Lessons From The Master

Sweet delicate premise
Balled fists and closed eyed kisses
Standing in your shadow is luminous
Morphed adaptations subject to your touch
Latching onto unstable footing
Quivering under the weight of the bittersweet taste of your monastery

You head the pulpit
Where only ever your testamony must ring true
So I bend and fold to fit biased accounts of realities I know too well
Student and teacher
Annointed caricatures of an Adonis complex
You are the preacher
Never choosing me as I choose you

Bad romances
A cult never devout of devotees
So you give out a piece of us
Played like a fiddle by your lust
There you go dancing again to the sound of your own beat
While I stand behind you watching my feet

Masterful wielder of the mightiest sword
Never sparring the rod
Silently unseen lashes and cuts
Failing and flailing
Trying to latch you on to my bust
The heady aroma of us

It's the glint of captured starlight
Both far away and so near
So I keep reaching
For the unattainable can be so deceiving

Comments

Options

There is absolutely nothing wrong with having options. In this day and age that has actually almost become the new "norm". What is VERY wrong with this new normal however, is having people feel that they are at liberty to treat you like a disposal commodity just because they are not at a place to understand the different emotional needs of the next person. So to the ladies, I implore you to distance yourself from a situation that requires too much of your energy all in a bid to be the cool, laid back and understanding option that is so much easier to deal with than someone fathoming that you are an individual who thinks, acts and feels with decisiveness and intent. Yes, I myself have different people who fulfill different needs at any given time but for each of them I practice both empathy and thoughtfulness devout of any semblance of selfish desire to fulfill momentary wants. .

Art For Art's Sake

I am a romantic and I am a writer. I could write a library's worth of love letters about a single glance from a passing stranger. Emotion, vulnerability, brokenness are the only things that truly move me. Some writers question your authenticity when all you create is based on feeling. Feeling low, feeling dejected, feeling hurt. But ask yourself, if your art has always been your therapy before you were brave enough to give voice to your fears and tears then who really is the better writer? Does it even matter? I've been questioned/doubted for my writing style since I can remember. But if it is MY ART. Whatever it is, how do you doubt the validity of words coming from your chest as opposed to your mind? I'm not trying to sound "smart". I am merely trying to find healing through expressing pain in pages. You might think, "one trick pony". It's cool. I get it. But you can never assume to judge me because all I've ever related to is ...

Save Me

They smear stains on my truest form Scotched fingerprints on every crevice of my brittle soul They fall like rain over any surface that defines the essence of my being Weak knees quake I don't ever breathe I break Save me Space encloses me in an asylum that houses stray thoughts They haphazardly attach to the cracks in my voice Sinking feeling I am barely living Save me Night terrors await from behind my door They take me everyday and I can't sleep anymore They nurse me against ghosts from the past They whisper "It will always be just you and us" Save me They drive me to drink On the verge of collapse I linger on the brink The weight of the world crushes my shoulders They throw bricks that hit me like boulders The ground seems to open up so I barrow below Time catches up and my heart beats slow Save me They drag at the seams of my clothing They stire the dust waking sleeping dogs that lie I suffocate cries under my pillow The fea...

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