flesh
Tearing us open
But its worth the pain
Impaled on hooks
All of this time waiting
Better is relative
just a step away
flawlessly flawed
Ask me and I will be there

Roses are fun

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Thorns and longstems
Perfect form and bend
The right amount of spring
The green and delicate scent of flowers
Tasting of copper
Slipping into a vase
Droplets clouding the clear water

The journey of a heart

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Oh’ cage my heart
It thump thump thumping
Against its cage of ribs
Looking to get out and be seen

But when heart shattered
it was able to slip past those bonds
And took up sentinel on my sleeve
It wept and screamed there

But it healed
Each piece its own
Each peace together
Each piece beating
Thump, thump, thump

Now I give away pieces of my heart
They scatter to the winds acting as scouts
Sometimes they come back broken
Eventually becoming more wanderer

Seeking 

Hiding in our lives from ourselves

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These phases and phrases that pass us off as normal, do us few favors.

Normal is hiding, normal is manning up or doing as you’re told instead of what’s right.

It’s keeping silent and saying everything is fine when you’ve bought the gun.

It’s saying I need to work through this alone when being alone makes it worse but we enshrine independence as some kind of peak but it’s other people who lift us up.

It’s being cruel to get the laugh and watching their heart crumble a little.

It’s presenting strength and calm
when inside the storm is raging
and just one touch or word could make all the difference
but no one knows to say
because this facade we build is crafted day by day
and today it looks like any other.

Normal is the killer of dreams and the striving for the middle when the extraordinary is right around the corner.

It’s the lie we tell ourselves to make it all better, that this is normal.

That we have to accept this because most people do
but the truth is we don’t really know
because we are all trying so hard to present normal.

We’re dying from normal. We’re losing our selves to normal. We’re slipping away day by day feeding into the great churn of buy this, it’s normal.

But it’s not too late to steal their normal and make it steel toed boots and black dresses and 5 o’clock shadow.

It’s not too late to make this normal their weird. Weird is their term for different, for outliers.

Weird is my term for kindred. I like your weird. Be weird with me. Fuck normal.

Of circles and bargains

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When cast upon the dreaming
We’re split upon the wheel
Forsaken by renewal
Embracing exile

Dance fallow
Sweet groves
In heather sent
And boughs

Mask blight in shadow knowes
Drink blood aged black
Elderberry sweet and bitter
Scent feral kiss in rising moon

Make note of clef
Tongues clever shudder
Moan and befuddle
This ring of silent prose

Emerge dawning
Eyes weary with pose
Predestination and prophecy
My briar rose

The human experience

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I find no retraction
For this endless distraction
Serving up memes
Cold substitute for dreams

The night wears on and on
Repost another picture
Quiz says you Hannibal Lecter
How many engagements
Can I make without actually engaging

We learn the superficial
Our friends come down to this though
Which side of the dress debate you fall on

So much easier to hide behind glowing screens
Than come out to play with all that that means

We’re losing ourselves one day at a time
Looking without when it’s all sitting within