Poetry

Is it love If he doesn't read My poems. Is it love If you don't paint Together. Is it love When the chores go unnoticed? Is it love

You hurt the deepest Part about myself With your words So profound And emphatic The tears I cry Are not for you They are my Mourning For every time I saw with my Perspective Askewed Disabled Flawed Weary Hopeful Heart. Nothing is real Except love. If you do not Want to love me Am I not real? My tears remind Me I am real. And then I breathe And I feel Hurt.

The sadness Is a river deep inside a mountain Inside the ocean Where my soul resides A poet sits on the river shore As the river whispers its fears And its joys What is the river? The sum of many moving parts Promises and disapointments The river feels the rocks Like knives digging in

What if We actually did live in the matrix I think we do Maybe without spaceships But Our collective consciousness is shifting. No more power ballads. just us and songs that come pre-mixed. The split between the people grows so that one doesn't know the other exists. Everyone still buying lotto tickets.

I was so scared. I lost time because of it. I have made it up by the display. Because when I burn low, I come up with ideas and lonliness. The loneliness helps me too. It is all self imposed.

Did i have time to cultivate Or cultivate an addiction Can you A thunderstorm wages outside And inside. Sometimes, i start to make a speech and people will listen to me and i just think - who am i to speak? I dont know anything. What do i sound like to others? Am i up my own ass? Affirmations are exhausting. They take so much of your energy. So do creaky beds. So get to a place on the ground where you can grow roots. A family home. Your own family home. Get your affairs in order. Think of the future like a friend. Treat your friend kindly. Treat your present too. I am in a thunderstorm. I want to watch it but I'm scared. Do I have a mental illness or am I just extremly sensitive to thunderstorms? We need to have a National Support day. Where all the people who support someone could get the day off. I am in a thunderstorm. Sometimes I hear sounds I think are energy. I must not be the only one. As a family I want my motto to be live long and prosper.

I do not want to exist In this messy world Of things. Layers and whisps Of lies and emotion Used and useless Strown along Flicked into tree branches Stomped on sidewalks I come I pick it up It tangles in my hair Tears collect Our world is created With words, promises, Emotions, and impulses When we are strong Our creation reflects Happiness I want to go where No one has ever been To be free from Scattered energy

You have been in my thoughts and my heart Its like bits of you are floating through the air And there is a smell or a noise, Somehow the rush of water, And i see your smile And i remember us at your kitchen And now the world seems lighter and at ease Your energy is pure and beautiful. Maybe thats what the old poets meant when they compared people to trees and mountains and things.

All my life is such A shame Mistake fall mistake oversight Joy Mistake fall mistake oversight Drunk and forget to call. But maybe joy Joy And then traffic.

If i were rich i would accept only 1 form of communication from fans. My family could choose a few more. As face to face is just a part of family. Anyway. I would only accept written letters for 5 years, then songs for 5 years, then smells for 5 years.. then i think i would ask for secrets.

Those times when you text something and then you start thinking that they actually hate the thing you just sent them. So you cover it up with - oh. So maggie really liked that present we got her. And you hope they think you're confident and caring. What do you do about times like that?

Those times i posted when i was alone I was alone

Currently my life is overrun with the question If i had someone come into my life and turn my works into art, Like publish poems, study, make into comics, or whatever, But that person.. would it be a friend? A relative? Someone I pay? That's the trouble i have With moving forward. What does that relationship even look like?

Will i remember And of this? Have i remembered? Am i anything? Or am i everything The way the sand makes the dessert But one piece of sand Is probably your neighbor So he's probably an asshole

I know you have to be more aware of her Like how the sun shines on her And i joked to my mom as we discussed the in Garden of kale - is being a mom like this - where a part of you is always wondering about her ambiant temperature? And it is. Because 5 seconds later my mom starts asking me if i want a hat. And i mean starts because in 3 minutes she will go get the hat. She just asks ... then keeps on describing all the hats she owns until you choose one. So you had better just choose. So i get a hat and then i laugh because thats exactly what its like. And talking about its poop. Where when and why. And being excited about it. Mom she pooped in your garden. And i am relieved about that.

So you try to find yourself again You leave yourself a code - some hang up or annoyance or yearning for something you dont understand. Like how i am an artist with no art And decorative shubs are so out. So these things. Pauses in your life. Somehow shape you.

Someone show me the names Of song writers Over the last 100 years We celebrate and adore Those who learn to sing I am an artist with no art No i am but Without a way of Advocating on my own behalf A funeral is just a sad episode Of where are they now But reversed Excuse me while i