Poetry

Fresh Mint

Fidelity is a hard color for a fool to wear

They will hold it in their hand
like smoke
and watch as the wind carries it away

As if its ashes smell of young cinnamon
they will follow it blindly
but only while it pleases them

Though soon
everything will begin to smell the same
and fresh mint will draw them elsewhere

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Poetry

Your Façade

A stone was thrown into the water where she wept
On one side a mushroom sat, and on the other sat a rose
Drawn to the rose, it intrigued her
A brilliant red hue, she wanted to be her

Who wouldn’t?

She was awed by its beauty
But it was just a reflection of the mushroom
It was what it wanted to show

It had saved her, but she was blinded
by the hallucinations that it gave her
Toxic. Nauseous. No good.

It would break her
Weather her smooth and shape her
It would shake her
and she’d lose herself in the ripples again

She’d been drawn to the deep with words and foul play
Just a game that’d been made for fun
No harm done
No shame

“Try her shoes?”
“…but they’re scuffed and bruised.”
“Buy them new…?”
“They’d rub raw.”
“Then who knows where they will take her…”
“Do you know?”
“Not at all.”

Poetry

The Thought of You

Falling fast, the snowflake crumbles.
Slipping, sliding as it stumbles.

Knee deep, I chase after you.
Your footsteps imprinted
are too large

You turn to notice
And now I’m on your shoulders.

The footsteps look smaller
from so high up
farther away
and soon gone forever

To reach, to dream, to slip, to break
To stumble, get up again, and take
a step back from reality

White walls, white styrofoam, wide-eyed
White snow, white tiles, white-knuckled

Lump in your throat.
Hung dry.
It’s okay to cry.

White turns to black and I’m lost again
Weak kneed, chasing after you

But where?

Black clothes, black sags, black umbrellas.
Black skies, black knuckles, black coffin

White turns to black
Black turns to grey
And soon color begins
to fade back into view

A little less than what you were
And very far from perfect

Always chasing
the thought of you

Poetry

Joker’s Hand

I’m playing from the Joker’s hand
and the cards aren’t in it for me.
Heart’s a full house, no diamonds.
Face flushed from the Jack high,
I can’t go from club to club so
Just call me when you’re ready.
I see through your poker face,
Play straight, stop folding early.
God knows mamma didn’t raise you
To keep that King hidden so long.
Throw me an ace under the table
Cause I wanna go all in.

Poetry

Irony

I love the way you laugh and I love the way you sing
I love how all life’s bitterness just crumbles to your feet
And you walk on it so gracefully on you way back to the moon
You could make a floating garden out of dust if you so choose

I can’t be your voice of reason. I won’t tell you right from wrong
But I’ll learn your favorite colors, and I’ll write your favorite song
Could you smother me with humor, and laugh at all my fears
Take the breath right from my lungs until the smoke decides to clear
Weigh me down with blackened roses, let the thorns take to my flesh
You’d never have to speak a word. You are irony at best

You can make water taste of salt, or turn a heart to stone
Make the sun fade in color with the kindness you have shown
Make a blind man see your beauty, and a mute man want to sing
Make a cripple start to dance. Make a deaf ear start to ring
A wrong man want to change, and a right one turn from God
Make a poor man turn to gold and back to ashes when you’re gone