post-secret is for lovers

your jealousy and anger are insufferably displaced
much like the ring above your lip which fattens out your face
you're a fool for thinking it's my fault things, "changed."

summer, winter, fall and spring

words can't express what you mean to me
thus nullifying my attempts at a soliloquy
you are my moon, my sky, sun and sea
you are everything I hold dear and sweet
you are the other half of my anatomy
you are more than I have ever hoped or dreamed
you are the warm rain falling on my skin
you are my pacifist amidst the warmongering
you are my alternative fuel source when the lights glow dim
you are you're and I'm yours in a correct grammatical team
you are the sugar to my iced tea
you have bettered me in more ways than one
and for that I am grateful and my heart you have won
you are the solid ground which steadies me
there is no equitable balance which I can achieve
without your hand in my hand and your lips on my cheek
I love you my, "crumb bum," until eternity

ode to the internet

how I love thee
and your distorted perceptions of reality
how can you sway the winds of the calming sea
and create a thunderous opportunity
for the weak at the heart turn weak in the knee
at the sight of your newest visual tease

and oh what a medium to create such distress
and mistrust and distrust and unhappiness
for the lying and unfaithful, their newest success
intrinsic, elicits the worst of all breast

but a goldmine for the durably calloused.

Insomnia*

*this is the last (and most recent) of my backdated poetry.

Oh what I would give for a chance to retry
to forgive, forget, dry the tears from my eyes
so many regrets in so much lost time
all I've ever wanted is to reclaim what's mine.

The symptoms of my yesteryear
I've swallowed and have crystallized
deep in the fever of my being they lie
Slowly (but surely) eating my alive.

I swear if we met, I could not behave.*

I don't like or trust them
Why is this a shock?
She seemed pretty adamant
When I read that she called
On the occasion I bare my soul
the truth in quiet spurts
you react with such rightious indignation
I question, should I ask permission first?:

"Oh dearest, my darling, my one love true
May I ask a simple favor of you?"

"May I ask you to speak plainly of what was before?
Of those wretched lovers and those glorified whores?
.. and promise me the truth is it's most honest of forms?"

But I wouldn't dare to bother with such precious woes
For the answer I fear (and assume) would be, "No."

(untitled)*

I was quickly stopped by that shining beast
flashed before me was eternity
the bells chimed for the sake of familiarity
and my mind was consumed by the afternoon moon

I could not rationalize it.
my mind entombed by grey and blue
I thought of those to come before me
and those who would follow soon
does it only feel like things are getting better
when what came before was unforeseen?

the heartbeat is only counting down to what comes next
so by speeding it up or slowing it down
is it possible to find the shortest path to happiness?

I was not sure.
So just this once, I ran away from death

Wrong Number*

*between January and May of this year I wrote but never published numerous poems for one reason or another, but I am going to type them up now; the asterisk will identify them to you in the future//

and how it hurts
much like the loss of a loved one
who's still there.
like a heart in plastic casing
soft enough to feel it's warmth
but still never really yours
and so it rips back to it's rightful owner
how unfair
for even though I pull and tear
I am never sharp enough to break right through

and so you'll leave
for some better place somewhere
and I'll be left alone to bear
with a tiny piece to small to claim as true

but I'll remember
those tiny works that cold december
that made me wonder if you wanted this all too.
I dream of talking until midnight
and your eyes blinded by the sunlight
and those flowers which were promised but never grew

I suppose your happiness will just have to do.

I don't see the salvation in daylight

Oh the blanketed secrets
of which to take note.
Oh the ferocious accusations
and lack of blatant fault.

Woe is the lack of sincerity
to the broken then mended heart
Woe is the truest epitome
of my attempts staking claims in the dark.

IS it you or I or us who is falling apart?