what are you living for?
a question that i have heard too many times to count
how do i answer a question that has no answer
it's what i would have said if you had asked me just 4 months ago.
but just when i was ready to jump
ready to do something i couldn't undo,
i heard the most beautiful noise i had ever heard
her voice
as soon as her voice echoed in my ear
suddenly everything was clear.
it's all uphill from here.
Inside she's a wreck
When you see her she's perfectly fine
Deep down her mind is a fucking mess
When she's with you she seems happy
When she's alone she's fragile like glass.
The girl full of hopes and dreams
She wants to escape her home where she cant sleep peacefully
She wants to meet new people, explore the world go on fun road trips
She wants to feel happy again
And at midnight if you ask her
"Are you okay"
And she says I'm fine
She won't be lying this time
It took me a while to realise
Deep in my self-loathing heart
That I didn't want to die
But I wanted life to start
He seemed to fit in anywhere you found him,
He could melt into any environment and belong.
the way he stood with such calm interest for something he loved so,
so at ease in a place a boy like him shouldn't be
I felt pulled toward the spiraling galaxy of his soul in that instant,
so lost in thought you wanted to capture it.
But then you realize, that perhaps, some small part of you doesn't want to capture it because you simply want to live in the moment.
you can only admire from afar the wonder he was in himself,
you wished to join him so your grey could touch the colour of his simplicity.
he belongs and you don't so you can only sit and wait. hope,
you will come today
tomorrow
I hold a wet finger
to the wind
One day, one day, just not today.
His eyes held a million emotions, a lot of love.
His hair was a beautiful soft wavy bunch
His smile brightened up a room
But he rarley let that show
He was a gem that tried to blend
And for a moment, he succeeded
His stare was a glare, hard and cold like winters nights
But his eyes held, wanting.
Wanting of love, wanting of
happiness, wanting of a family.
So, I hope one day we reunite
For hopeless it may beI'll be here with an open heart
love lies in those beheld,
and with it, you also find love.
it exists in the insignificant;
in the gentle grinding of the mallet
on metal keys, in the incessant
rumbling of wood on the carpet,
in the glistening sweat beaded
on drumsticks and the bleary-eyed
stares at those scores with
just-too-many-notes-and-rests to count.
it lies hidden in the musty scent
of the paths walked by generations,
the residue warmth and comfort
remains dormant in its essence -
in the conjoining of scrapes and blisters,
in the aching wrists and forearms,
All of my zippers are broken
all of my t-shirts are stained
all of my words have been spoken
all off my hope has been drained.
There’s not much left or a place to go
there’s nothing left but be a statistic
there’s no place safe to have a show
there’s no new way to be deterministic.
They think of me when they want to forget
they give pain with each and every breath
they will be happy that I no longer sweat
they break the chain to become one with death.
It’s not your fault I’m a very hard case
it’s time to weather the storm of my life
it’s only in another time or warm place
it’s only with you I’ve been without strife.
I used to say hi
But now I say bye
I always think about how I will die
But for now I say bye
I know it's harsh
But it's true
My mind is at ease
I once felt like I wanted too die
But now I don't
I have things too look Forward too
I don't know why I felt that way
But in the end I did
I still do a little
But not much
I think about my life before I came here
But when I do
Spring springs upon her unawares;
Perhaps she thought snow would drift
Right up to her window, as it should
In February, as in her memory
No such month escaped some white.
Going forth in a sleeveless shift
She pockets up seeds for flats,
Pulls out dank bins of soil,
Reaches for small pots, sets hope
In light. Such April ploys are
Not to be counted on, she knows --
Guessing random frosts
Still may spring upon her unawares.
It begins with mare's tails: wisps of ice
That spread, ghostly fingers from
Beyond the southwestern horizon; her
Ears feel the chill as she is planting bulbs.
"Go inside," her chapped hands urge her,
"Inside, your steaming kettle waits."
"Not yet," she replies. In her mind's eye
She watches thousands of daffodils bloom
Where grass grew. She must plant hundreds
If her dream will breathe. Altocumulus,
Those clouds like schools of fish, arrive.
Her hands are hurting her now; cold clay
Milking moisture from gapped skin.
As she bends, shovel in one hand,
Round brown balls of life in the other,
Each destined for a hole along her fence,