Writers
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I am sensitive. Real sensitive. So… I have found out that caffeine heightens this sensitivity. Though, not in a good way. One cup of coffee causes my whole body to be in pain. I feel this agony in my chest, my abdomen, my lower back, and even my calves. Even my scoliosis begins to hurt,…
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Poem Titles: Due for the Delicate Kiss A Drawbridge to You Love’s Wishbone A Celebration of Love and Drunkenness When Fires Shares its Words Withdrawn and Withheld To Brush a Tear Aside Lust has an Open Image My Eyes Show Tears Alive, and Unwell Candles Melting Against… Blossomed Breast Grant Him His Fortune Love, by…
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“If the body is the guard to the vulnerable self, then it is the sight into the eyes that will see the mind. Lust, for the form. Love, for the mind. We are sane, in love, and insane, when we feel the love slipping. We desire control, yet we cannot douse the flames of defeat…
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No more long speeches, No more long breaks In the forest, where we take Turns to reach for the clouds Gathered, Then parted From the circles, they formed. No more time to talk, No more time to walk On in the same direction. We are so much like the ash that rains Upon our hands,…
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Looking back To my other end Of the lake, that shares Twisted, Broken branches. Her eyes leave marks, Her form Casts the storm. She bleeds all over me Grief, and pity. Her life Forged, through strife. Curves that taint the Earth, Growing weeds, Brambles, Among thickets, Thorns, Never the sweetness I’d expect. Her touch burns…
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You are the lighthouse Amid my storm, The guide, While my sails are worn. I am cracked by my hull, As you never let me sink Into my own debris, In my own tears, By my own fears. You are merciful, As I’ve been fanciful In seeing my pain wither away, In desiring my arms…
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She is that, within herself and behind her tears. She holds the moon for her solace, with the sun for her shame. A life so wrenched, with idle strands before her forehead. She beads the tension to the surface of porcelain skin. A woman, who so wants to be held, without slipping free. A little…
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Since May 6th, 2019, I have begun writing an almost endless stream of poetry on this blog. I have now compiled 924 poems, not including the 164 drafts to poetry I didn’t finish. Minus the 54 poems that I am having published through a local publishing house, I have 870 poems that will still need…
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“Why should I be a proud writer, when there are those who’d read my writing, recall a painful memory, and begin to weep to it? Why should I be a proud writer, when there are those who’d read my writing, feel rage for what I say, and thus become my enemy? Why should I be…
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Expectations increase with each new building block to the structure, so that the whole does not collapse. This is true when an author, or even a musician to a series of albums, or a screenwriter, a playwright, a game developing company, and others, consider how they are going to top their last piece. The entire…
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Mental illness had sprouted from me, truly speaking, at the time I fell in love with the only woman I ever loved. I created this blog to write about every feeling I had with her, before our parting. It was only due to a specific medical condition that created our parting, as that condition would…
Modern Romanticism 