Enlightened, yet still dumb
to the surroundings. The
ballistic words sang in
a monotone voice, Neologism
comes into play as we
find a new word for
love. Ratchet opportunist
seeking to seize your attention.
Laugh off zealous attempts.
Lies are a gallant
juxtaposition in mind. Give
me an optimistic dance.
Drop your petty xenophobic
thoughts and be free.
Frost covers eyelashes and shattered glass
Tears frozen
Rhythm of feet on pavement mix
with the beats of a busted
up drum, still sounding.
My life’s music is still
off-beat.
Am I awake? You stepping through a deep fogged hallway. I could step and step and I wouldn’t wake for an hour or two; the weight of the world will pull me into a needed rest. Am I moving forward? Kinda feel like I’m floating, a weakness for the desk and comfy chairs that are so rare to find. I was hoping a minutes would help me keep my head in this book instead of drooling in it. I don’t really feel; I’m just here; I’m not really awake; don’t ask too many questions, because in this drowsy state I tend to make connections. And in a sleepy stupor I’ll hurt your feelings with blunt confessions. Am I awake? It’s hard to tell. Slow stepping through a deep fogged hallway. I know I could step and drop and have. I would miss you for just a few hours.
Can you remember those first words
that the
brand
new poet spoke, bright eyes
wide
as she looked
at you
and tried to explain
herself?
She’s just searching
for
real
in the
abyss
of
lies that lay
down
with her
before bed
and wake
with her
every day.
Did you
remember
what she said?
The words she blew across the room
hopefully
something
she said
landed
on your
skin
or
got under it.
Maybe
the way
she took
time to
break
words
apart
or the tears that
might
have slipped
when she
told
you about
her past, or what
she hoped
for in the future
or the shit
she deals with now.
And who is she to hope
that telling you
what
she feels
in
encrypted lines
will make a difference?
Why should you
be the judge
of a new poet
standing in front of what might as well be an
empty room?
I guess
it doesn’t matter
because it is up to you.
Are you
gonna give this poet
what she needs?
To breathe easy,
to plant new seeds?
Or are you planning to pass her off?
New poet
needs a new future.
Are you ready?
Because I am.
Simple contact
The look in your eyes
I swear I can see your pain.
Laying out your hopes
I can see your dreams.
But, I’m no longer your mirror.
Don’t you know breaking mirrors is
Bad luck?
Silly boy.
Can’t you at least leave finger
Prints on my glass?
My heart?
Leave me reasons to convince
It to keep beating
Because to show you
The real you
Was my greatest feat.