Diamond in the Junkyard

I don't own a love.
Who am I...and that's too expensive anyway.
But if riches are your thing,
find me in a catacomb of gold-
since you're the gem in the junkyard.
Floating in stagnant rainwater
in some old tires.....
Because just like you,
they used to go somewhere with their life.
All the disregarded prized possessions
roting away.
No longer of use.
Hurry up and show your weight in precious metals
when someone else waves some cash.
Tin man still doesn't have a heart.

Nobody wants to buy any scraps
and the little bit of value was kept in the chest of this fool.
The only part I ever tried to keep.
Why make that investment for a
diamond in the rough
when it's not ready to shine?
I still understand what it could be.
It's covenant, but only as a prize to admire.

I don't love an owner.
Who are you anyway?
You apparently don't even know.
No one buys my attention.
I just freely give it,
but only to those who truly deserve it.
I'm tired of giving up my valuable pity.
There's never anything in return.
My feelings were always pennies on the dollar.
There's my 2 cents.
I can afford that much
even when everything I've said to you
appears to be worthless.

10 Chapters

There's no story
quite like the fiction
written on your face.

If you are happy
well then I guess it holds true
that we shouldn't judge
ourselves by outside covers.

Still, I am here to tell this story
because when I am gone
my proclamations will still remain.

A chronicle came and went
between dialogs, and hiding in mysteries
that I paged through
while in decision...
One that said everything about us.


What chapters will you remember?

Chapter One, The beautiful feeling:
Even the illustrations don't refect your past glory, but I really don't like this foreshadowing. I was watching some feathers on a shelf and paint brushes in old pickle jars.  It reminded me of the hair around your ear. A bit messy.  Not straight or organized. Kind of funny because I started to get my life together. Maybe I can write this as a comedy.

Chapter Two, Turn me away:
The plot makes no sense.  If you're the hero at least type up some honesty. It appears this is some kind of romance novel...but one that belongs with the bargain books. What a suspenseful letdown.

Chapter Three, Half fasted forgiveness:
The next chapter you should make some changes.  I believe in your edition even when you don't. I guess I won't close this book just yet.

Chapter Four, In love with you again:
I was going on a feeling that things would change.  Plot twist. You're still the same. Just harder to read.  How many more pages will be written about you? This is becoming a terrible tale.

Chapter Five, I must be an idiot:
Blank page stares.  Confusing storylines. Sometimes you're too hard to follow. These leaves unfold and unravel as soon as I have them bound.  Stitching this spine means the literature won't leave my head.  All random loose writings hold more weight emotionally, but a best seller should be more professional.

Chapter Six, Time to stay away:
Sometimes I wake up with a pen in my hand.  You see, I was trying to poetically rid myself of you before you follow me to my dreams. It never worked, you know.

Chapter Seven, I wanted to see you:
If you ran a finger down the brail raised on my arms you would see I wasn't joking last time.  When I started at the line beside your eye I couldn't tell if you were squinting at your lie or that you couldn't bare to look at me.

Chapter Eight, Thanks for the heartbreak:
Can't find time to look at this right now.  Right now.  Read this later.  All the words I wrote seemed to run right off into bottles of whiskey and cheap beer.  I now understood why the best writers drank so much.  It's the only way to numb yourself to deal with such painful thoughts.  Pass on the liquor, this is the only way you are tolerable.

Chapter Nine, Just as usual:
The kids left a book on the coffee table.  "Things That Go Bump in the Night"
I kept glancing at it every time I remembered something that scares me. I think I'll just turn this over. I worried that you were a villain.  Maybe I should choose an alternate ending.

Chapter Ten, Don't forget to write:
You said you'd care for me despite all these scribbled rantings.  Those words were barely understandable late at night when there wasn't going be any sleep and blurred visions were fading away.  You always have the same answer when I ask you what I should do.  Keep writing.  One day, just as the story is about to be forgotten pick up your own pen.

Forgive Us Our Trespasses

Posted: Do Not Enter

We were sad, and lonely,

and it seemed our friends didn't know our name-

we didn't mourn in silence,

and spoke of how we felt insane.

Days of unjustified losses bent the signs of our needy.

Barbed wire doesn't keep everything out.

Forgive us lord, of our trespasses-

there tended do be an illusion

of belonging somewhere.

Of all the whiskey in all the world...

it seemed our loves did not care.

The genocide of sound

blasted heartache 

in these chests,

and the black sheep held each other

because our pain....

it never rests.

Cut Strings

See what kind of heart strings you can pull....
Rigidly swaying hands and feet
moved this puppet
without manipulating
any frame.
The world is a stage,
and this drama will end.
Snip, snip-
Watch me walk away.

Moving Day

This is the junk

moved back and forth

from door to door...

except it wasn't the old stereo,

or the cardboard box of old China.

It was a pile of pain.

What a broken bag of bones.

This past garbage

floats in like an impending storm.

Hanging on chandeliers,

and hiding where the corners

meet the walls.

It should have been left behind.

Like the dusty old decorations

and the rusty dust pans...

It was packed in between

my happy memories

and a mirror that nags.

There's that same person

walking through the door.

As pensive and disgusting

as the unforgivable bastards

lingering in undesirable history.

So here we are again.

Old habits impairing new faith.

The key to bright futures

can't be hid under this doormat.

All windows were opened to avoid the suffocation....

and I tossed out so many belongings

into the dumpster.

I'd rather carry nothing to hold these 

charlatans that remain.

When there isn't anything left,
except the nails in the walls,

and variant breakdowns....

step aside bête noire.

You will no longer live to attack me

in my happy home.

The Afraid Dance

Can't I just be poetry in motion?
We'll call it "The afraid dance".
Tensed up,
and only watch on the ground...
as I begin to realize I'm losing balance.
Too much pull in your direction.
Oh, to love the felicity,
then crash
I'm hurt again
because you didn't break the fall.

Hiding/Parallel

Find me next to you.

I was still hiding .

Nobody knows

where I am.

I like it that way.

Even when you're silent.

Even when you seem to not want to be my sanctuary.

It's still better than all this chaos-

all the other pain.

Won't you let me......

just hide.

A spider under the rug.

A drawing between rough pages.

When someone asks, tell them I'm not here.

Hide me between soft sheets,

and pillows over my head.

I'd rather dream

far away from here

anywhere else

as long as you're parallel.

I'd whisper behind a curtain

look out the window,

and observe the world from here.

Curl in your lap

and try to do nothing but exist.

A silent rhapsody

in a masquerade

of false hope

and defamation.

Nobody should know the words I'm about to say to you.

Don't worry, I'll just stay muted.

I'd rather bite my lips

until they bleed

than be asked to leave.

Let's be parallel.

Straight and narrow,

but still by your side.

A quiet symphony

barely existing

because neither of us

can promise stability.

I guess I'll run if I can't survive.

Those bright blue horizons sure look nice.

The tiny bit of security is fleeting

and morally not so...

There was that one,

a bit crooked

even when I saw them as parallel.

Apart on the lines 

of experiences.

Separated by a distance that I wish wasn't so far,

and that's when I went into hiding.

A hermit's repose.

Not so uncommon for our kind,

but my refuge is gone.

No retreat.

I guess we no longer know each other.

The stance angled when you assumed you were being used.

The parallel is that I'd always be there for you.

We should still go into hiding.

Alone in reclusive arms.

The vanquishment was about both of us healing.

Sheltering within the twin flame.

Just let me hide with you.

The Hard Lessons

Approval can satisfy.
Sadness isn't a lullaby.
Boredom is barely tolerable.
Loving doesn't make you infallible.

Silence doesn't mean you're fair.
Loneliness doesn't make you rare.
Finances can't make everyone stay.
Darkness doesn't mean there won't be another day.

Humiliation isn't the way to success.
Soulmates don't care how you dress.
A farewell doesn't mean your heart said goodbye.
Just because you trust someone doesn't mean they won't lie.

Longing doesn't save your face.
Admitting you are human doesn't make you a disgrace.
Memories don't always make you smile.
Rejection is frequently followed with denial.

Compassion doesn't help when you find yourself alone.
Availability means you have to leave your home.
If unrequited, love leaves you broken.
Optimism is sometimes best unspoken.

Shouting enforces guilt.
Apathy destroys friendships already built.
Heartache is another word for passion.
Egos separate in a deliberate faction.

It's nice to be happy for all others.
The condescending make horrible lovers.
Someone's arms will feel like home.
Don't forget the world is made to roam.

Injury

Noisy distortion.
There's an aversion only certain eyes can see,
and the injury doesn't want to be shown today.

Pull up the hood.

You could take my hand,
but try not to throw and elbow.
Blind sided by your expression,
-right at this moment-
It's best just to look away.
My soul is already limping behind me
struggling just to catch up.

If you fired a gun into the sky
you still manage to hurt me.
Some intensities can only be handled on the fly.
No owner means never using a leash.

Inside a torn vessel
a vexation makes a fraudulent face.
Upturned lips are for vices lifted,
but this defect wanted to keep some parts of our story.
All the ones that make the discomfort last
because if it still hurts
it means the torture isn't over yet.

There is an injury.
A deep hidden painful reminder.
I never gave it your name
because I chose to keep it with me.
I wear it daily.
This is a self inflicted deformity
and it is not one that is well understood.

I would show you these scars
but since you've cut deeper
than any of my butchered past
I can't see how you would ever realize
what it means to heal over,
and rise above
darkness and peril.

You are most of the sacrifice.
The one who does the most work.
Sometimes it's crucial to lay off one pain for another.
Next time, don't be so selfish.
I am expecting your infliction to destroy me.
Offer that sword.
Slice through the exposure.
Either heal the injury,
or blow me away.
The options are the same.