Widowed – Poetry

My ring finger holds a secret

A lingering

To be remembered

Opposite side

It sits heavy

Where two worlds collide

My right hand is covered

But my ring finger died

There is no growing season

Twilight moons have become full grown

The growl in my aches have turned full blown

I am childlike from these moans

My pen and paper have turned stones

From the weight of this wind

And death has become my companion

Widowed

***
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The Language of Love – Poetry

I lay and I think

Love can happen in one simple wink

And has many times before

Love is something we’ve all explored

Chances we take

That either makes or break our opinion of love

Fields of emotions

Like a rose that we chose

A risk we take, it’s a big deal because it’s our hearts that’s at stake

Love is like a fire, an arsenal of desire, a whirlpool of devotion, and weird subliminal notions

Bottled up it’s the heart’s magical potion

Love can be good; love can be bad, love can be happy, love can be sad

It’s all up to you

Just as cool as the wind or as painful as a pin poking at your gut

We’re so easily caught up in love’s clutch

Or as beautiful as the symphony or diamonds from Tiffany’s

Love can be sweet as candy or… fine and dandy

Or as spectacular as fire works with quarks and perks

Depends on me and how far my love is willing to see

My love sees rainbows and daffodils like a roller coaster with thrills and exciting twists

Or that first passionate kiss

Have you ever listened and heard like a baby’s first word

It rained yesterday and guess what I saw?

I saw tear drops constantly fall

I love the sound of rain

Love should not mean pain

I used to think love could meet me on the moon and never would be too soon

We should nurture love and give it every chance we can

I choose to vent love through my pen and hope this time love will win

Love has been a symphony of dreams and I’ve always been on the losing team

Love can be a fire hard to tame

Or fall in love and not even know their name

Love has no faces and doesn’t discriminate between races

Love can be paint on a canvas

Splashes of love

Overwhelming hugs

That runs through my veins like drugs

Love is lily’s and quiet little walks in South Philly or silly little looks

That’s the language of love

When I think of love I think of hearts being colored in red or children being told stories before they go to bed

When I think of love I think of pastures filled with butterflies or teachers teaching children how to make tie-dye

When I think of love I think of how excited my grandma was when she brought my first bra

When I think of love I think of leaves changing colors in the fall and couples holding hands while shopping in the mall

When I think of love I think of angels being sent down to lend a hand or birds playing footsies in the sand

Love will be here when we’re dead and gone love has been here all along

Love is something money can’t buy

Love has many questions…

But no answers

So don’t ask love… why ?

Use the universe as your source

Allowing love to take its course

100 YEARS – Poetry

100 years to exist here,
Chasing eternity
Nothing is as it appears
Frightened tears leap from my face
Time is not steady moving at its own pace
The clock at war with fate
It’s a deceptive chase
My cat has 9 lives but fights to stay alive past 8 teen

Or somewhere in between
And I wish
I wished
I wished the whys

We’re all going to die
Why are we tied to this troubled lie called purpose and destiny
100 years left the rest of me
And I wish
And I wished
For my cat to have
100 years

mentalnotes1

For Halloween I want to be a morphine drip

To let the sun dry me up

And run healing through this broken cup

But there is no sun in October

And the weather is always better after the rain

The atmosphere is clearer

But the environment stays the same

 

For Halloween I want to be a morphine drip

And sip on tomorrow

And lend out me

And get back things people have barrowed

I want to empty this drip

And let go of Eden that holds on to me with a death grip

The Garden of Eden was not a place

But an atmosphere

And things are not always as beautiful as they may appear

 

For Halloween I want to be a morphine drip

So I can crawl backwards through my veins

And nod sluggishly off into corrosion

Mixing this chemical with the rain

 

I want to…

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Bitten

I loathe myself

And I will him

To never remember me

Tombstones in my Mattress

I’ve got Tombstones in my Mattress 

Waiting for the next certain death

To join this grave site of men and women I have not yet met

I deem it over before it begins

And I mourn these relationships

Over

And over again

I got Tombstones in my Mattress

And I practice pretending they aren’t there

Potholes and traps for all who enter these tomb filled snares

I got ash cans and grey post

That line the belly of this seam

I got construction going on

In the trinkets of my dreams

In the pit of my Mattress

I call it the dead zone

Their building a fortress

And fences

Calling it their home

And they aint even paying rent

I evicted two tenants

And  could care less where they went

I’ve got Tombstones in my Mattress

And I’m prepared to burn this dwelling place

I can’t sleep at night

Without these men staring me in my face

These tombstones have been constructed for over twenty long years

And their comfortable in my bed

Playing spade and swallowing down imported beers

I’m not sad

Depressed

Or angry

I just want these men gone

They’ve been sleeping in my bed with me for twenty years too long

I got diamonds hidden in these dirt filled tombs

Being smothered by dandelions and oversized poisoned mushrooms

My bed has become crowded

And the only person I’m angry at is me

Because I have allowed these men to literally enslave me

I’ve got souls that I desperately need to set free

I keep these memories alive and I hate the reflection I see

I got construction workers knocking walls down building rooms to be filled

While I’m shoveling dirt working hard to empty this dirt filled mill

Gatekeepers come from nowhere, hired in this dark ground of doom

I’ve invited men in to fill these empty tombs

I cannot stand being cramped up in my own bed

I demised a portal

For people who have long time been dead

They have decomposed

Honestly some of them I don’t even know

It’s God awful that their locked in this trench

I’m not sure how much longer I can tolerate this awful stench

Every tombstone has a different face

And a different name

But they’re not much different at all

Really their all the same

I got all these people living in my bed

And it’s deep

It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten a good night’s sleep

I am on the brink of something really big

Tonight, these men are getting the hell up out of my bed

I want to be rid of this affliction

So tonight, I’m sure I’ll be handing out some evictions

Caged

A broken wing

To hang a thing

To think a thing

Then become that thing

Only I can see

And the many people who live in me

Somethings fucking wrong with me

An open rip

My brain is nipped

Aliens have me microchipped

Where the blackness hung

Hung me there

Hung me in the wood somewhere

And nowhere

I will my mind to not betray me

From beyond the thoughts

Sounding things

Exposing me

White noise urging me

Eyes were watching me

My heart was chasing me

My breath was racing me

Exhaust

Did

Live in me

To end this pain

Nervous bleeding in my brain

Dragged me back to somewhere and nowhere

At once

Everywhere

This!

Insanity

Living with

Social Anxiety

Nauseous (Poetry)

mentalnotes1

Nauseous from all the sour men I’ve eaten

Understanding my belly more because of them it’s deepened

Watching others cope by cutting while I watch the blood seeping

Tired from this nod spend all my time sleeping

I’ve been confused, panicked and afflicted

Poor me another so I become estranged and addicted

Lady Sings the Blues was my song

Tryna’ wait on God but He seems to take too long

Dancing would have been nice if it wouldn’t have sickened my brain

Spirituality gone wild need a lion trainer to tame

Moonless nights and sunless days

So she plays

And she played

And he paid

Running from her Shadow Knights turning into days

And he stays

Then he strays

So she prays

An evil trick left me sick nervous click felt time tick

Took me days and days till Dawn the universe spinning there’s no Harmony lost in my yawn

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Endless tears

Endless tears fall on seasons

A valley long to describe a kiss

Of blinded bliss

To wish a where

To bend a tare

Hidden in the deepest parts of my pubic hairs

That left a tear

Falling

The Hunter – Creative writing

He hunted me over deserts and tumbleweeds
It moved like a bounty hunter and had leads on me
When I last saw him in Dakota in 1846 he bloodied my nose
I got away on his horse

Fell to the wayside
Posters over dry land
He searched for me
I moved like a vagabond, running from the ripper
I was a ghost
I thought I had escaped the hunters grip
It scoured taverns, speakeasies and bath houses looking for me
I was clumsy
Running from the hunter
I was set up
Ambushed by love
Betrayed
It caught me off guard
It hip checked me
We tussled
Dragged me by my hair
Like a fuckin’ cave man
To the tavern
While the towns people watched in horror
Some laughed and held the wanted posters up
Pointing fingers
Again
It bloodied my nose
I chuckled
Then stumbled back
I spat
Spat my death in his face
And I laughed
Wickedly
And it shot me!
And I bled
And I bled out

He took a shot of that dirty whisky
Hand on gun

Tilted his hat

Looked around
And said…
Pay me

The hunter