First Impressions

She glowed with astounding certainty

Basked in femininity

Guarded frailty

She moved me

And it behooves me that the time can be so frail

Stopping in a moment, or a conversation

Especially one that touches a soul

Or perhaps when two souls “click”

And I am transfixed

On this creature of art and feeling

She did all of this without even meaning

To make an impact or leave a mark on me

But when you left, indeed a mark was left

Not only on me but also where you sat.

A small smear of pink paint on your seat

Is the main reason why I know

you are not a phantom or ghost

But a fierce and bold spirit

in the form of perhaps a pixie

That has seemed to mix me up

In a boiling pot of resonating thoughts

Echoing, Glowing and Flowing

Kiss Your Scars (12/3/2015)

I want to kiss her scars

To do her no harm

To brush my lips against

Those lines on her skin

Where she dug the knife in

Releasing all the pent up emotion

I just want to hold her in my arms tight

So that she will stop the fight; the war

Against herself

Stop tearing at her soul and skin

Stop letting the voices in her head win

To hold her tight, to give in

To give in to the warmth

Of someone else's scarred skin

Who knows the feeling of being marred; broken

By someone else's hand or fucking opinion

I want to kiss your scars

I’ll be as gentle as I can

And even if you squirm

Please know that I understand

I just want to bring some sort of healing

A new memory; anything

And baby, one more thing

Just remember, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder

And I’m beholding.

Lack of Listeners

I can feel my wall ascending

For I’m tired of mending up

My scraped and scratched heart

So many times I have felt myself falling apart

For a mere want of a pair of ears; listening

But found instead only mouths

Smoky Heart and Smoky Lungs

With the taste of cheap

Cigars on my lips

I inhale and exhale

The poison it gives

I don't even like cigarette smoke

But when it comes to morals

These days, baby I’m broke

And maybe I just feel like

The smoke in my lungs

Is what I am destined to become

Desolate ash and waste

Maybe that’s why I poetically

Like the taste

If smoke could solidify

Into the shapes that it filled

I would have smoky lung shapes

On my floor

And smoky heart shapes

Nailed to my door

Warning everyone not to come in

And to my chagrin

Those who do knock

Seem to fade away

To grey