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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Lifetime Monogamy

Asp of the tongue,
I ask, are we done?
Destroyer of love,
joy, innocuous fun.

I slide into depths
safe but cold to the touch.
Warmth is above me;
kindness doesn’t mean much.

A sharp answer here,
a distant look there.
I get the words out
like I’m pulling gray hairs.

Constancy
is costly, see?
Bleed ourselves dry
for the sake of “we.”

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The Confession

Our burnt remains,
or to be more clear, the remains
of warm promises in the night.

Spoken over kisses
that at the time didn’t seem finite,
but then the confession…

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Twenty-Seven

I’m letting it go,
but I’ll never forget.
Blind faith isn’t kind
to those harboring regret.

Over things we can’t control,
it can eat away our will.
Memories, they stick like honey,
a bitter but happy pill.

Is there meaning in the loss?
Is death as occupied as life?
If I was brave enough to cross,
could I once more see your eyes?

Twenty-seven now,
I calmly count the years.
I foster enough hope
to believe that you’re still near.

The reactions are different,
some open, some silent.
But no matter which one,
we love you, dear child.

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A narcissist lost to a narcissist.
Before that, corruption beat down populism,
mowed over the grassroots,
the establishment cheating only to lose.

What’s happening:
the Independent pushes for single payer,
while the proud Democrat
goes on tour, blaming others for her failure.

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Far Removed

For all the talk of love,
what about the importance of grace?

Not the bullshit far removed grace
from a savior that in speech

people tend to toss around
like pennies in a collection plate.

The grace that requires no religion, only decency.
Composure in the face of things going wrong.

To put it poetically,
dancing across borders pocked with landmines.

To put it bluntly,
not being an asshole when something doesn’t go your way.

Lack of grace shows entitlement.
Entitlement comes from pride.

I don’t need
some kind of outrageous spontaneity,

just the kind that makes life worth waking up for
regardless of the weather.

I slept through the job being done,
my fear and anxiety keeping me

from finding the will to stay upright.
Routine destroys spontaneity.

The lie I told myself up to this point will be shattered
once and for all: I’m not happy. That was the truth

ringing like a church bell
through the town of my heart.

And how it flies. O how it flies toward a heaven
my soul will never know.

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Here’s my latest track! I read this poem at an open mic, and it was received well, so I decided it would be the next one I’d record. I hope you enjoy it! 🙂

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Frustration is a pitch black road curving down
toward shit one wouldn’t normally do.
It isn’t the same brand of intent. Like the mind
still makes the decision but the body,
these shaking hands, are someone else’s.

Comfort is a road covered in daylight, blowing
past kindnesses one would normally show but didn’t.
The intent here is also unique. Who can
blame a heart for burrowing itself so deeply into love
that it forgets about everything else?

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