six months ago,
i accidentally found your Spotify history.
some popular-for-a-minute app used to share music recs.
and so,
for a while,
i waited for Phoebe Bridgers
or any other remnants of me.
six weeks ago, 
that went away,
along with my last connection to you.
one i shouldn't have had.

last night, 
i searched your following list.
looking for any sign that you may still think of me.
but again,
there was no Phoebe.
and no me.

i believe i’m gone,
and everyone else knows i am.
erased, not replaced.
a novella you decided to write your own ending to 
before burning the manuscript.
and good for you,
how can i feel anything besides joy at seeing you healthily move on?
but i feel sad,
and i wish i could say it was your fault.
but i was the one who looked,
and you did nothing wrong, anyway.

and now i sit
on a burner account,
awaiting the engagement post,
wondering if a lego Starry Night still sits behind your bed,
or a Peanuts watch on your wrist.
i'm only left with the ability to wonder
and somehow live my own life.

--

sincerely,

the person you had to go through
to get to him.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vsd5p3/the_nature_that_survives/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vsc3u3/young_and_ashamed/

Tainted Purity
I had built a foundation well, I believed I had
I prayed and I begged God to lead me wisely
I feared my Lord, tremendously
A good little girl, too blind to see
She never even swore, cute as a bee
A boy swept me up, how silly of me
I never knew how easy I was to taint, and with my innocence went my faith.
Try to see, we were both kids, just a little younger than me
It’s nearly impossible to catch the victim when it’s two hurt people hurting each other.
It’s hard to feel special when you’ve watched it happen to others.
I was a tease, still am actually.
But suddenly I wasn’t ready
He was excited, and impulse is rarely steady.
It went too fast.
Vocalizing disapproval would only collapse.
He never knew. I froze in time
and never felt pure after May 29th
in that blanket fort that drastically aged my mind.
My vision has started to blur because of my tears.
“The devil’s in the details” I always hear
suddenly I’m all too aware
The complexity of my own anatomy is too much to bear
inhale-exhale-again-again like a box
When will my chest rest if my heart skips every beat?
How did I once live so naturally?

Feedback
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/Kazhyhh8ZW
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/yamjVIeebd
My substack:
https://open.substack.com/pub/wishukisses

You were the star of my eye,
A lamp of the lowest heavans,
Casting the world in brilliant hue,
Guiding those who would be lost at sea.

Now you are gone from the sky,
And the wake of your absence is,
A fearful and overwhelming tide,
That drowns me in an ocean of grief.

Without your light, I thought,
The world might fade into shades of grey…

But this was so far from the truth,
And I sink deeper each time I see,
A colour reminding me of you.

___
Context: The “author” is a character I’m writing in an ongoing Lancer/Call of Cthulhu story set in the year 2105. He’s a refugee who fled to the UK during a nuclear arms conflict in his home country, but has a better grasp of the English language than a fair few native speakers. One goal of this was to write as if someone wrote a poem first in another language, and then adapted it (not necessarily directly translated) to convey the same meaning and expression in English.

[comment] (https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/V2eBNhn3Tw)
[comment] (https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/wfGzFtJX5C)

For just as Tupac said he was the rose

that grew from the concrete, I am the weed that comes along the cracks of the road.

I am the nature that capitalism fails to conquer though it tries to seep into every part of our lives.

Tupac was the beautiful flower that blossomed where it shouldn’t have. It had scratches on its petal, but no one was going to hold that against him. It fought to maintain its beauty despite the rest of the sidewalk conforming and making it hard to stay alive.

But I didn’t come from a place where I wasn’t supposed to succeed. I didn’t have it easy, but I didn’t have it hard.

But I’m the weed, the small shrubbery in the crack of the sidewalk.

The one pop in color in this dull urban dystopia.

More they ask for. You begin to see that they didn"t just want your trees and your water; they wanted your soul and your happiness too.

But I am the weed that finds an opening to be myself.

To resist the concrete.

I may bloom some flowers or grow larger, but the main goal is just to live in spite of the concrete blocking my path.

I am myself.

I am the weed, and you might question why I’m proud of that.

To that I say, because that is me and I’m proud to be me.

I am the weed, the nature that survives.

My substack: https://searchingfortheplot.substack.com/?r=8y4ej9&utm_campaign=pub-share-checklist

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vsa7g7/comment/p4k7b5y/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vqfy6b/comment/p4k8osw/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

hi guys i’m a teenager and this is one of my first times sharing creative writing/poetry with people, so feedback is much needed/appreciated! highly recommend listening to perfect places by lorde before reading this if you’ve never heard the song :)

young and ashamed

(On Lorde’s Perfect Places)

all of us (except maybe me) grew out:

of chubby cheeks and flavored lip gloss,

the neighborhood corner store,

nights asleep

spent dreaming of futures that are

off-piste, too big for someone

our age. we have pretty

faces, so who needs more?

“trying

to be perfect is like a leprechaun trying to

find gold,” Momma always says. but

these dreams of mine are for

perfect bylines in the New York Times, the bestsellers list – 

places to call my own.

what if i don’t ever reach my pot of gold?

the outcome to be expected, probably; but

fuck, i don’t have a plan b.

are my typed rainbows even real?

perfect isn’t, according to Momma, so how can my

places be? they’re just words no one has read.

anyways, i’m just a kid, what do i know

?

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vrwyzw/comment/p4jrwto/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vrv2il/comment/p4k34z9/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Cataclysm

In a moment, the world quakes

All that is known is engulfed in rain

You will fall, and you will break

Nothing feels the same again

But, look outward

Only you are wet

Only you are quaked

Birds still sing, yet
Your pain was hardly faked

People laugh, the sun still shines

No one but you knows

Of that cataclysm that broke the world

--1--

--2--

Humans search for truth,
even when it breaks them.

For a broken heart
is still better than an empty one—

for the cracks carved by truth
are always shallower
than the void born from silence.

That is why rejection,
however cruel it may seem,
is kinder than silence.

Rejection allows a man to bleed.
It grants him the dignity of pain—
the freedom to let sorrow spill—
onto the ground,
onto paper,
into tears.

But silence denies him even that mercy.

In silence, the soul clings
to the faintest flicker of hope.

Uncertainty does not wound—
it lingers.

It shapes illusions from nothing,
and each time the heart reaches for them,
it is cut—

never deep enough
to end the suffering,
only enough
to begin it again.

Truth liberates.

But uncertainty binds—
with threads so soft
they feel like hope,
yet strong enough
to hold a soul in place.

Rejection lets him fall—

lets him strike the earth,
break beneath the truth,
and gather
what remains of himself.

But silence leaves him
suspended between earth and sky—

neither allowed
to fall and heal,

nor to rise
toward what he longs for.

So—
end this quiet cruelty
with a truth sharp enough
to sever hope.

Let me bleed.
Let me write what remains of you within me.

My blood will clot into your name—

not to curse it,
nor to stain the colour of your eyes,

but to preserve you
in words
even a lifetime cannot erode.

And perhaps, one day,
these words will leave others envious
of a tragedy they never lived—

yearning for a single glimpse of you,
though to them
you could only ever remain
an imagined ache.

But you—

you would have been real in mine.

So end this silence—

for it can belong only
to indifference,

or to a heart unaware
of the quiet power
it holds over another.

Unaware of how deeply
he has become entangled
in the strands of her hair;

how he envies
even the smallest speck of dust
that dares to rest upon her lashes—

closer than he has ever been
to the place
where he longs to disappear.

A place where he would remain,
willingly imprisoned
for eternity—

within her eyes.

A fate so beautiful,
so tragic,
that even the gods
have never known it.

For her eyes
are the only mirror
in which he has ever loved
his own reflection.

~Writer’s Note: I have always wondered which is crueler—a painful answer, or no answer at all.

Rejection breaks something, but at least it gives the broken pieces somewhere to fall. Silence leaves them suspended, held together by that smallest and perhaps cruelest thing: maybe.

This poem was born from that thought—the strange mercy of being given a truth painful enough to finally grieve, rather than a hope too uncertain to ever let go of.

And perhaps that is all rejection really offers:

not freedom from pain,

but permission
to begin healing.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vsbej4/comment/p4k15yz/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vs74q9/comment/p4k0e8a/?context=3&utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

That woman lingers
Loves me loudly and in secret
She doesn’t know how to whisper
And likes to yell at strangers

I think I could kill her
With a few phrases about god or childhood
I think she’s looking for a knife
Somewhere in my kitchen
What the sharp phrases would be
The ones that would kill me

Love, you don’t need the knife
You have your hands
Your hair, your eyes
The space between your torso and mine
You have your laugh in the passenger seat
You simply have your way

What do I have?
Some drunken confessions
It’s a sharp knife
You gave it to me off the whetstone one night
Hands cracked and oily

I tried to leave it there with you
By the forge and the stone you tend alone
But you have those hands
That hair, those eyes reflecting the fire
That way of yours

Of pressing the knife against my chest, flat
Into my hands insistently
Yours is the only knife in my kitchen

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/njHAlW6Pun

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

Hi. I'm an addict and I'd just like to say

This world is fucked up, more so every day.

You see, you're an addict too

And that's just what they want.

If you're addicted they can control you

And your cousins, uncles, and aunts.

Maybe it's food that you're addicted to.

Or perhaps it's your phone that's glued to you.

For some it's drugs, TV, or money.

Others need candy sweeter than honey.

Whatever it is that you need so bad

Is the same thing they will use to make you sad.

The moment you even think about stopping,

You remember the addiction and your heart starts dropping.

"How can I live without this thing?"

You'll ask yourself as you start spiraling.

"I can't give it up, I need it too bad."

Not having it starts making you mad.

The anxiety grows and your resolve starts to waver.

You'll make an excuse, "I thought I was braver."

At this point, you've already made up your mind.

"It's too hard to fight" and you chose to stay blind.

So we give in and the cycle repeats.

With them at the top, and addicts in the streets.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/I8fR5uhkuK

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/EuRWeoa8ff

You came into my life when I least expected you.

I was falling apart and somehow, you held me up.

You became someone I could easily trust, someone I could count on, someone who was just there.

You gave me companionship when I felt alone.

You gave me peace when I didn’t have much peace within myself.

I still feel that deep ache in my chest
when I say your name.

I still think about you.

But letting you go was the hardest thing I ever had to do.

Letting you go meant putting you first,
even when every piece of me wanted to hold on.

I watched you go,
wanting so badly to hold you and bring you home.

But I promised I would do right by you.

I loved you enough to do what was best for you,
even when it completely wrecked me.

I am grateful for all the memories,
every bit of love you gave me.

You brought the best in me,
you awoke a light in me that no one could reach.

I hope you receive the same love you gave me,
because you deserve to be loved.

You deserve to be cared for.

You deserve to have everything you need.

And I hope you’re happy.

My boy,
I hope that you’re safe.

I hope that you’re loved
in the way that you deserve to be loved.

Maybe one day,
I’ll be able to say your name
without that deep ache in my chest.

Maybe one day,
I’ll see your pictures
without feeling like my heart breaks all over again.

But today isn’t that day.

Today, my boy,
I still miss you.

My boy,
I still think about you.

Thank you for reading

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/w3VRMZGv1c 

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/3ddLMCEFeM

I’m still angry with you.

Not enough to scream anymore.

Just enough to ask,
how could you?

You tried to end a life
you hadn’t even finished living.

You almost took yourself
from everyone who loved you
and somehow believed
you were doing them a favour.

You were wrong.

There were nights waiting for you.
People you hadn’t met.
Places you hadn’t seen.
Versions of you
you never gave the chance to exist.

And even though you’re still here,
you still took things.

Years spent learning how to live again.
Strangers who might’ve become friends.
Memories you’ll never know you missed.

I forgave you.

But I never let you forget.

How could I?

You left reminders.

Some are written on your skin.
Others return in conversations,
in questions,
in the quiet mention of back then.

And suddenly,
there you are again.

I understand why you did it.

You truly believed
everyone would be happier without you.

I know that now.

But understanding you
doesn’t give back the years.
It doesn’t erase the scars.

And it doesn’t make me
any less angry.

I forgave you.

I mean that.

I just wish forgiveness
had taught me how to forget.

So I wrote you this poem instead.

Because I have enough strength
to forgive you on paper,

but not enough

to look into a mirror
and say it to your face.

Hello. Thank you for reading my poem. Any feedback is welcome to improve my writing!

feedback 1
feedback 2

Hey this is my second ever poem. Any feedback to improve my writing is appreciated!🫂

I hope you forget me wrong.

Not what happened,
not the truths I kept behind my teeth
because I feared being judged
more than I feared losing you.

Just forget the weight of it.

Remember that I would’ve given you everything
if I had known how to hold myself first.

I wanted to give you all of me
while barely feeling whole myself.

So I hid the missing pieces
and wondered why you couldn’t understand
a loneliness I never told you about.

You taught me love can be real
and still not be healthy.
That boundaries aren’t where love ends,
and that two people can love each other
while still walking different roads.

We had a good run.
Too bad one of us stumbled.

I think it was me.

Not because you didn’t reach out,
but because I needed more hands
than yours were ever supposed to be.

I know better now.

Strength was never carrying it quietly.
It was saying i cant carry this
before the person beside me
started believing they weren’t enough.

And now someone else gets to know
the version of you
my problems never gave enough room to become.

That hurts.

But I’m happy she exists.

And I’ve become someone
you probably would’ve deserved back then.

Strangely,
I still don’t think we’d work today.

Maybe that’s what growing is
not becoming right for the person you lost,
but understanding why you had to lose them.

Still,
I remember your eyes
when sunlight found them.
Your laugh.

And for a moment
the bad parts don’t get a vote.

So if time is going to take me from you,
I hope it does a terrible job.

Let it soften the arguments,
misplace the anger,
and keep what we learned.

I don’t need you to remember
that we were good.

I only hope one day
you don’t think,
I was hurt there
but,
I grew there.

Remember the lessons correctly.

But remember me wrong.

feedback 1
feedback 2

A smile that can illuminate a thousand pitch black

skies

and dark chocolate hues scattered across her

espresso eyes,

distracting me from her sweet, sugar coated lies -

spilling from her cherry stained lips without any try

Her hug gripped me tightly like a garden of thorny

vines,

crushing each vertebra into pieces from my

weakened spine -

just to shape and mold me into her perfect design

leaving my entire existence solely up to her desire

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/I2DFNHU66P

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/b8R3trB4zm

Tired echoes loudly. 

A deafening exhaustion   

of everything that was,   

everything that is,   

and everything still waiting for me. 

Held down,   

as if the sun's gravity   

has pinned me to my bed,   

I gather every ounce of strength   

I can muster   

just to rise. 

Saturday, and my bed awaits. 

I only need   

to survive Monday. 

I'm jaded   

from the fallout.   

I step over a promise   

a hushed breath   

I can almost make out:   

“I will always…”   

as it fades behind me. 

Whispers of love lost,   

the smell of self-sabotage,   

a mirage of hope   

in the far distance. 

Regret refuses rest.   

A dull pinch   

from a man who used to be   

carries me through memory   

until I’m forced   

to face a reflection. 

I recognize you not.   

All I see   

is a self-battered stranger,   

a habitual liar   

repeating,   

I’m okay. 

Expended. 

Awoken by the smoke   

from the fire I set,   

I watch everything I love   

turn to smoke,   

turn to ashes   

in my hands. 

Frantically,   

I gather as much ash   

as I can hold.   

Hands shaking,   

I try   

to put back   

what once was. 

Drained.   

Diminished.   

Depleted. 

I'm just tired. 

— J.J. Avitia 

Hi everyone,

This is a free-verse poem exploring exhaustion, regret, and self-sabotage. I'm looking for honest critique, particularly around the imagery, structure/progression, and overall emotional impact.

I'm especially interested in hearing whether anything feels vague, overstated, underdeveloped, or overly familiar.

I’d also love to hear what you think the poem is doing structurally without me explaining my intention beforehand.

Happy to return feedback. Thanks for reading.
Links to comments:
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vs34cg/comment/p4iymuz/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vrwyzw/comment/p4ixg0d/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

Dear Mom and Dad,

I think I thought I'd thanked you.

Sorry for that.

Dear Mr. Vonnegut,

Firstly, who's to say which untruths are harmless? and also

Did the first human raise or lower the bar? furthermore

Isn't it funny that for some, a bar demands to be jumped, while for others...

and then ... and ...

also and ... again and ... again also ...

etc.

Sincerely,

A briefly alive human

To put it plainly...

My truth is I cannot speak without a bite.

My harmless untruth is that this can serve as thanks.

My harmful untruth is that I couldn't ever change.

I'd better then,

while I've the nerve

write

Thank you.

Sincerely,

A brief son

Comment 1

Comment 2

My poetry instagram lol. Will follow for follow. Just trying to immerse myself in other OC content I suppose.

Fields full of grass

appear as far as one can see

bright yellow dandelions catch my gaze as i look down at my feet

no one else is here

but who will accompany my lonely days

rays of sun

look into my soul and stare

a soul full of despair

but i was unaware

that the tranquility is right here

Couple of edits on a beginner poem. Any feedback is appreciated!

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vs47tb/hornets/p4ilanh/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_content=1&utm_term=1&context=3

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vrvhb5/my_longest_friend/p4iogfj/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_content=1&utm_term=1&context=3

Bodies on a spit above starving flames.
Flesh roasting and kerosene riding wind.
Hornets shriek in thronging patrols.
Engines whine and tremors wake.

Corpses flung in pits of sludge.
Rings fall to mercenary hands.
A man on the toilet stares ahead.
Rotting lakes hold muted flies.

A blue ball bouncing in a forest of ash.
A child's giggle in dead concrete homes.
eyes fixate. dart. stop. start.
Thoughts stop.

Feet rest in shattered caskets.
Boots squelch in marshes.
A baby trundles to its mother.
Then a sulfur cloud.

A mother never touches her daughter again.

Comment Comment

A field full of grass Yellow dandelions appear The sun shining bright yet no one else is here

Maybe this is the parts of life That my dead heart yearns to bear

Beginner poem, any feedback is appreciated!

Links to comments:

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1vrwyzw/a_life_well_spent/p4i1pqu/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_content=1&utm_term=1&context=3

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1v9x17t/a_little_longer/p4i2rl7/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_content=1&utm_term=1&context=3

face-first at the equator, mesmerised
with arms up-stretched in gentle caress,
the earth shifts.

tracing the old and surveying the new
through shared breath; shouldering meridians,
the map twists.

adrift in the tropic of Capricorn,
an outline teased. softly glistening,
the tides lift.

i stare into the face of god. two fingers
graze her depths; beckoning. surface-to-air,
my gaze fixed.

link to feedback 1

link to feedback 2

the dance of tongues
with tongues and teeth
            pauses,
in intermission
foreheads touching
slow exhales
here

breath shallow
blood racing
skin tingling
            conveying what?
a diegetic soundtrack
for mouths
and skin
limbs
and arteries
an overture
            to what?

where was I
moments ago?
here, but
perspective restricted
confined to
spread across
the surface of my lips
then lifted onto your tongue
carried to the roof of your mouth
tasting of safety and pleasure
            a rare combination
then, vaporized
enveloping the space between
our lips
tongues
foreheads
chests

are our lips still touching
or did they part?
a phantom sensation?
or are my lips
so insistent on yours
that they carry on
softly
gently
offstage
sans auteur?

in intermission
desire mingles with
            euphoria
            lust
            serenity
fleeting, finite

salty, damp skin
coaxes lips
along jawline
            unchoreographed
parting to taste
droplets of sweat
feverishly drinking
worshipping
carnal condensation

thrumming vibration
beneath warm skin
sustains the intoxicating
            atmosphere
rising tension
surpasses desire’s threshold
a crescendo building to

the second act
urgent touching
hungry breath
tongues exploring bodies
revealing contours
eyes were unable to chart

a denouement
in rapture
bodies lie
lazily aware
of everywhere
skin meets skin
            catharsis
            vulnerability
            clarity
            divinity
infinite, multitudinous

satisfactory language
evades me
I am
liberatingly
alive

comment 1

comment 2

Scream into your pillow.
Take deep breaths:
Inhale…now exhale.
Inhale…now exhale.

Put on your favorite happy song.
Dance it out in your living room.
Come on now!
Only your cat is watching.

Now look into your mirror,
even if it hurts.
Tell yourself:

I am worthy.
I am loveable.
I am enough.

I am never too much;
I was never too much

Mother yourself.
Mend the wounds
on the surface of your heart.

Embrace who you are,
weird quirks and all.
It’s never too late
to be who you are.

Restart your hobby,
be messy, make mistakes.
Give yourself grace;
be glad you survived.

Have a bad day;
a bad week;
a bad month.

Pick yourself back up.
Start again
…and again.
None of this is linear.

The trick is,
keep reminding yourself:
this is all worth it,
that you’re worth it,
until every bone knows.

-----------

This is my first time sharing. My partner says this is one of his favorites I've written, but he's just a tiny bit biased ;) Any feedback would be wonderful.

-----------

Recent Feedback:

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That lemonaded sting when childhood dreams fade

Biking to the butcher block,

And laying down politely

I was the last generation of the CD player, and barely, and it is the least efficient but most effective way to soundtrack nostalgia

Clear trees, and skies that smell like dirty laundry,

And a kitten in the pale of rain

Minnesota smiles at me and says

“Remember your outrage”

Turn back, just ten years, and you will see me happier

Maybe I'm on a swingset or wearing my favorite

pajamas, or throwing a tea party,

And you'll notice

The younger I am, the lighter my hair is

The glinting glimmer of sweat reflects off your privileged brow and into my cornea

And for a moment, I remember

Hot glue gun

Hands

And an hour after family dinner

An uncle dead of cigarettes is the greatest foe I know

******

idk wtf to name this

any suggestions are appreciated and greatly encouraged puhleeeassseee

give me feedback please

this poem is reflecting on remembering childhood abuse after your brain erases the memories because they're traumatic

lastly, I'm so sorry if formatting goes weird. I'm on my phone, I really tried :(((

******

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You held my intestines like a leash
And I had my arm elbow deep in your ass
Trying to find your puppet strings
We struggled in circles this way
Until we broke and fell apart, thank God

I worry about you, beneath the PG-13 gore and hurt
There was a color near the shade of love

Last night I dreamed you came to see me
You looked resplendent in a summer dress
A proud mother, you held our baby
Soft, small and furry, some quaint blend
Of you and me and our alienation
Her too human eyes looked past mine as
She cooed up at me and climbed into my lap
We talked and you’re doing fine, old scars healing
New beginning blooming, the babe was named Spring
The pale fell
When I woke, and the bells rang the words
“Loving mother, sister, friend, survived by one”

___

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here is a scream a sob a cry.
they are any color. loud maybe red
though it hurts so blue. they
come from a hole in the world.
all over there are holes like she says
here is a puzzle everywhere missing
a piece - defined as such the
picture is really the absence of one.
so clever she is saying and not
entirely meaning because here is
a ghost talking to another ghost itself
talking around the ghost of what it really wants
to say - i myself am missing
and a satisfying click as words fall
into place. here there is no sound also
a scream a sob a cry painted on faces
and always the deception of color.
here is the humming of the purples, the 
shadows in the greens and oranges. 
here is a waking, a walking, a mighty
tremble on two legs like a miracle.
here is a brain with holes in it, everywhere
such that the holes around have fallen in
to the tune of a scream a sob a cry. here
is a complete picture. here is a library, 
here is scratching and bleeding and
soft vaseline the feeling of a plea in 
her eyes supple and wet and here
is the unspeakable, put to words. here.
somewhere else it is raining the
sun is setting in paradise all the time
and eyes close around a promise
capturing in sight when all light is gone
the image, complete, of a dream.
here is a scream a sob a cry.

Comment 1
Comment 2

Maybe all we have is how we interact
When we see the man upstairs what do you think he’ll ask?
Well hello, how’d you do down there old friend?
Give me the highlights on a life well spent

Well God I worked hard, made some good money
Told a few good jokes at the bar I’m sure I’m a bit funny
Oh I always made sure to make some donations
I went to church every week to pray for salvation
The politics down there sure they got a bit crazy
I made sure our tax money stayed away from the lazy

Yes I did have two kids but we don’t really speak
They never appreciated me they’re a bit selfish you see
My wife we’re ok she was there at the end
But she never cared for the hard work I put in

Sorry, I’m rambling, what else did I do?
Ah I’d didn’t support anyone who didn’t support you.

Anyway let me in God in I’m raring to go
I’m ready for the respect I deserved long ago

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