Words From a Bruised Heart

Society’s drunk with your cantrip,

It’s only lawful to button

our lips. Listen to your subjects skip.

Our opinions’ as good as rotten mutton.

Later, there will be erosion

of someone else’s country you saw as squalid.

Baghdad full of death from our commotion.

Only to pour oil your wallet.

We seek peace,

And We don’t want a piece of your Sadam cake.

Screw the police.

They are just like you, fake.

You’re just a Texan honkey

This country would be safer if run by a donkey.

Toss my ashes in the sea,

let my carnage become the breath taking ocean,

for the first time let me be beautiful.

For the many who come, leave.

You are only there to settle the undertow of your consciences.

For the few who will stay,

do not pray for a peaceful death,

but envy my peace.

At my grave sing a song.

May your voices be conch shells opening the gates to heaven.

When watching the ashes drift away,

do not be afraid to sink your living hangs into the fresh wet sand,

knowing I never was.

There she is again,

Awaiting my departure…

Glaring through the labs window like a

Pitbull awaiting a pork chop.

I should pretend to work longer,

Just to escape her hungry lips

I know i paid for her pasta once

It was my choice,

But I think I’ll need a restraining order soon

Tomorrow I’ll leave early, or at least stop wearing pork chop perfume.

Slip off the sandals,

fly to the sky with my bare toes.

Press my lips,

kiss the pink blazing sun.

When she sets,

taste the wine from the moons lips.

Tuesdays,

the hardest memory to swallow.

Lying comfortably bare underneath green housed sheets,

discovering the marvels of our bodies.

Petite hands wrapped together,

morning rays shining through the blinds,

lips dancing in the spotlight.

Tuesdays look much different now.

Unreasonable Expectations for My Future Wife #2:

She is going to love me back, just as much as I love her. Not just with her words, but with her actions.

Unreasonable Expectations for My Future Wife #1:

She won’t mind the rain, and maybe even dance in it. In a thunderstorm windows open so she can hear the drops dancing on the roof, and breathe the sweet smell of the Earth’s bath.

I appreciate those of you that are taking the time to read my poems. I am truly humbled by each and every like and re-blog!

A tid-bit of background about the writing on this blog. I have been writing since I could maneuver a pencil. Much of the writing I have been posting is as old as 1998 (I was 13) to current writing.

I have been digging through my old writing, some on notebooks, and even some of the originals were on saved napkins or tray liners from my high school job at Mickey D’s. I started this blog as a new creative focus, a way of healing a broken heart and just to start writing again with an audience.

I also wanted to introduce two new creative writing endeavors I am going to be posting in between poems which are: My Bucket List, and Unreasonable Expectations for My Future Wife (ie: a creative list of expectations not all unreasonable for my future girlfriend). Just because I really want somewhere to record these ongoing lists..

Gleaming eyes

sharp silver

speak with cruel intentions.

Livid lips

pale pink

dance when they talk.

Sunkissed skin

light tan

touch so tender

Frigid heart

barbwire grey

guarded by a hungry dog.

I have never gone surfing.

I have never traveled to the other coast,

with bulging bags in my trunk,

and a freshly waxed surf board strapped to my Jeep.

Totally stoked to ride the wave of a lifetime

On a sunny day or even a stormy one,

when the waves are the best.

I have never ran to the shore, sand kicking up, with my board under my arm.

Tsunami splash as I jump into the blue ocean,

I paddle out to oblivion,

and wait for a huge wave to come.

I have never caught the best wave ever,

and I have never wiped out.

With the waves hammering my body,

the salty water pouring in my mouth.

Giving into the undertow of Mother Ocean.

Pawn memories of you,

sell your words, to someone else.

can’t hold us anymore

arms much to weak to carry your thoughts,

and mine.

You are so evil minded or I am so weak hearted.

I wish I could pawn your existence in my mind,

but I can’t.

I can’t let go.

Solid bench

carbon poison,

hippie sandals,

and my book of Jim.

Favorite drink and favorite musician.

Half drunk, thinking of leaving this town.

Can’t leave that blue jay or the morning mist of this haggard place,

but I could leave everything else.

I wish I had a million we’d hide in Amsterdam.

A place he has been, and I have never seen.

Give me a red light, x-rated film, a nude dancer and a picture of him.

I’ll be fine.

This is a Sweet Valley school.

School of Seventeen pin-up queens,

and Abercrombie dicks.

Stuck to it’s conformity,

fly on the wall.

Drinking and drunk, off everyone else’s words.

I gotta leave to Amsterdam or

perhaps Paris, France.

But dying naked in a bathtub doesn’t desire me much.