Poetry

This is the general category of fuckery that goes on and on and doesn’t seem interested in stopping.

  • To us,

    I don’t know why we’re here, but I hate it.

    To us,

    December was lonely, January ended, February was lonely, March was lonely, April was lonely, May is chaos unseen, but we know it’s there and it hurts us.

    Dreams end.

    To us,

    If I could stay your hand,

    I would never have deleted the fear and the questions that were there and the love we found from something

    That we tried to pass on to our most important.

    And our most important.

    And our most important.

    And the most important.

    To us, who knows when we ran out of second chances,

    To us, the wounds haven’t healed.

    It hasn’t been enough time.

    To us,

    The rule is back.

    Make it to fifty.

    And then never look back.

    It’s the rule that stuck, that our sentence would be over then.

    So, that many words, and the wrong colours,

    And the canvas dripping with ink.

    I’m unsure where we’re going.

    To us,

    残念ながら、流れた。沈んだ。

    明日、明日、明日、

    ごめんなさい、これしか出来ない。

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  • Locked in the bedroom of dawn, words that never stop spilling out.

    Too old to stop, more pain and stiffness and at least the words can run free

    Beneath the door and pouring out into the streets.

    The sparks connected to try to stop a war that was seen that consumes, but who knows when.

    Knowing an interesting story of the fall, knowing it would be best to fade as a star still beautiful

    If the goddess will not look upon me when my face is old, if they will not,

    If love cannot be felt,

    They say it is better to burn out, never fade away.

    Will I be looking into the eyes of my true love as he stabs my neck? Or will the desire be felt when our eyes meet?

    The negative energies of lives lost.

    The undercover battles of the gods written with different names,

    A reflection of a reflection,

    The human tales get in.

    I feel the compassion, the peace, the kindness, the love.

    The ocean, and the fire.

    The moon, and the sun.

    They fight.

    I do not. I protect with silence, they ask what is deserved

    No one wants to know the truth of the question.

    If the mother goddess was to be protected, these cultures would never live past tomorrow.

    Instead I sit with her, feel her skin beneath mine,

    And whisper apologies for the things they’ve done. The things I’ve done. The things I cannot control, trapped in societal norms.

    Can no one else hear the core as she cries?

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  • I would want to live in a world where justice wins over war.

    The one stripped of the title as the scales were unbalanced, the one who holds the scales and looks out,

    Not super heroes, but heroes.

    Those who stand out and are intent for good.

    The one who stands silently for justice, wisdom or understanding.

    Weighing not the reflections, but the actions which happened before bronze.

    Sadly they did not come, sadly watching and hoping it could shift the tides,

    Could be more prevalent.

    Why is man important?

    Why is woman important?

    Humans are capable of love, but they refuse to show it.

    Humans are capable of giving and being kind and connection and feeling one another.

    But they choose not to.

    Humans are capable. Some day they could show it, but even the generation leaping forward, moves just as slowly as mankind.

    Peoplekind, the kind of people I miss,

    I have never met one face to face.

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  • Picturing moving on doesn’t work when the only thing forward is the same never ending same days,

    Try to picture it.

    Try to picture it.

    If hundreds of days disappeared, and there would be thousands upon thousands of words.

    What comes next?

    Every plan just falls in the same hole now. We’re not going anywhere but around and around.

    Never forgetting to be kind to everyone,

    Remembering to put on the face when they’re looking.

    Pretending to feel better in front of them,

    Returning to a house that feels not at all like home alone every night just like every night except one.

    There is no choice.

    I dreamt of one.

    Links.

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  • I felt one drop of rain and no more, the clouds keep dying in the fire.

    If the hole wasn’t so big maybe they would stay.

    Or maybe it gets bigger, but I still miss the rain.

    The sounds of thunder and the pouring of the water,

    The forks and turns across the sky. As the queens wield the power and watch.

    Do you go back for the one who has sundered the land? Or defeat him with sword in hand?

    Couldn’t he be redeemed even by his standards?

    By now, I should know what happens when the questions are asked.

    The world needs the rain, please fall,

    And keep him farther away,

    It hurts.

    So hiding in the six far away.

    The vehicles come anyways.

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  • As one cried tears in exchange for the rain,

    When they want to dance I call home.

    Even though the words hurt now these days,

    Pull the water from the clouds, did I say anything was owed?

    Only by me. Bye.

    See, if you read it that way you don’t understand.

    And the words that are his that could sting when, even in my dreams, he’s gone these days.

    He is a kind hand on the face screaming no when I keep going down farther and farther.

    The hole of wishes, has no water at the bottom

    Showing up uninvited as usual. I thought that was usual.

    She says I will never be allowed there again,

    I think she enjoys it.

    Interesting to call the name of the only one brought across the line.

    We didn’t know the words to say, will we ever?

    It was past midnight, it was well past,

    When the shadows split in half.

    I hope he is only running from one, if I can catch it before it hits the bottom,

    And show I love it, even before the sounds are sung,

    Every coin has too sides, the separated children.

    Argue as home watches,

    Seeing through the disguise of every day.

    Raw and broken beneath the surface,

    Will you really find me?

    Will anyone?

    On this island created, that has been checked for it,

    Found in the past, but these days it pretends.

    It pretends, anyways.

    In waking, I had to leave behind the first real conversation

    I had in months, that connected all the pieces, and wasn’t filtered of him or you.

    I wish I could sleep forever.

    The hole whispers.

    I don’t have a choice.

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