maybe tomorrow

i don’t wanna.

Nope.

sure don’t.

don’t wanna do laundry

grocery shop

talk to you

read

watch tv or movies

Nope.

i don’t wanna.

go to work

take a shower

get dressed

be social

or smile

pretending to care

Nope.

sure don’t.

don’t wanna

do dishes

clean the bathroom

check my e-mail

Nope.

not gonna.

and you can’t make me

The Daughter

it is mid-day,

summer heated spring beauty

she walks, aimlessly

devoid of emotion

no stranger to strangers passing by

warm breeze flutters her cotton dress,

dancing with wisps of golden hair,

stranded from the long braid lane softly down her back

resting in lushness of green grasses,

shining raze of sun, warm her milky skin

wide, blue eyes gaze up to a reflecting clear blue empty sky

parched mouth,

she languidly bites into a sumptuous red tomato,

eaten as an apple, the juices slither down her plush lips

gliding the crease of her elongated neck

kissing the ground with nutrients

as bended knee, a glistening pearl of sweat

rolls down the curve of her calf,

she feeds the earth with her existence

as the skies,

listen to her silence

seeping into the ground of which she invades,

comforting strength and growth

solitude and awareness,

she is her Mother’s daughter

a minuscule piece,

of an existence much grander

One Word

Love.

strength resides there,

embodied the presence of meaning,

demands foreseen

whispering devotion

once spoken, it lingers

as a haunted ghost

expectations forthcoming…

Sorry.

forgiven or not

inevitable the mistakes we endure

choices and decisions sorrowfully playing

keystrokes of emotion,

yet bound by self gratification

a minuscule moment in time

that can…

Hurt.

deep inside

unjustly wronged

pain ensued, heartfelt despair

alone, bewildered

a breaking heart

forsakenly demised to…

Hate.

so strong

immeasurable the weight of which bears down

animosity, angst

burdened there the forsaken,

unrelenting despise and disgust

scared, this could be everlasting…

Hope.

Love. will resurface

Sorry. if forgiveness can not find its way

Pain. residing in what once was a safe place

Hate. seething its way into overflowing veins

Hope. that tomorrow will be better

what is one little word, anyway?

Runaway

It is not the moments of which have been lived,

but the moments that have been taken

It is not the love you so delicately embrace,

but the love that did not stay

It is not the memories cherished,

but the memories that never happened

It is not the truths you innocently told,

but the secrets you did not say

It is not the love you so freely give,

but the love you have not captured

It is not the lives of which you have touched,

but the lives standing alone each day

It is not the warmth of a sheltering home,

but the cold abandoned houses unadorned

It is not the triumphs so bravely taken,

but the times half-heartedly portrayed

It is not the choices easily made,

but the ones that are most difficult

It is not the decisions of yesterday,

but the actions of today

It is not the child smiling up at you,

but the one that went astray.

love can hurt

does it hurt me more knowing,

knowing that you just want me to be happy?

or

the fact that you are willing to let me go?

does it hurt me more moving forward,

envisioning how i was always happiest with you?

or

that, perhaps, you truly do care and i have deceived you?

does it hurt me more looking back,

remembering those kisses?

or

the ones we give to another?

does it hurt me more now,

that i wish i could be with you?

or

 realizing, i will break his heart too?

Finding Home

somber day has come

reaching the height of potential

looking out to the vast spans

of an hour glass, run dry

seconds, minutes, hours and days

dissipated, sucked away

mounting the last heap of hope

looking down upon the mountain’s scope

knowing

the only way down…

a leap

into the stomach of fate,

limits spent

boundaries surpassed

humbled, you find your way…

Home.

Lost Love

a lost love

is nothing but, a then love

a once before

a had been

always will be

kind of love

a lost love,

never dies

or needs

always there

in times of chance

breathing with you continuously

a lost love,

never leaves

seasons the years

passing beyond means

yet there is that constant

Love

shared in a lost love,

continually

spoken of which

uninformed

other than

the actuality

At War

mutilated minds

corrupt,

devoid of emotion,

social-retard-ism

captivated today

seen on the wide-screen

of which the world enraptured

compounded and bound

to the atrocities of society

victim to thyself,

when media casts spite in the

glare of doubt

to the existence of good vs. evil

conspiracy derived,

society hidden inside

not of warmth and glee

but secluded, deep

to the satire of belief

no more the existence of mankind,

depleted the visions of hope

of which our land derived

falling privy to demands

of evil

when only one voice, is spoken

one voice, be heard

the world withdraws within

mankind, imploded.

wrote this a while ago...found it fitting to the....situation...

walk with me

walk with me a fraction,

a fraction of time here today

sun anew, skies sparkling blue

a stroll i must take

come along, hear my woes

a little serenade

listen to the melody

of pounding heartbreak,

eyes of deep sea blue

quiet they are not,

tears fall

glistening with wetness new

sorrowful heartstrings

pinker pink in tune

while fleshy roses

bloom

it’s here, this day

where the spring baby lay

that i tell my tale to you

the lonesome song

of yester-year

when i gave my heart away,

for you, my dear,

i wish it was

but nay, i dare say not.

come with me

walk a bit,

Listen-

melancholy souls

of weeping trees sway

it’s there,

whispering secrets,

the ones i could not say.

come back

both lost

unknowingly

both searching for the way,

persistent and struggling

to fill the hole of lost opportunities

busy, misguided, struggling

with irreparable damages

would it be possible,

we both reach out simultaneously

and find the other there

as we languidly seek refuge

falling back into the comfortable pretense

of our existence

The Widow

wind cracking the window pane,

alone inside, the widower

staring back, her reflection

darkened the night outside her window

howling gusts bring forth a shiver

a single light flickers,

that of her own

blazed, enlightened

day and night

she is frightened

the rage of which she rid of

dwindled down,

the embers exist

burning still the pain

what once there was,

still there to scold her

abandoned, abused

hands blood stained…

his spirit taunts her

A Letter

Dear Pride,

What a stubborn bitch You are!
time and again, You always win
times of need, shelter, protection,
Plain old asking for help,
You always step in
Controlling the situation
a masochist of sorts, You are
I wish, today, I could say I love you,
even appreciate you just a little,
But there You are
beaming with gratification,
when, once again, You have taken over
well, I, the being of my whole
am left, wondering….
What now? What now?


Bemused,
me.

Sacrifices

I could wait for you,

the man I’ve loved for years

I could wait for you,

to finally follow through

I could wait,

for days, months, even years,

but wait…

I already have.

yet, I could wait longer,

if you asked me to

for you to be the man

fulfilling my needs

waiting for you to decide,

if I am the one

you’ll want forever-after

it is only my love, pride,

desires, hopes, and dreams

that I sacrifice

I could wait for you…

even longer.

Compass

there is a point

an arrow blatantly directing the way
through thickets and thorns
abrasions foreseen
crossing the path of destruction

no avoidance,
there is only one way
hard as the path grows
steep as the mountain inclines
up, over, but there is no sideways

braced, barren,
unprepared
encompassing the rigid
road ahead,
convinced,
the compass must be broken.

Frozen

wounds cut deep
as the whitened snow bleeds
blood red,
the purple abrasion
seeps,
the eyes no longer seeing
heart no longer beats,
hands frozen
despairingly motionless
as a puckered mouth opens,
silent
timeless
stillness of winter night streets,
the freeze becomes her.