Breaking Through

I lie in the bed made up of my own humility

The blanket over me woven out of of my childish frustrations with you

I wanted the happy ending

without putting in the work

I expected something built on rocky ground

To be strong and resilient

against me and my self-destructive nature

You tried to cling to me

But it was too late

For I had already turned into a tornado

Ready to tear apart the one thing I shouldn't

It was real

and maybe I couldn't handle that

I can't sit here now and whine on about how you hurt me

You didn't

You loved me

And I ripped our love into a thousand pieces

But these aren't just jigsaw pieces I can fit together again

Now I just have to reflect

I wonder if I'm a nyctophile

As I let the thoughts in my mind overpower my need to sleep

No, I'm probably more of an insomniac

Unable to shut myself down as my head hits the pillow

Or, as some say, perhaps I'm just a night owl by birth.

Born around 3:30 AM

The moon will always be my sun

The dark night will always be my sunny skies

The howl of the wolf is my song of the bluebird

Check out my poem Natural Disaster in a film by Wesley Volcy

I lost myself in the chocolate icing

on your cupcake

as you were telling me of how I looked like Mary Pickford,

Not because I did,

but because of the strong scent of sherry

that flowed with your every word

  With quick

rhythmic

movements,

my fingers removed the

mystifying delicacy

from your

cold

white

plate

as you started telling me of

the time that you met Robert Frost,

Your voice was swaying

The alcohol had started to stain your cheeks

So I presumed that you wouldn’t notice

My little act of thievery

  You took another swig of sherry

And reminded me of how impressive it was

That you had been the assistant principal flutist

for the National Symphony Orchestra,

I took a bite from the cupcake

filling my mouth with the soft, moist

cream-colored pillow

painted with a layer of brown silk

that tasted like

Sin

Love

Greed

Lust

Hate

and passion

Topped with

Sugar,

Butter,

and cocoa

  Then, as I was sucking a bit of the silk

off of my index finger

the story of how you had run into

the Duchess of Cornwall

in a men’s restroom

was paused

  You walked away

with sherry in your step

and a bed of betrayal

stapled to your face

  With one transgression

the conversation

dissolved

like the cupcake did

In the acid in my stomach

Sometimes I see you in another man’s eyes

lying with me

caressing me

until I go numb

frozen in fear

shaken

until I wake

from the

constant

nightmare.

You are the furies in my mind

I personally think I'm much better with free form poetry, but I'm trying out a week of forcing myself to write a different form of poetry each night.  As always, I love both positive and negative feedback.  

The "Good Guy"

Whiskey drenched screaming

My 4:00 AM wake up call

aren't I so lucky?

I forced myself to write a sonnet as a little writing exercise.  Not sure I like it, but I don't hate it enough to not post it.  Feedback always appreciated.

Natural Disaster

      I’m that high tidal wave you shouldn't surf

but the challenge just reels you in,

You think that with time you can be my serf

and that’s just how war always begins

       The thorns on this rose are too sharp to caress,

The gate to my heart covered in rust,

Yes, maybe with luck you can make me undress

but you’ll never truly gain my trust

        No matter how wounded my wings might seem

I’ll still fly if you try to cage me,

For a moment things will seem like a dream

Yet I’ll never hand over the key

         Like a volcano I could always erupt

If only I knew that would make you give up

I let you mangle my heart

as you tangled my hair

  Every girl

a new flavor of ice cream

for you to taste

and you were determined to try

all thirty-six flavors

  But you kept me by your side

as your only constant

in your life of transience

  You threw me on the floor

and used me as your exotic rug

  And I let you

This was written around the same time as the last one.  I'm not sure if I like the style of this one, but here it is anyway.  

Raise Your Glass

memories

far too bitter

touching my tongue

that would rather be left

alone,

isolated

from justice,

the finest criminals

sit in offices

receive awards

in their freshly pressed button downs

drinking scotch with the boys,

while their victims

crumble

from

flashes

of what they endured,

his face

dripping

with

sweat

that

falls

on

my

face,

getting slammed

into a light blue wall,

pulling my head on and off your

wood

as if I’m a rag doll

in the hands of an angry toddler.

just drown it all away

with scotch

on ice.