Tamed birds

We are the birds
and they the hands
that feed us words
laced with untruths.
And just like birds
we do not think
but greedily accept
the lies we want to hear.

IMAGE CAN BE FOUND HERE

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Burning puppet

Take my arms
and take my hands.
And hold me up
or pull me down.
Make me dance,
around, around.
Tie the strings
about my wrists.
And cage me in,
yes, cage me in.
A doll I am,
a puppet girl.
Stuffed with straw,
with hair of gold.
With eyes of night,
and stitched in mouth.
But straw can burn
and hands can shout.
Flames, too, take me
against my will.
And make me twist
and twirl around.
But I’ll take you with me.
And we can be, two piles of ash
on the cold, dead ground.

This is a bit of an odd one, and I’m not too impressed with it but I thought I’d share it anyway. You can find the image HERE

Gone and nowhere to be found

A Poem About the Loss of Those You Love

You think of all they’ll never do.
Of all they’ll never do again.
You wish that you could turn back time
and freeze a frame to immortalize.
This is all a heist. They have been robbed
of life and you of them.
And cut off are their unused tomorrows.
There’s only you, your tears, your sorrows.
As you realize anew, you wish you could forget
but also cry when their image begins to be erased.
And replaced with less important faces and names.
You wish then that they will never fade,
suspended like a fish in ice.
Frozen forever in your memories.
And there is nothing you would not give
to have them live, live, live again.

In honor of Pierre

Death. Never expected.
A thief we never catch.
Giggling to himself, he
snaps our hearts in two
and takes those we love
to some far-off land
and leaves their shells
to torment us with the
sight of their blank eyes.

On April 26th my cat, Pierre, was hit by a car and killed. I will miss and love him forever and every time I realize anew that he is no longer here my stomach plummets. Death is fickle and unexpected and I would encourage you to spend as much time with your pets as you can because you never know when they’ll be gone. 

 

The good outweighs the bad

A Poem About the Imperfect Love Families Have 

You are my silver bullet.
The knife that slips between my
ribs, the hand that grips my gullet.
You are my moon hung in the sky.
You are my wings, you help me fly.

When all is said, when all is done,
the ones you love will hurt you most
but still you stay and still you wait
because it’s worth it in the end.
And when you weigh the scales,
somehow the good outweighs the bad.

Humans can’t let go

Opposite, like dark and light.
We always run from death,
we always cling to life.
It’s the human thing to do,
we can’t seem to let go.
Searching for eternity, infinity,
we wish that we were gods.
Masters of the skies and seas.
But the only sea is in our veins,
pooling by our trembling feet,
as we realize that death has come,
as we wail and whisper please.

What if they know?

She feels it thrumming ‘neath her skin.
There’s something about secrets when
you keep them locked within.
They bite into your bones and fill your
veins with acid. They steal the air right from
your lungs, they make your mind turn rancid.
Your words grow clipped, your eyes suspicious,
you think of nothing other than this tumor
you keep inside. Tremble, bite a nail, glance behind.
What if they know? What if they know? 

Faith, where did you go?

A Poem About the Continual Bleak State of Our World

I have lost my faith,
in the human population.
It was there, once upon a time,
but now it’s a distant memory,
grown into a fairy tale I’ll
embellish for my children.
I’ll convince them I still believe,
teach them that there’s still good,
and hope they never discover
the shadow that always devours it.
We’ll never get away, we’ll never
improve, there’ll always be shit,
there’ll always be pain.
Look at the rain, open your mouth,
eating the tears of a negligent Father,
a Father who doesn’t know where
he went wrong. That is, if he exists at all.

Too much dreaming

A Poem About Self-Pity

She lies on her back,
bathing in the moonlight.
Opens up her mouth,
thinking she can taste it.
Looking at the stars,
drinking in their splendor.
Closing her dark eyes,
wishing herself to dreamland.
Dreaming of a life spent
dancing on a moonbeam.
Dreaming of a life where
the stars would be her sisters.
Dreaming of a life that
would be worth something.
Never doing, always dreaming,
nothing happens, nothing changes.

Nothing but desperate survival

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
Some people try, and try,
to keep it all, not let it go.
Clench their fingers tight,
any tighter and they’d be fists.
All they say is: No, No, No.
Clench their teeth together,
any tighter and they’d be snarls.
Anything to survive,
anything to thrive.