The broken can recognize each other from across the room across the street across town They greet each other with a “hello” and a “good luck” in perfect agony And the mouths of the broken only know how to break. They break sentences into words And words into syllables And syllables into letters And letters… Continue reading The Broken; a poem
I hope I was your first violin hipped poet Because you were my first rainy dayed “Baby you’re beautiful.” I hope that if you find you want someone else’s finger tips pressed against your bed frame that she tastes like sun downs. Because I could never tastes like sun downs. I’ve got too much shot… Continue reading A Whisper; a poem.
I don’t feel very okay And maybe that has to do with some fairy tale of a thing. Something that couldn’t possible exist out of words and picture books. Maybe that means that you are just words and picture books. But gosh I hope not. I hope you are as real as the words I… Continue reading The Best Not Okay’s; a poem
Go ahead and claim the title. The title in which my blood granted you my blood in which all you did was spill. All this title cost you was a night of caresses and all you did with it was breed descendants that will never know your name. They will be deaf to their ancestors… Continue reading Title; a poem
I am convinced that you are dying That there is no way you can be living Maybe call it denying strength Call it a lack of faith in you to learn to grip life but I am convinced that you are dying I saw your shattered pieces that you made into a Hansel and Gretel … Continue reading You Must Be Living; a poem
You were never meant to see such darkness And when you did, it broke you But just because you know the bad, doesn’t mean you can’t do the good I still expect greatness from you And I know some days are too hard to come home to. I know the moon sometimes feels like the… Continue reading I Still Expect Greatness From You; a poem
I swore that I would save everyone but something truthful told me that not everyone wanted to be saved and not everyone came with a grip on a hot knife that they would not let go of. burning the wounds seemed to be the only option for sanity And not everyone wanted sanity But… Continue reading The Truth Hurts; a poem.