This again.

I can’t sleep.

I’m searching for an adventure and all I can find is what we used to be. The images of lost love flooding in me. Every rock, every cliff, every waterfall reminds me of every memory.

I feel like I’m stuck in between denial and an acceptance. Please, I’m not really ignoring what has to be my new reality. I’m just begging to not be living in complacency, or coming to awareness latently.

And maybe my healing has had some setbacks, yet patiently, I encompass the path that is crumbling. That means I can recreate a way to walk more intentionally. In many ways I now can step more into authenticity and audaciously embrace a frame of fresh boundaries.

Respectfully, I request that in my presence we exchange more words of empathy, truly a way of communicating respondency. We could be paving more of a path where the only direction is for us to “be free.”

I can taste the healing almost as much as I see, and trust in the knowledge, like the tree, that I am rooted in life as often as it is life I’m living lovingly. This, breathing in and releasing, shifting daily, brings the direction needed in the exchange for the quest of love’s unexpected journey.

Bedside Fire

In how many women’s beds are you sleeping, when I have barely found any other worth a lusting,

Yet I do yearn for the day where I can be combusting

Long for the day where I can begin some trusting,

and then I’ll know that when I’m thrusting all of my energy and my love into another, it won’t be for the sake of your other lovers

And the thought of a man won’t make me shudder

Maybe his touch will make me remember, what it supposed to be like to be held, like an ember

Too hot to clutch too tight and hold too strong, yet just warm enough to stay by it’s fire all day and night long

Stoking it with passion, not fear nor threat, knowing that the licking of the flicking from the flames are coals compared to what’s yet

Cosmos and campfires will combine into the one universe it is, and then, I will be content knowing, that side of the bed, is no longer his.

Heartsand

What heart withstands the dripping of each individual grain of sand as it etches it’s way over the lining of curves bending with timing of plans cut away in fine degrades like the waves pull away the landing demanding the heart to beat stronger and hold on longer to the top of the hourglass and try not to let the sand drip fast as the current casts its blast against the glass the encasing is weakened with the forces impeding against the grains, strained to maintain a cadence in refrain, it becomes inflamed and infectious with the pain of all the drops of sand crammed atop a sieve while desperate to live free from the thrashing of sand crashing, keeping from healing as the inside layer is peeling away any chance of congealing reality into a stream of softness, the scratches only compress the experiences of time loss from times less care was given each time it’s sand etched it’s sharp part into the fiber of grief’s heart

Stay Golden

It was kind of an… “you’re worth more than …” feelin’

going through some more stuff and I have been thinkin’

about those who value people who value human livin’

learning how to navigate through is equally sad and empowering.

It was a coming out of the moment of a twisted rejection

those who want to believe bullshit will be a bullshit evaluation

and those that want to know the light… well,…. they’ll stay golden.

Jester Hat

Place the hat upon my head sir, as it appears I am a dunce or perhaps a jester. I have to laugh at myself as I fail to be a quest of which you sequester. Im just a guest here, a pat on the ass of fine stature. A statue of marbling fractures you pass by in the court yard, falling apart as I try so hard to make you laugh and request more, of me.

Asking to see what I bring. Asking to see what kind of performance I will sing, and will I jump through the rings the master holds out for the show to the whole audience be seen, you and they clap, end scene, it’s dark.

Did I play the part? Was the flute not good enough, should have played the harp? The harp not talented enough, I offer snow whites heart. Actually a pigs, but the knife wasn’t sharp. I worked so hard to make you see the chard’s layering in the prankster cards, did I make you laugh?

Passed out now from my undisciplined efforts for attention. Regardless of all the qualities I offer that you like and mention. I guess I have to remember the intention, and that it is rarely the same as mine and so my spirit needs an intervention. Rest easy myself, rest from self contention. Entertaining on others peoples stages are not my destination, so I dance for myself, no other explanation.

Stolen Times


What was taken, I shall take back, no matter how long it takes,

For each day that was stolen, I shall steal them back, no matter if the time is a stow away,

Moments never earthed living, we will live on earth now, honoring the life at all stakes

What was taken, I will give back to you, in cherished moments each day

Present Proof

Gazing further than my eyes have ever reached before, I refocus on my growth once more. In renewal of my driving force, closing of one and an opening door.

I’ve given more of me, even while I’m all gone. Perhaps proof to myself that my love still gives out strong. And even though I’ve yearned you for so long, the lack of exchange makes me feel so so wrong.

Again, I see the value of this present escape of another abyss. Yet through the silent rejection, I hope for true bliss. How can my soul be alone, a craving a touch Ive never missed? Lost in a dream in a sealing of connection with a fresh lovers kiss.

Snapping back to reality I am forced to be driven. Daily I climb from the pool of sorrow I swim in. From the dripping of the tears of hopes that I sit in, I’ll present to you the reflection of you in all that I glisten.

I Suppose

I suppose I had hoped for a bit more closure,

an in person good bye

Instead I got the same end of the same sort of college boy sly

I guess it’s over, I have to give it a rest

After three and half years,

I had hope for more than an “I’m not good enough” text

I am betting I’ll never quite heal that part,

the ripping away

I thought maybe you’d try to ask me to stay

I should have known that you’d be a ghost

Not trying to save us, that hurts the most

Perhaps I should stop thinking,

drop it for real

I realize now like then,

you truly don’t care how I feel

I can literally feel my heart breaking,

cracking more with each day

Screaming loudly inside for peace,

I pray.

Halt, Past.

Preserved in the past,

the present will pass and become passed,

passing through portals,

a passage pursued by mortals,

trying to immortalize the atrocities committed as merely cordial.

Dialing in the correct order,

measuring the mortar,

aligning boundaries and building up borders.

No strong enough a soldier

can break through what has been soldered and smoldered

under the burning embers of coal.

The soul

tries to rise from the ashes of shame,

from the shadows cast in blame,

a game of then and now with no sight of the future,

aside from the sutures.

In spite of the putrid

oozing of endless boozing in a punch drunk love.

Above

it all, yet looking down,

a broken smile

known as a frown

is the gown plastered on the face of disgrace.

Placed firm in a foundation of cracked cementing statues,

lamenting in laminated hope brochures,

which lock in the last known attempt to procure

a treasured polished piece.

It’s niche,

and not quite as ripe as a peach.

Peel off the veneer,

all unleashed,

the superglued splinters fall at the feet.

It had always been incomplete

but entered into the show to compete.

Completely tarnished,

streaks of varnish

drip stains on the remains

of what the future could not halter,

the alter.

The sun is shining.

The sun is shining, the sky is blue, I’m still not over you. Spring flowers are bright and now poking through, I’m still not over you. Trying to fly a month with a birds eye view, I’m still not over you.

The weather is warming and the wind’s a nice breeze, but now you’re over me. The fresh air whips and fans the trees, but now you’re over me. The mountain’s paths are wild and free, for now, you’re over me.

Supple, round and full of wonder, gaze turned to another lover. Questing into your dreamy plunder, a pillage into another lover. Sounds of my silent screams from the ground’s under, you, under another lover.

Filling up from the rays beaming, but my dm’s are an empty feeling. Yours have been thick from many a day preceding, my dm’s still an empty dealing. Attention and affection around me all weaning, yours fill up and my dm’s are an empty fearing.

All the joys of future plans, I can not even barely understand. Ripped away from my present’s hands, next, I can’t really understand. Us in the past you, my man, now, just me, I don’t understand.

The sun is shining, the sky is blue, I’m still not over you. Everyday, I still am not sure what to do, aside from not being over you. I guess I’ll take look at your view, maybe you seeing her, will help me to get over you.