The fire ignites

Is the notion of a soul mate true, I sit and ponder; waiting.
I beg to be saved from your tornado of “are we doing this right” or “can I actually commit”; a joke
But here’s the thing about being a boy with a bookshelves of hearts,
Your sanctuary can be burned down and there’s no beauty in a fire fuming, suffocating and scorching, a heart being held for ransom; theft
I pluck vessels from my soul as I sit and watch it scream; surgery

Tell them how your name
Tastes of bitter medicine.
Curing but sickening
I fought to swallow it.

Tell them how my weeping eyes begged
for a dry night’s rest
As I counted the stars I once saw in your eyes.

Tell them how the bookshelves broke and burned as I held the matches; ending in a victory.

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You’re More Than Just Poetry — Thought Catalog

Sophia SinclairI had been drinking cabernet sauvignon, so it isn’t fair to say I had no help, but my nerves melted off when you came in and sat on my couch. I had been anticipating this meeting all day and my stomach was in knots. It was. We jumped right into the real things, because…

via You’re More Than Just Poetry — Thought Catalog

The beautiful the hurt and the ugly

And here are the people with the lost souls and damaged bones that get their daily medicine from the man on the corner or in the cup of joe that moves their soul

The smell of day old cheese and café con leche burns the hair follicles in my nose

as im surrounded by the freaks, the normals, and the geeks

With Irish folk music as their wake up call or the voices crying out from town hall

The smell of onions in the air or the sound of some girl yelling at her boyfriend that “its just not fair”

These are the people of Clematis

The beautiful the hurt and the ugly

There’s the girl with the crying friend and

theirs the man who couldn’t meet his ends

This place he calls home, a bench as a bed

The only place he can rest his head

For a day or two, and a few nights more

Their he lies with a heart so sore

But this is Clematis where we all unite

May we all keep fighting our fight

Milkin’ Mommas smile

 Instead of smiling from cheek to cheek she smiled with her eyes

She gave you the kinda look that made you fall to your knees and plead

She said its not bout what makes you happy but what keeps you happy,son

Momma always told me a woman’s always right

She always found the beauty in everythin, her and daddy never fight

Then came a day when he stopped milkin’ mommas smile

Her eyes stopped a gleaming that contagious smile

But momma fought on when daddy didn’t care

She said I’ve tasted the sweetest of loves and no man gonna ruin the “glare”

Till the day I die ima milk my own

And the look in my eyes

will make my happy known

Apple Pickin

As the mesh bag breaks
under the coral cove I ponder
of a day made easy
and a time I’m much wiser
There’s beauty in the trees where the apples grow above
Like the fresh scent of cobbler or my momma’s cider
Auntie Em made the milk and daddy made the butter
I pick through the mess of shrubs and clutter
A day’s work is done and I will soon head to town
Where I will sell mommas apples for a ride to Motown
A ticket out of this place
O’ the dreams I will chase

Finders Keepers

His whisky words cut my wounded skin forming scars on my collarbone; blistering and bruising
I trace the rigid feeling below my fingertips
The thought of him enters my brain; uninvited
We hold our breath and he counts to 9
And for one second I forgot where I was; alleviating
Roaring in the night comes a howl
Waiting around the corner a voice came creeping in
‘Finders keepers”
At the palm of my hands lays a heart breaking