Poem #332

There was nothing. Not even a spark.
When you kissed me, it felt like you were
kissing someone else. I couldn’t feel your hands.
There was no love, just the need to avoid loneliness.
It was like we were drinking from an empty cup
and wondered why we felt thirst.

Poem #332 – Purge

You wake up with nausea and dizziness 
but not with the will to wake up.
Go through the day not feeling like yourself,
you are selling your soul to the devil and that
devil is the world you are trapped in.
At night, before bed, you are in the shower for hours. 

You are trying to purge the sin from your body with water
as if you just stepped out of a Bible while in reality
you have been questioning the existence of God
for years now. You turn the water off, your body is burning
but for a moment there you feel clean. 
You promise yourself that in the morning it will be better. 

You wake up with nausea and dizziness 
but not with the will to wake up.
You are already late so you do not have time to
have a shower to see if the magic works in the morning as well.
You slap on a smile to avoid the questions, not realizing
this fakeness is eating away at your soul. 

The poet inside of you invites you to write the feelings down,
he whispers in your ear that they are bottled up.
So you try to purge that thing out of your body with
words and verses for yourself or for the world to read,
laugh at, call you crazy because of that. 
But for a moment there, it empties your mind. 

It’s all for moments, nothing lasts.
You cannot purge something rotten that grew inside.
You can only heal it but you are too weak from trying 
to purge it out as if a broken heart can be purged.
You are just tired and want to close your eyes
but the demons never sleep.  

Poem #331

Just come home.
This is not in a selfish way, I am not
asking you to come back to me.
I am asking you to come home. 

To the home that doesn’t have a roof
or 4 walls.
To the home where you feel safe, 
no matter where it is.
Just come home. 

The lines and the smoke won’t 
ease that mind. You need to come home.
There is safety in the light,
there can be peace in the dark.
Just come home. 

Poem #330

I do not need you.
I have been through hell and back,
got out by myself.
I shower in burning hot water
to make my skin remember of how
much I am capable of.

I do not need you.
I learned the hard way to stand
on my own two feet.
My knees still bleed, the bruises
pulsate but it doesn’t stop
me from getting up every day.

I do not need you. I want you.
I want you to kiss every wound,
touch every weakness.
You look like you are smart
enough to know what type of
blessing that is.

Poem #328

If your soul craves art
like your body craves air
it means that he stole your peace.

You let him tear down the walls
of your museum and destroy
your books and paintings and melodies

Don’t follow him into the dark.
Let him have those ruined paintings,
ripped out book pages and distorted melodies.

You are strong enough to build a new masterpiece.

Poem #326

We aren’t of those who want
to conquer the world.
We would build one ourselves.
But what is that good for if
we are playing the hurting game?

Who is going to let his trauma
win over love first?
Which one is going to self-destruct
and turn us into dust?

You need to know how to read
minds to know what I am saying.
I need to threaten to leave
to get an ounce of your attention.

Maybe it isn’t our fault we
are too messed up to love?

Poem #319

Tonight I will forgive myself.
I will forgive myself for all the times
I let you in knowing you will leave without a word,
without a whisper of why and where.
I will forgive myself for not letting you in tonight
and denying myself the pleasure of pretending to
belong to you, of feeling wanted.
I will forgive myself for everything I’ve done to hurt myself.
From now on, it will only be me until completely healed.

Poem #318

And so we live.
Our inner ten year olds are ashamed of us.
But we still live.
Our freedom is shackled by the opinions of others.
But we still live.
Our days are a well played out routine.
But we still live.
We slayed our dreams with the knife called reality.
But are we still alive?

Poem #317

You told me I am disturbingly
easy to fall in love with.
I didn’t know if I should say thank you
or slap you.
Am I so ordinary that I can be
everyone’s cup of tea?
Can’t you see I am a shot of whiskey?