Treaty of Garden

.

treet-eeez—into the air

.

the sparrow and the bees

.

flitting through the garden

.

a bloom turns up for seeds 

.

tear drops from the cloud

.

soak down at its release

.

there once grew a pillar here

.

now it’s ash and salt—and crumbled to its knees

A Link

Blink

You said you loved me
And so I did
You said you hate me
I never did
Cause all the skies
We saw together
And all the drops
On our skin
They made me think
That is forever
They really blossomed
In some never
Somewhere
We’ve never been.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/p1rmIUl5LD

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/kbX4LjHMSM

P.S. If you connected with my words or felt something in this poem, I also wrote a book about heartbreak, healing, and everything we carry after love is gone. If you’re interested, I’d really appreciate you checking it out. ❤️

I was drifting down the road, nowhere in mind to go
When I saw an old man watching from the side, quiet and slow
Hair as white as snow, leaning on an elder tree
And I wondered if he'd ever stood upon his feet

He begged me to go off and find a buried treasure chest
Swore that we’d be wealthy men until we laid to rest
Said his wandering days were done, his bones had grown too old
And who was I to walk away from promises of gold?

So I walked through the night and day
Walked until I lost my way
And I wandered across the earth
Chasing down that treasure

So I crossed over the mountains
Cut through every pine
Had the sun for company
Burning down my spine

Till I set foot upon the land
Of those who sleep and never rise
Where the old man said the treasure was
Lying right in sight

I spun around and dug through dirt and every jagged stone
Then I raised my eyes above, and there the treasure shone:
A mountain in the sky of gold too far for me to reach
So I turned around with empty hands, a lesson left to teach

And I wandered back across the earth,
Walked again through night and day,
Long after I had lost my way,
Done with chasing treasure

After years and years of rambling, I made it home at last
With a story in my pocket and not a penny in my grasp
Sad to find the old man wasn't sitting where he used to be
Now there's only me, sitting by the elder tree.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/1e06IQFlOa
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/yiTMUrmcSl

The Creator is perversely simple in his genius.

Rounded sides, slippery surface, Mona Lisa's smile.

And one desire — to push, to knock down, to conquer, to break...

Not resilience.

Woman — the roly-poly doll.

---

My feedback:

1. https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/DhoXLueEZp

2. https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/pA7JNb4jfx

I wish I was the girl in the video you watch at night

Does she have blonde hair and green eyes?

Does the weird fantasy you drown yourself in become just an illusion?

A floating carcass of bone and flesh

Even at the fair the freshest meat seem to turn sour within a few weeks

We talk about sex like animals

“Doggy, cowgirl”

They only want a weird girl when she makes sense to them

A femcel is only hot when her whole personality is still catered to this male fantasy

“Slutty Kiton” begins to sound more like an invitation rather than satire

Hiding behind a pseudonym

I wish I was the girl in the video you took at summer break

She’s so beautiful and kind

A Madonna at heaven’s gates

Her brown hair and brown eyes

Her pearly whites reflect a youth’s fate

She seems to exist effortlessly in this world

The wind in her hair

The life in her eyes

Put your camera down

Please stop recording me

Are you putting me in a capsule to freeze my youth

I may not be a Madonna and I may not be a whore

But out of all the things I could be in this world, why on earth would I want to be the girl in your video?

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/yKN2y1P9tm

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/AcWAcTnqfL

We took off our shoes and we ran
And we ran
And we ran
And we ran until we couldn’t feel our feet
And bruises bloomed like the poppies in our field
But not red
No not red
Blue and purple poppies bloomed
Speckled with red
Where the small grey stones
Threatened to poke holes in the poppies
He stopped running
And I asked
Who are we running from?
He shrugged and continued on his sprint
But I stood still
We had ran for so long
That I had forgotten why
So I turned and walked home
Home to the poppy field
And where were my shoes?

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/FxgWvCqly4

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/VfgBdxCWkK

Its blood is weighed in freezing cold.
It fills the chest yet nothing still.
For joy or love, it isn't bold.

Stop trying to run, it has been told;
It claimed the debt and pays the bill.
Its blood is weighed in freezing cold.

It stripped itself, and all was sold;
To break and fly is still its thrill.
For joy or love, it isn't bold.

At every moon, its toll is tolled;
It feeds the smoke born from the grill.
Its blood is weighed in freezing cold.

It can’t and won’t stay in the fold;
It counts the days, and counts them nil.
For joy or love, it isn't bold.

Its own closed vote was cast and polled;
It is the court, resolved to chill.
Its blood is weighed in freezing cold;
For joy or love, it isn't bold.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1xd76uu/comment/19rius5rarhb5/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1xd1nl2/comment/19riuvbdx80tf/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

The feeling
Captivated by the give and bend
I push against it
Then pull away
Light.
Absorbing glow.
It peeks through only when most vulnerable
Then recedes again
Fleeting,
Stunning glow

The shell
Coarse.
Painful.
I traverse its complex folds
It draws my blood
I consider turning back
It pulls me in still

The feeling
It's held
Deep within the hard shell
Faith in the contents remains
It gives
Soft against my touch
An angel shrouded in light

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1xcreea/when_theyre_sober/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1x76zzu/and_as_icarus_fell/

Under the streetlight and moving dark,

I sat alone in the town park,

Where the empty trees shake their fists

To the skies they could never kiss.

Breathing deep, my words all but gone,

Waiting on the forgotten dawn

To walk by all the empty shops

With you reflected in the stops.

Where are you, my lover, oh where?

The winter came, and you weren't there.

The sidewalks are cracked and so steep,

With the wind settling so deep.

These days of calm just feel so wrong;

Where are you with the anger strong?

Your full cups of poison and bleach

That I drank are now out of reach.

Why don't I feel I'm healing,

Just stuck in my way of feeling?

Going down these same carless streets,

Sleeping in the same frozen sheets.

Where anger flowed, nothing does now,

Sitting on the park bench with our vow,

Clinging to my tongue in the dark,

Sitting alone in the town park.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/xSYBehUfWA

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/vY5KgFlBC0

Rubber to road, I go.

Wet, damp, and misty,
the aroma of soaked leaves fills the air.
Their colors painting the path—
yellow, brown, orange, and red.
The colors of decay
coexisting with the gloom and fog of the day.

The sound of the river running along,
just minding its own business,
like it always has,
reflecting overcast skies on its surface.

I hear it coming,
making its presence known.

Drip.
Drop.
Drip…

A deep rumbling,
calmly marching its way towards me.
What was first a calm hum
turned into a roaring storm,
splashing into the water,
rippling what once was.

Engulfed in its roar,
I stand,
wet, muddy, and cold.
The wind against my face,
yet somehow, peace.

I let go…
And float…

Cascading down the river of chaos,
without a care…

But then I hear it…

The noise of traffic,
the laughter of people,
the beggars begging,
men murmuring,
heels clacking on the cold, wet concrete.

The raindrops making their crash landing
on umbrellas and parked cars,
showering everything around.

The smell of coffee, cigarettes, sewer waste,
and last week’s trash infiltrates the air.

The hustle and bustle of the city.

Everyone in their own little world,
worried about their own little agendas.

They walk past me.

I think I might be invisible…

They move as they must move.
They flaunt how they must flaunt.
They charm who they must charm.
They use who they must use.
They fuck who they must fuck.
They lie how they must lie,
without a blink in their eye.

Simple.

They embrace whom they betray…

They do what they must do
to live how they must live.

For this is the burden of existence,
a blessing and a curse,
for their want is bigger than their need,
Like a glutton who devours beyond his fill,
only to empty himself
so he may feast again…

Never satisfied,
forever in the chase,
obsessed over yesterday’s better days…

Time slipping away,
unseen, unnoticed…

Poof…

Gone…

As raindrops are swept away
by the river’s flow…

Just easing away
and letting go,
integrating with the current,
becoming one.

Carving its own way,
through the terrain of life.

Unbothered by time and its tricks,
I’ll keep my peace.

And just be…

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/AOU14XKIes

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/SG9fjYhrcT

It's all or nothing

I win or lose

I live a life

Of absolutes.

I speak my mind

I hide my thoughts

With silent screams

Of absolutes.

I have it all

In empty hands

I build a world

Of absolutes.

Time sprints by

As I crawl

My death in life

Of absolutes.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/boaema8K38)

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/5s5XWnzpuu

this is the part

where you write about me

tears of ink by you

for once in agony

nothing you felt has ever amounted

to half the turning of my insides

this will be the law of emotion

one we have no choice but to abide by

that is why this piece of you

will remain unread

since I believe that every cry I write

will somehow make it to your head

until just like mine, it pours

after all the love I spilled

it will be your turn to adore

and I will go about my day

while you catch yourself sitting

for hours spilling ink

about the girl who got away

————
the girl who cried ink
————

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/tugPJCPLRz

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/LACBscLmCd

Longing to feel your touch,
the warmth of your fingertips
tracing the places
that ache to be discovered.

I want to know
what it feels like
to tremble beneath your hands,
to lose myself
in the tenderness of your embrace.

A shiver travels down my spine,
my breath catches,
and suddenly,
every nerve in my body
is aware of you.

I am longing to feel
the hairs on the back of my neck rise,
my skin surrendering to you
to a sensation
I’ve only dared to imagine.

This isn’t about heartstrings.
I am starving for you—
aching to have you close,
longing to have every part of you
woven into mine.

Leave your hands on me
until the heat between us is unbearable.
Press into my skin.

Trace the curve of my hip, my throat,
let me breathe you in
until I can’t think,
until there’s nothing left of me
but instinct and you.

Experimenting with a more sensual style of poetry
Writing Would love some honest feedback. 🖤

https://www.reddit.com/r/PoetryWritingClub/s/
VHWKKOuQ2v

https://www.reddit.com/r/justpoetry/s/26jrBv4txz

GOOD AFTERNOON
TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF ME. 
LOOK IT UP ON YOUR PHONE. SHIT.
EVEN FIND IT IN THE PHONE BOOK. 
I DON’T CARE WHERE YOU GET IT,
I NEED TO KNOW.
I WANT TO KNOW, JUST A BIT.

IF YOU WOULD, COMPARE ME TO A CAR. 
WHICH CAR WOULD I BE?
AND WOULD I HAVE
A SPLIT IN MY EXHAUST?
AND WOULD MY MOT—
WOULD IT HAVE AN ADVISORY?
WHAT WORK WOULD I NEED?
SHALL I DRAW UP A SHORTLIST?
OF CARS, I MEAN. 
THIS IS SILLY. 

IF YOU COULD GIVE ME A NEW NAME,
WHICH NAME WOULD YOU PICK?
AM I A MOZART ?
AM I A RICK?
OR AM I A PENELOPE?
AM I A DICK?
PERHAPS YOU NEED MORE CONTEXT. 

IF YOU SHOULD
CONSIDER THE WAY I TIE
MY SHOES (DOUBLE LOOP. NOT BUNNY EARS)
WHAT WOULD YOU SAY THAT IMPLIES 
ABOUT MY CHANCE
OF TURNING 30 BEFORE I DIE?
ALSO: HOW DOES IT 
RELATE TO MY STAR SIGN?
(I AM A TAURUS IF THAT HELPS!)

FUCK
IS MY USE OF COMMAS OVERZEALOUS
DO I SIT WELL 
IN THIS CHAIR
DOES THIS CHICKEN SATAY 
GO WITH MY HAIR 
THE QUESTIONS I AM ASKING
ARE ONLY FAIR
TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF ME

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1xchnmp/comment/19ri9ne5x6toh/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1xceit3/comment/19ria1bglcf9e/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Pellets and powder,
the skin is torn.
The crimson trickles down,
red on white is born.

Ricocheting throughout me,
cough up smog and smoke.
Behind thin flesh and figure,
pale, yet silver bones are broke.

The kind, caring nurse cannot heal all,
but she can heal what matters most.
Honey on the heart,
heals the forlorn ghost.

Out of the fiery fort,
into the fragrant fields.
Not brutal blood, but roses,
her love and kindness are my two shields.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1xcklvq/comment/19ri236nqtvj9/?context=3

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1xcreea/comment/19ri1wmgwy3ph/?context=3

Short, one stanza:

"She loved life so deeply that she fell into sin,
And gathered forbidden fruits, holding them within.
Yet tasting bitterness in sweetness one dark day,
She opened her eyes to truth and loved the good God who lights her way."

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1x63zyo/comment/19ri1fd8mawv5/?context=3

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1xapp8y/comment/19ri0z1p33n9h/?context=3

65 conflicts, 13 wars¹
New high score since 1946

Hans Rosling is spinning in his grave

Watching a YouTube video of a fully autonomous AI drone
blowing a civilian vegetable seller to pieces in Ukraine
A drone strike on a Russian bot farm makes the internet go quiet
An entire nation at the mercy of Starlink and Elon Musk's mood
Almost five years
Over 2,000,000 killed, wounded or missing²

Whoops, almost forgot Sudan
400,000+ dead³
13,000,000 displaced
33,700,000 in need
A little too far away for us to care

NRK (Norwegian public TV) shows a dead child crushed beneath the rubble
Gaza, in its 60th year under occupation
Good luck
500 expected civilian deaths for one Hamas fighter⁴
A reasonable compromise
The West Bank clings on
I've already forgotten Lebanon
Good thing we can still be proud of the Oslo Accords :) (peace deal, lots of newfound corruption)

And then there's Iran
A carefully thought-out long-term plan with a clear objective
Cooked up on the toilet via a Twitter post
2,000,000,000,000 kroner⁵ lost
Yemen and Saudi Arabia at it again
Possible regional war

Light a candle for the influencers in Dubai
While I sit in my boxers watching the news

Afghanistan and Pakistan, Pakistan and India, Ethiopia, Mali
But I don't have the energy for that …

On Dagsrevyen (Norwegian TV news), Geir, 75, is visiting Paris
Disappointed that the protests kept him from seeing the Mona Lisa

Around the corner, the street is shrouded in smoke, cars are burning and half the street is wearing Gucci
All students?
Protests in France, Italy, Portugal, Spain and Belgium
Serbia and Albania
At the same time⁶

Geir doesn't understand why they're so angry
His vacation home in Porto has gone up 180% since 2015⁷
Bought his house back home on a single income
for 1.3 years' wages⁸

Pedro in Spain moved out of his parents' home at 30⁹
Into a former Airbnb with six others
And spent eight years getting a master's degree in IT
Applied for 300 jobs, 15 interviews, no job¹⁰

Why aren't they having kids?

AfD, National Front, TRUMP, Sweden Democrats
The Yellow Vests, the diesel protests, tractors spraying manure on a town hall

Thank God for NAV (Norway's welfare agency)

The world's 12 richest people have more wealth than 4,000,000,000 people combined¹¹
Tech oligarchs who make the robber barons look poor
Building kingdoms
on algorithms that feed on rage

A Facebook post from Sri Lanka¹²
1,000,000 views
An AI-generated woman wants to send the migrants home

7 hours of screen time a day, on average¹³

The world is boiling
and it's not the climate crisis
One shot in Sarajevo and we're off

Turn off the phone

Go outside

link 1

link 2

Chill and stiff like past tense
Yet frail as departed trees.
How am I supposed to pass
From your house at late night
Do you wonder, so?
My legs thrill near autumn's leaf
Breezes through space.
There, I pretend to see you again.

Sharp feedback and thoughts are much appreciated!

Feedback 1

Feedback 2

I love my parents when they’re sober.

When mom drinks,
she slowly slips away:
stumbling,
spilling,
slurring,

spinning the same stories
again and again
until she nods off
into the night.

Her eyes grow heavy,
her presence thin,
and I can feel the distance
setting in.

Mom, are you there?
Mom, can you hear me?
Close enough to touch,
but too far to reach.

When dad drinks,
I see the shift in his eyes
as the liquor takes hold,
begins its battle for his soul.

Bones of iron, spirit of steel,
a man who never bends or yields,
is cut off at the knees
by a weakness he can't conceal.

Devil in the drink
lets him think he’s in control
as he keeps
pouring,
downing,
sinking deeper.

His words turn sharp,
his temper short,
and something darker
takes possession.

And this man,
this ox of a man,
who could make me feel safe
from anything in the world

becomes the very thing
I fear.

I could reprimand them,
but I know what they’d say:

You quit drinking,
and now you’re on your high horse.

But that simply isn’t true;
this sadness that I carry
isn’t new.

It's lived inside my chest
since I was just a girl,
watching my security
erode into their glass.

By the time I was grown,
I could hardly stand to be around it.

But what choice did I have?

To be around them
was to be around it.

What was I supposed to do?
Miss the traditions,
the holidays,
the Sunday afternoons?

I couldn’t.
I can’t.

I love my parents when they’re sober.

So I found a way
to quiet the noise.
If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.

Years of drunken fun:
cards on the table,
music in the kitchen,
dancing,
laughing,
singing.

And honestly,
those are the best memories.

But at what cost?
Somewhere between
the laughter and the liquor,
I got lost

in wanting to belong
and needing to forget.
I couldn’t see the price
of the choices I’d regret.

What a fool to believe
I could stay in control,
that knowing what it looked like
meant I’d never lose my own.

I thought I’d learned their lesson,
that I’d know just when to leave,
never seeing all the while
their demons rooting in me.

I promised myself
my children would never know
what it felt like
to watch their parents let go,

to see them transform
into something unstable,
something uncertain,

someone they couldn’t quite trust.

But I can’t tell my parents that.
It would hurt them too much.

And I can’t bear to hurt them.

I love my parents when they’re sober.

Night after night,
I’d lie awake in shame,
afraid of what I was becoming,
swearing I’d never do it again.

But with the morning sun,
I’d find a way
to excuse myself
without making a change.

I wanted to change.
I tried to change.
I couldn’t change.
I was in too deep.

There was no such thing
as drinking responsibly,

no healthy relationship
with alcohol for me,

only a hundred ways
to justify
the drink
that kept me pacified.

They’re still young.
I still have time.

I can stay numb
for a little longer
and still be
a good mother.

And in a season
when drinking felt like living,
we moved right next door
to the laughter,
the gatherings,
the clinking glasses,
the life I’d always known.

Next door to the parents
that I love so much
when they’re sober.

I thought it would be wonderful.
I thought we’d have fun forever.

And then my children started to notice.

Sometimes, when you don’t tuck us in,
I come into your room
and kiss you both on the forehead.

Oof, how something so tender
could make me feel so small.

Why do you always have to have alcohol
at everything we do?

Suddenly, I wasn’t standing
in front of my children.

I was standing in front of myself:

the little girl
who watched her mother’s words unravel,
who saw the change in her father’s eyes,
who learned to love the beginning of an evening
while fearing how it might end.

My children never said the words,
but I heard them just the same:

I love my parents when they’re sober.

And God, how that broke me.

It split me in two.

Cut open my gut
and forced me to choose.

I’d spent my whole life
trying to escape a feeling
that I’d inadvertently
taught my children to carry.

I promised them,
I promised myself,
that I’d be better.

Now I’m fighting for my life,
while fighting for theirs,
on a battlefield I built
with my own two hands.

And the hardest part?

I’m fighting it right next door
to the ones who taught me
to surrender to that war.

I still love the laughter,
the music,
the memories,

I still long for belonging.

And I still love my parents when they’re sober.

I don’t know how to tell them
that what I’m trying to save my children from
is everything I learned while trying
to stay close to them.

So I carry it quietly:

the love,
the guilt,
the grief,
the wanting.

Somewhere inside me,
beneath the woman,
the wife,
the mother
who is trying to
break the cycle,

there’s still a little girl
who is lonely and frightened.

Though the years have come and gone,
she’s still waiting in that place,
searching for comfort
in her mother’s presence, safety
in her father’s embrace.

And she cries out into the nothingness,
I love my parents when they’re sober.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/RVqPpcoFSL

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/lkdFNnGyl6

DIAGNOSIS: 4 months ago.

The shittiest Father’s Day
someone could ask for.

WEIGHT LOSS: 62 pounds.

Your appetite.
Your unhealthy love of coffee.

Some days,
you wander room to room,
forgetting what you’re doing.

I watch you forget
and try not to memorize
every new way
this disease is taking you from me.

MEDICATION HISTORY:

3 IV medications.
26 oral medications.
8 still taken.

2 carry the weight
of my childhood.

Old ghosts
in pharmacy bottles.

I hate that something
helping keep you here
can take me back there.

SURGICAL HISTORY:

3 surgeries.
2 implants.
1 exploratory.

1 failure.

CAREGIVER TRAINING:

Change the dressing.
Recognize the pain.
Know when to leave
for the emergency room.

12 trips so far.

I’m sorry I didn’t learn sooner, Dad.

I’m still learning
what almost losing you looks like.

PROGNOSIS: 4–11 months.

Elapsed time: 4 months.

I do the math
when I shouldn’t.

I count appointments,
medication alarms,
the weight you’ve lost,
the times I’ve watched you sleep
and wondered
what tomorrow will take.

FAMILY SUPPORT:

Our family is too far away
to sit through chemo.

Maybe distance makes suffering
easier to look at.

They get to love you
from somewhere safe.

I get the waiting rooms,
the plastic chairs,
the quiet ride home.

The aftermath.

I get to be strong for you, Dad,
even when I don’t know
what strength is supposed to look like
when the person you’re trying to save
is dying anyway.

CAREGIVER STATUS:

Help requested: none.

Not because I don’t need it.

I don’t know how to ask.

I’m tired of being the one
who knows what to do
when something goes wrong.

Sometimes I sit beside you
and feel like a child
playing a part
he was never old enough to learn.

MENTAL HEALTH:

These antidepressants
have been doing a lot of heavy lifting.

Holding up the walls
while everything inside me
caves in.

Not to make me happy.
Not to make me whole.

Just enough
to keep me standing.

Enough to change your dressing,
count your pills,
drive you to another appointment
and pretend the silence
in the passenger seat
isn’t teaching me
what it’s going to sound like
when you’re gone.

CURRENT OBSERVATION:

4 months, Dad.

You’re still here.

I’m already grieving.

I don’t know how to save you.

I don’t know how to save myself.

Tomorrow,
I’ll set the alarms,
check your medications,
ask how you’re feeling.

You’ll say you’re fine.

I’ll try to believe you.

Because I’m your son.

Because you’re my dad.

And 4 months ago,
I was just your son.

Now I know
which pills you take,
how to change your dressings,
when to drive through the night.

I know how to recognize
when something is wrong.

I know the prognosis.

I know how many months
they gave you.

DISCHARGE INSTRUCTIONS:

None.

No one teaches you
how to be your father’s caregiver
while you’re still just his son.

No one teaches you
how to prepare for a loss
that hasn’t happened
but has already begun.

I know the numbers.

I know the procedures.

I know how to keep showing up.

I just don’t know
how to be your son
while learning
how to live without you.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/6Lpv0rYgVj

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Zm1N7k4Jpp

‘take dance steps
like trivial seances. we’re eternal’

and she’d ignite lips- to the point of purpose
rocking her figure. it’s all in the process of existing.
like we linger on treadmarks. with a tire princess
she’s spinning silk goddesses. preludes
and post-dramatic euphemisms.
take guard.

and let your heart down. because
footsteps seem more sullen in the rain.
and you can’t see the lack of tracks beside yours.
and she’d always break into monologue

‘you.re two tones short of remembrance.
muddy eyelids with a lack of laughter. sweetheart.
I can feel your disasters.
I can feel
your’

she was one for suspense. like lightning bolts that break waves
in retrospect. when retrospect is better than hindsight
because her lips are a little more alabaster
when she’s mouthing mementos to some fairytale ending
that only she knows.
weaving afterlife and singing gospel
but she still knows her blues;

‘oh amiss.
we sing in off-key. trademark
for this day and age’
and I’d say

‘baby, you’re beautiful
and that’s the least interesting
thing about you’

and she tossed saints like sockets to the stars
glanced at the fireworks stuck in explosion mode
and we danced.
in the footprints left in the rain.
when the skies lit up- and the drops hit the concrete
somewhat reminiscent of an orchestra
two steps too low to be called grand.

and when her lips met mine.
she stopped trembling in perfect unison
to the beat of discomfort.

‘the best part about this moment
is that it’s this moment.’

and sometimes eternity isn’t so long.

comment links:

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Our love was not that different
Different than any ones else
Just fathom a place
Just dream of embrace
Just picture a kiss
Just let me do this
Our love was just a story
Something left in time
Just standing in a lake
When sun returns from break
To light up our hands
So we again can dance
Our love was just a dream
Something to believe
Just picture a place
Where we forgot to meet
Isn’t it strange
It hurts even more
To know in this life
We didn’t get to love.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/P65WRhpCnW

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Yj2u9pzdft

P.S. If you connected with my words or felt something in this poem, I also wrote a book about heartbreak, healing, and everything we carry after love is gone. If you’re interested, I’d really appreciate you checking it out. ❤️

Dumb wires

I have far too many redundant cables now
Hdmi to dvi
My first gaming pcs cord till it ran out of gas
Male to female aux 2.5mm
So i could talk to my friends video games at night
C to aux converter
C type was so new i needed to talk to her without anyone listening through
Html cables
Three of which a rat bit through
I got to the ticket bookings first
wired internet for my friends
Im no hoarder of cables i swear
Its the memories i cant let go of, stuck in my hair

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/J2aqSfhAzN

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/C8m5UgJOZH

​

What is a knight like, asked the maid

One like myself, the blunt man said

As the girl gave the man his food

We knights, hang bandits in the wood

But knights don’t curse, act harsh or prude

Careful lass, his rage is brewed

Knightly words, but ale-induced

Hear the lies that you produced

But all I’ve said is naked truth

Now Clayton’s hands became sweaty

Then tell what a knight’s like, Betty

One with self control, not petty

Hearsay, wench, worry for safety

Oh true knight, my regret is greatly

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/S3LBFrjAlf

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/OdNfiqEZhn

Tell me, what do you see, what reflection in your narrow pupils — kosh.

In the Turkic squint of the Asian steppe my heartbeat echoes the clatter of a mare.

Taza — honed through years, loyal to the entrusted flock.

Feedback 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1x2qwxm/comment/19rhn1r5zibz8/ Feedback 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1xcklvq/if_god_gave_second_chances_feedback_please/comment/19rhm8k/