by Xve
Allow me something … Say anything … or am I nothing?
When I have you in my arms,
is when my life truly begins.
It’s when joy lifts its head,
and my heart loudly sings.
It’s no secret that I am madly
in love with you.
And things are wonderful,
when you’re lying next to me.
But, when you’re gone, and
I haven’t seen you in a while,
that’s when I cry sometimes.
Because, wondering, is not so
wonderful, and the reality of
my arms being so empty, says to me,
that I’m just lying to myself.
It’s sometimes too much to bear.
My mind goes into hyperactive,
and my thoughts race in a fury
of concerns.
Where are you?
Are you hurt?
Are you worse?
I’ve heard every word you tell me,
and I understand truly where you
are. I do.
But, the one thing that is universally
true about life is – things always change.
And nothing stays the same forever.
I have cast my feelings and my hopes
into the wind for you.
I have raised my voice in prayer to
love you, to hold you, to keep you,
to ask for your safety and to request
your peace of mind.
I have written out my emotions based
on the millions of seconds in a day
that I think about you and long for
you.
And I believe in you.
Because I love you.
Funny, the title of this seems to ask
for so many things.
It sounds demanding, doesn’t it?
But, that’s the irony of poetry.
It can be like two extremes,
much like how you and I are
as two people.
Dandelion – I am deeply in love
with you.
So, I won’t ask you for anything,
because I’ve heard what you’ve said,
and I know I am not - a nothing.
And as I reach out to you,
wanting one day to find your
precious little hand waiting for mine.
I hope and believe, that someday
things will change.
Someday, my love with shine through
into your beautiful eyes, and into your
undefeatable heart.
Someday, you can trust me enough,
and feel total liberty to allow me to
provide for you and your boys.
Someday, you may completely
love me. Somedays feel far away.
I just don’t know…
So many things,
and it’s not a good place.
Stepping on a set of wings,
It’ll be so long before I see
again your face.
Feel my endorphins rise in
hunger for your luscious body,
as it dances sexily in place.
I believe you care for me,
but just on the surface.
While I rage in my heart,
to hold you all day.
My tears will trace a line to
wherever a land.
My arms are not long enough
to reach you, but my words are
felt to me - to root, then bloom,
then die.
I just don’t know, if I will ever
see you again. Tomorrow is promised
to no one, and have a safe trip can
spell anyone’s end.
I just don’t know if I will touch you
again. And what a loss to the museum
of senses that tragedy will be.
I just don’t know if I will hear your
voice again, or your laugh, so I may
as well go deaf.
I don’t know if I will feel your love
again, or if I ever felt it, so let’s be
real.
Nothing in life is ever wasted. And
there’s no point to even writing a poem.
But, it seems more that all things are
carefully planned in this spray of mist
so fine, interwoven and grand.
As I said before, we are tiny droplets of
water, falling to the floor, and meeting,
bumping, rubbing up against one another
before we eventually dry out and
disappear.
I was destined to have met you. We both
agreed about this in some other form and
some other reality.
We intersected on the blueprint of life,
and what a fucking large print that was.
It was planned that I would love you,
chemically, physically, mentally, emotionally,
who knows, maybe we snuck out, away from
choir practice when we were once Angels in
heaven to do our thing.
Yet, with all that surety, of watching the lines
of our lives draw together, and feeling the
passion I have in making love to you.
The plans in my head, the grand designs to
a life we could live, and a love we can have,
I just don’t know if you’ll ever be mine.
So, I wonder who will love you again.
Who will be lucky enough to re-win
your heart. Because all things are scripted,
and nothing remains the same.
I just don’t know, how I will live,
after I don’t know where you are.
The only thing I do know is,
right now, I’m in love with you.
For all my words, I can’t describe how
I will miss you, maybe, as if my guts
were scooped out with an ice cream
scoop.
I know I will cry for you,
and I will hurt for you.
and I will never stop loving
you.
Mack Truck
· There’s just no point in asking …
· Reckoning
· She don’t care
· I have nothing to offer her –
· Separation is to death …
· Pursuing …
· Pinch the Wall
· A long night of letting go
· Swing Batter
· Love Dies like a Child
· What do you do … (but feel the pain.)
· Dandelion
There’s just no point in asking ...
No matter what is going on,
you are caught up in the moment
of getting.
And though I am doing all I can
to be correcting, my words fall
like fine China into the grinder
of your foolishness.
As you reach for running gears
and shredding shears, I try like
a silly boy to employ measures
of safety, security, love and care.
I always say, the way is not easy,
so why try to find that lost way?
Your heart is bent on foolishness,
and sold on emptiness, you attach
your concerns to wickedness and
are enthralled in deceptiveness.
It is just my guess, that God must
love you too, to shadow you from
inevitable doom.
But, what am I to do, seeing the
true you, in an array of emotions,
desires, a fire in my heart to have
you like no other, even though
many before me had already come.
I am pathetic and stupid, more over
so because I keep placing my heart
in the road, and falling in the trap to
have it close on it and bust like a blood
filled water balloon.
No trouble, no worries about me,
I’m the punchy clown doll of life
who always seems to stand back
up after a decent thrashing.
As I write these words, from my heart,
you are already bleeding, and I can
already see a brand new start that’s not
so fleeting..
But a start to what?
As, all women are completely lost, just
like you.
So, that start is a world of travel
away. And there’s just no point in
asking for directions to nowhere.
Reckoning
As I clipped my finger nail,
at 4:30 in traffic,
little did I know,
by 5:30,
my heart would be bleeding,
from to someone whom I would
be speaking,
as she mercilessly cut
my heart of flesh
out of my chest,
with words, I duress,
because I shared with her a
silly notion, that her Sister,
I was deeply in love with.
I got the usual, I was called
a sick stalker,
and a pervert
and a loser.
I was told I was so co dependant
and a fool,
and I didn’t know her as a person,
and as the well inside, felt the
tide begin to rise to cry,
I apologized for interrupting
and simply asked,
What harm have I done?
To anyone.
By being willing to be tool,
by having some sort of human hope,
by saying something that
there is such a world full
of worse to someone to say.
For being able to want to
envision a future with a person,
of reach out for happiness and love,
in being proud to claim the other
as each our very own.
Why in this world, in this air ocean
of taint and black, that has become
the human psyche of cause and
affect towards one another, why
is it so outlaw, so criminal, to
say you love someone,
and dare to hope for it to be
returned?
Funny, I have been told, that
you are not in love, when the
other doesn’t ratify the contract,
or reflect the favor or sign the
deed of.
But, when two people meet,
no matter how, and one has
the feelings and the heart,
to open the window to the
soul and share that secret,
standing there, exposed,
hoping for acceptance,
asking to be forgiven
of their shortcomings ,
eyes closed because of
fear of rejection,
quivering and shaking
due to fears of the past,
must the final blow be –
to be ridiculed?
and mocked,
and scorned,
and insulted,
must the final action be
to ask forgiveness
from having any feelings
at all?
Must being in love, always
feel like being hit by a truck?
with spiked tires, and a belly
of flames under the transmission?
Yeah, I now, these are my ever
stupid comparisons.
And, I know, no one is listening.
She don’t care
To her, I’m just a working stiff,
a lament,
a fool.
Maybe she’s seen things happen
and on a grandeur scale,
that’s why my just words fail,
and she doesn’t care.
No matter how hard I try to
impress, she’s got bigger and
better fighting for her dress,
of which, I may only get to
hold when it comes flying
off of her.
So, what am I doing? A yipping
puppy, clamoring at her feet,
as big horny dogs sniff around
for play.
She don’t care about me,
She don’t see me,
She don’t need me.
As she swims the ocean without
a paddle or land in sight.
Even if I sweat blood,
it would be a laugh,
had a stroke? A bigger joke,
or fell of the signature of the
universe into the silent abyss
of blackness.
She don’t give a fuck,
shades of her house are
drawn,
and to her, so am I, just a wire
frame of hollow existence
and pointless rhetoric speak.
You expected me somewhere to
say Geek?
You so typical, a moral
mother fucking reader.
No wonder why I’m the
writer, and you’re out
to dinner.
Funny, she don’t care,
she’s probably sitting
right next to you.
I have nothing to offer her –
So she has nothing to say.
I have nothing to give her,
So she has nothing to gain.
I have no ladder to elevate her,
No rope to pick her up.
So, in her mind, with me,
she would only seem to drop.
So, there is no conversation, only
hard silence and an ice cold look.
Yet, little does she know –
Just what she overlooks.
For I may be nothing now,
A hopeful, a worker, a drone.
I may be small at this time.
A dreamer, a gambler, no home.
But she is the key,
the key to my success, the spark
to my change of fire.
Her loving eyes,
Her kisses at night would drive me to go sky-higher.
Her smiles would forge the sharpest sword,
for within me to slay the world.
Her hugs, her love would ignite my heart,
to bond me to her more.
But, deception comes at a high price, with
a grave cost as it isolates and separates, as
it drastically creates, these lop sided views
of independence and indifference and feeling
of self-worth written on blank checks of
nothingness.
Our separate worlds, stay separate.
So, I look at her, and realize in my heart,
that I’m sitting here, willing to do my part.
Separation is to Death …
As Death is to a separation.
Like all Mathematical equations,
an answer is never the variable,
but the outcome.
Missing someone –
Never seeing them again –
hurts just as much,
as if they had died.
It means a private,
one seat funeral in
your mind, and only
your tears, with no
one with you to cry.
No one to console,
or hug you, or tell
you the catch phrase,
that everything will
be alright.
Things are never alright
though.
And a separation hurts
just like a death.
Your
memories always
calling for that person,
of laughing with that person,
and still loving that person,
But all in the wind, and
just an illustrated illusion
of opaque visions.
For your arms will never
relay to your brain that you
can feel their warmth,
You ears will only replay
the scratchy recordings of
their voices,
In laughter,
In conversations,
in learning moments
of growth and despair.
Your lips kiss cold air –
And your heart, will never
synch in rhythm to their
own beat as it permeates
through the flesh of their
chest in a moment of purely
loving them.
Apparitional –
Ghostly –
Vanished –
Gone –
Dead.
And the whole part of it is –
You feel every inch of it too.
Pursuing …
A relationship with a girl who doesn’t like you --,
