West Wing Romance

 
Shakespeare once said: All the worlds a
Stage, I’m riding waves but none of them
Denote musical notes and camera flashes,
Beaten around, angry and rash, there are

 
No silken curtains, only the curtains of the
Mast-severed in half- the gaping mess
Flapping in the current, hands burnt at the
Helm, costumes made from design and ship

 
Made from fabric, other worldly magic, where
Are your wise words now? No encore. No final
Bow. Only torn limbed sailors and feeding babes,
Fame the only cure to hunger, their names cast

 

To the skies and fall as meteors, metaphors,
We are dinosaurs, all brittle and bone, no home,
No hold on reality, lost at sea dancing with the
Whales and mammoths all look the same under
The stage light projection.

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Children Don’t Belong in Graveyards

I’m clutching childhood in my
Hands, wrinkled and damp
From a flood of tears, all these
Years wrapped in silk and buried
four feet under the ground, a burial
mound and I hear pounding of compact
soil as the littler me pleads for air, its
not fair, she screams, my ears bleed,
I can’t see her anymore, she is dead.

Frenzied motion, flying earth, fingernails
Full of regret and dirt, I hold childhood in
my arms, She is pale faced and unaged
no lungs, no heart and I am to blame,
come back, I whisper, come back and play
but graveyards don’t allow children’s toys,
choirboys sing in the chapel nearby, I shouldn’t
be here, but no, no goodbyes, wake up, I plead,
wake up for me, claws like a vice. Suffocatingly.

Where I Went

I’ve been gone.

Searching for where I belong, I’ve
Been listening to new songs, trying to
Reinvent myself the way I see all of my
Friends, it never-ends, trends and personalities,
All the while asking, who decides this for me?
The ultimate question like the crash wave in the
Sea, it’s clear, like the ocean, but cold like the
Breeze.

I am.

I am the maker of my own destiny, but somewhere
Along the line my mother forgets to tell me so I cling
To constants and consonants, and soon poetry isn’t
Nearly enough. It tough, this life, every life, I’ve been
Researching strife and gun violence has come to the
Point where I am afraid, I am afraid to be me, all the
While reminded that this is the journey I took, bare feet
In the sand, abandoning this, abandoning lists of creativity
I vowed to complete, I feel bad.

And I’ve been gone.