Poetry · Writing

bacchus

i believe it’s meant to be

when the rain swept away

the nine on the night of wine

left all on the right wing

so i sink

swept away on the nine

i remember the wine

in boxes- floating

sent away with a sticker in rain

meant to be

swept in the rain

sinking

on the night of wine

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Poetry · Writing

honesty

you see it in the eyes:

the home page of the face

arrows being released over the wall

wallowing around:

the wall never helped anyone,

and now

you took an arrow to the knee

Poetry · Writing

stone mountain

best believe-

best believe your tokens are no good here

we share currency from stone pockets

stone mountain- picks and hammers looking for gold

not for currency- your tokens are no good here

to shine on your finger,

it’ll break the mountain top

send rocks and fools gold tumbling down

cracking the earth below

best believe

when the earth settles and the tears fade

know, your gratitude, your tokens

are no good here

Poetry · Writing

winter is here.

lost in a graveyard

found six feet under

it was never meant to end this way

or maybe it was

maybe i choose to ignore the signs on the road

the endless yelling of choosing poorly

but right now was meant for the hollow

a cross of a god that was never my god

a cross for the forsaken or the loved

holds the seal tight

i would challenge him but

he is a god so that seems dumb-

against his wishes i will rise;

turn my hands into shovels and rise

the bottom could never hold a spirit like mine

a heart with everything still to give

stories left to be told

work still to be done

and

the last season of game of thrones

still to be watched

Poetry · Writing

Sixteen Fears

I asked my buddy once

what he does to calm himself down.

He is an angry guy and he doesn’t get into fist fights

that I know of

so he must have a trick.

He told me he counts

s l o w l y

lowers his heart beat before he Hulks out.

After publicly laughing

and secretly taking notes

I tried it at home;

One, number of episodes I’ve seen of Ferrigno’s Hulk.

Two, number of times I had to convince myself that I’m not losing it before actually giving this a chance.

Three, pick up sticks.

Four, the number of times I thought about calling the love of my life and not doing it because I don’t want to be a bother.

Nine, worries I’ve given before reminding myself that she loves me and I need to escape the narrowing halls of my own mind.

Sixteen,

Eighteen, the year I decided to burn the world down from a water tower.

Twenty-two, the damn Taylor Swift song that will probably test time.

Sixty-nine,

Eighty-three, letters it takes for me to confess that I don’t want to roam this earth without you by my side.

One hundred and forty-three, It’ll be okay, as long as you know that you’re worth it and won’t give in to every single hick up even though your mortal self can’t help it.

Here, I learn he doesn’t deal with anger,

it’s the way to talk out his own insecurities.

Mine showed their tattooed faces at the first sign of a rain drop

no forecast of showers

towers blocking the sun

gun cocked to my own forehead

dread as I lower my own arm;

One hundred and forty-four, one day these worries will mute, the button is jammed in the remote but it’ll pop out, just have to keep counting.