Is hope to be found; in things I buy underground. From plants and pills; my world spills; into the next. Until nothing beats inside my chest.
Category: Poetry Monday
My Eyes You’re my eyes when I can’t see; the destructive life I tend to lead. Drugs or drink. Sex, love, or how I think. Although we often disagree. Through your eyes I will see. The person I am destined to be.
So, I missed a week. But good things were happening. I had a Cover Reveal for my new book. If you haven’t seen it, you should check it out. It’s beautiful. And now – poetry. You’re right. I’m wrong. Same old dance to a different song. The lyrics vary day to day. The melody is
This started as a love poem then went way off course. That’s why I love it. It was actually 4 poems that I morphed into one. The path I follow has no signs. No lights. No lane. I make my own way. Follow my own rules. Create my fate. … In your hand is a
I actually wrote this a few years ago, but it’s still one of my favorites.
The voice of reason speaks too low. It’s always late or doesn’t show. Mistakes are made. Words are spoke. You can’t take back what the world now knows. The voice is wicked. The voice is hard. The voice will rip your world apart. Trust your heart. It won’t lead you blind. Your heart is the
I always write poetry on Mondays. Today I wrote two. This one is for Joe.
Clarity. Misguided voices in your head. Speak of hatred, anger, death. Whisper signs. Corrupt your mind. Silently lie in wait, of your last breath. Don’t give in. The voice is pretend. Your wounds are real. They throb and bleed. No longer hidden where eyes can’t see.
I want you broken, battered, and beat. I want you on your back unable to stand. Its more convenient for me. It satisfies my needs. My impulse to help. My desire to please. Is it selfish? Maybe. Everthing about this poem is selfish. It’s meaning. It’s orgin. Just writing these words are completely and totally
Don’t really want to blog. So, I wrote this poem. Share. Dream. Live.