Maple

The bottom of the maple tree 

suited my purposes, so I 

dug down with my bare hands 

until I uncovered the roots. 

I took the tin box filled to the

brim with you, and stuck it 

between those mighty veins. 

The dried blushing roses, 

the letters and the poems, 

and even your marbled heart

arranged between the tissues

that dried all the tears you 

gave me, buried in the ground. 

And there my love can grow, 

warped in the roots of that big 

maple tree, rather than inside of 

a heart that can no longer 

sustain life. The only evidence 

left behind is the black dirt 

on my hands from covering 

it up. 

You no longer deserve

the cries of my heart. 

2:54

I'm back
to hating again,
to hating the very hope
that used to give love.
and I can't believe
that the fire wasn't enough
to deter me from this.
My mind has not be kind
even though I've asked it to,
and my heart hasn't listened
to my reasoning, to my concern.
I don't care if it's still up in the air,
I don't care if it's still up for debate...
it's breaking my heart,
and hurting my eyes,
and stealing my sleep.

I'm just so tired.

Seconds

This is another poem from one of my old poetry books. I wanted to post this one because it's so different from how I write now, yet I still love this kind of writing. Again, let me know what you think ! 


No vacancy, 
no place, no room, 
empty, yet full, 
turned away, like every other time. 
Lights off, dark halls, 
empty graves, hollow words, 
desolate, a place to call home, 
among the homeless and the fatherless; 
rest in peace. 
Far across from the corners of this emptiness, 
drawn from the black rivers, 
hung from the dead branches, 
are pieces of the puzzle, 
out of reach, undiscovered. 
Names and dates, 
faces and answers, 
fleeting. 
Ever so fleeting. 
Just like the time, 
now, now, now, now, now, 
You've failed me now. 
And now. 
fleeting...
and now. 

Fabric

We wove the wool
tight around the loom,
moving our raw fingers
back and forth, back and forth.

Laughing as we worked,
we wove our joy
and our delicate hope,
into the fabric of "us".

It wasn't until
your fingers got tired,
and your will became weary,
that I began to fear.

You used excuses
to avoid continuing,
as I toiled and fought,
to perserve our handiwork.

It wasn't until
you stopped weaving,
that I realized
our project was finished.

I took the fabric
off the old loom,
and cried,
as I unravelled it.

We wove the wool,
tight around the loom,
but not tight enough,
to hold "us" together.

Vultures

In this brain
with its rights
and lefts
I am circling
looking
and searching
for one way out.
I come back
to the same ruins
over and over
hovering around
all my losses,
failures, and mistakes.
A shameful reminder,
a torture I bring upon myself,
yet I can't stop.
I yearn for escape,
but it's my own fixation
that traps me.
How I long to break
all these things
that hold me
to these messy,
overwhelming,
smouldering, piles
of reminders.

How I long for selective memory.

Davy Jones

Reconciling you
with the you you used to be
has become my only task.
My heart fills to the brim
with confusion, with thoughts
and my eyes see what they want
and my ears hear what they need to,
while my heart feels
everything, simultaneously.
My mouth doesn't want to talk
my mind doesn't want to think,
and my heart doesn't want to feel.

Yet I harbour this ship,
constantly sitting in my port,
carrying everything I've had,
along with everything I've lost,
with no hope of leaving,
but yet it's never really here.
A captain who can't decide
and I, as uncertain as the tide,
unable to hide the emotions
from our sea-worn faces.
We are drifting here,
through storm and calm,
just drifting here.

We have no other choice.

Lite-Brite

Carefully I spoke
as if my words
were like weapons,
each syllable acting
as a gun or a knife,
until I quietly resolved
to remain silent.
Hurting you,
would be unthinkable,
unforgivable,
and my little heart,
and my sad eyes,
couldn't bear to see it.
I wish so much
to speak to you
words of love,
and unshakeable truth,
but with depravity
slipping down my tongue,
and falling from my lips,
I fail.

Oh how I wish,
that all my words were bright.

Mailroom

Infront of the mailboxes
we prayed for a will not our own,
and a strength in our bones,
that we would be unable to deny.

I squeezed my eyes so tight
as if God would believe me more that way,
and I wanted to hear a sincerity
like mine in your voice.

The hours I spent before an Almighty God
led up to a two-minute blurb,
then we parted ways
and I hoped for the best.

Little did I know
this two-minute appeal,
would be among the only ones
you would ever offer.

If you didn't want to pray, then why did you even bother?

Wally-Mart

I am a wanderer of your paths
resting my heels in your footprints,
breathing the same pollution you did,
twenty-some-odd hours previous to now.

I had my spy snag a look at you
as you walked through the automatic doors,
so I know where you walked.
I trace your steps as I whisper your name.

I pray to a God you don't believe in
to give me the chance to catch you again,
just so my words can have ears to fall on,
just so my tears can have eyes to witness.

You carry on as if unscathed
but your silence echoes your broken pride,
laced with the shattered hopes you once had
for something you never cared enough to invest in.

The burden of reliving you burns in my bones
as the aisles become father away,
and the doors shut on my reminiscence,
reality reclaimed in the hot summer night.

It's a building with no sign,
like your heart with no love,
like my faith without compromise,
and our time with no hope.

I wanted your arms to be inviting,
but they never were, were they?

You Never Learn

You never learn your lesson.
Making the same mistakes,
Taking the same missteps,
Leading you down the same paths.

You grieve once you hit the wall,
but you overlook your own folly,
that brings you there every time.

And you call yourself careful,
and you call yourself wise,
but I witness none of these things.

You're playing the same game,
spinning the same web,
trying to catch something,
only to throw it away.

You never learn your lesson.
Or maybe it's me that never learns. . .

The Curtain Puller

I can't say that I've figured it out yet.
I wish I could ease your guilt, but I can't lie
You said these weeks would heal,
But I have yet to feel that knife leave my spine,
Holding on to every wasted emotion I have.
I take my place behind the curtain,
While you take center stage,
And as graceful as I'd like to be,
I feel no jealousy, just loss.
Never, will I be that star you're looking for,
Though I thought maybe this time I could shine. . .
You see my eyes averted,
You see my identity, bare and uncovered,
But it's not enough.
It's just not enough.
You see everything,
But sometimes I just wish you'd see me as beautiful.