Problem With Average

Come take a walk inside my head. Stay if you like or don't.

problem-with-average:

Then, we talked about how we wanted to die
and today we stand in the remains of a city
that could never be built-

I think about you sometimes when the sky 
turns grey, I’ve always been attached to clouds
and you wanted to fly in them;

I wanted to jump in the sea and
you, taking in your last breath with a 
cigarette in hand.

I guess you fell and I disappeared like 
smoke; both still alive.

Then, we talked about how we wanted to die
and today we stand in the remains of a city
that could never be built-

I think about you sometimes when the sky 
turns grey, I’ve always been attached to clouds
and you wanted to fly in them;

I wanted to jump in the sea and
you, taking in your last breath with a 
cigarette in hand.

I guess you fell and I disappeared like 
smoke; both still alive.

Find a New Poet

notesfromtheunprofound:

I repeated 
Repeated the same words
Words in a different order
Ordered differently 
Differently enough to hope
Hopefully convince you
That I’ve changed -
I haven’t.
The meager poetry
Of a meager man
Can scarcely touch upon
The abstraction
Of the effervescent radiation
That from your soul
Emits warming rays
Harmful to the unprotected
And splays strands of intangible
                                   indefinable
                                   suffocating beauty
around the neck I stretch out for you - 
The neck I stretch out for you, around 
The differently ordered grammatically sound
Unprofound varying inflections and lexical 
Choices that such a meager man can not make -
I have not changed.
My words have not changed.
Find a new poet.

A thousand dreams within me softly burn:
from time to time my heart is like some oak
whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.

—Arthur Rimbaud (via viperslang)

On most days I walk with a tear sitting
on the corner of my eyes and its oblivious
to the world but I keep hoping that you find
your reflection in it, you don’t even look and 
when you speak, every word is a punch in my stomach.

Your hand on my throat and I can’t breathe, my tongue 
in knots and I let all the pain in my chest be released.
But darling you forget again and I still stand under the sun,
waiting for a another sign.

How long? How long does it take for you to show the love you
say you feel because my crinkling skin has started to believe 
its meant to be alone, but what do I do about my dancing heart?

I walk with my eyes closed sometimes
because what you don’t see never happened
and I don’t want to be a witness to my own doom.
I keep thinking that if I look up, the sky might fall and my hands
are not big enough to hold the pieces, so all I seek is shelter.
I ask nothing of you even though I miss the sound of your voice
at 3 am; remember all the nights we spent talking and its my fault
I got attached and its my fault you don’t call anymore.
How could I ask for more, when you’re plate is already full and
I can make do, I can make do with a little peak into your world
because darling that’s what I deserve and how can I blame you
when I don’t see clearly enough and how can I blame you, when
blaming myself is easier than opening my eyes to the truth.

- Its easier to disappoint myself than to keep expecting from you, so I paint the grey skies with a hint of blue.

once more, with feeling

cherokeeghostwriter:


tricks of the light
slanting rays described
as outlines in conversation
a lapse of sound, found
trying to reconstruct
what it is that we said
to each other

eyes play a tune obscuring
expressions lost, in review
a resurrections psalm
this vestige, of a feeling
that no longer remains
just these phantom limbs
that can no longer embrace
your memory.

I wish I had the strength to walk away/stay/listen/say before this cliff looked appealing and now all I can think about is jumping in, and not knowing how to swim. All I can think about are the reasons I state, which make no sense and I know that I am wrong to push you in. I live on the edge of a hanging hope, clutching the what if at the end and I’m going to fall anyway, but jumping is for the brave and I’m trying to convince myself that I’m not afraid. 

- I need you to be afraid of heights or water or something else, because I’m too scared of love and I wanted you to love me anyway.

I could have loved you;

Now that I think about it, you never said anything; I put words in your mouth and painted dreams on the non-existent white walls of a house left abandoned long before we ever met and I can see the hurt in your eyes, I wish you saw the hope in mine and I just wanted to be there holding your hand, while the burn marks healed and the skin grew back. 

Broken pieces don’t fix things, they just fill in the gaps and I wished to be significant, but you didn’t even know the way to my smile. You never showed me the way to yours either and I should have seen the road blocks before I spread my hands, asking for something back because I would have known nothing would ever come and I sit in the peak of summer asking you to quench my thirst, but you never really cared.

You knew exactly where you were and I stood searching for the dream in my head. I kept looking for a sign in the drops of rain or the sky, but they just reflected what I knew, I’m good at fooling myself and I just wanted to love; you happened to be in the way.

You never fought with me or for me and even then, everything was great. I looked away.  But I realize now, that I am significant. I am more than something just taking space. Though with you, I’ve never left that way.

I could have loved you; I was ready to, but you didn’t let me.

So now I’m gone.

I’m a person with a complex plumbing of the soul,
sophisticated instruments of feeling and a system
of controlled memory.

 From What Kind of a Person by Yehuda Amichai (via hush-syrup)

Conflict

notesfromtheunprofound:

Eyes burn in the light of the blinding sun
Bleeding boiling tears in mourning
Scorching earth and face as they become one 
and take the future’s flesh away
You birthed him -
Head raised in absent pride and searching
Heart, the magnet that repels the truth that lies before you
Found the empty sky and filled it with silent screams
Lost the fight that he was not meant to have fought in
You raised him -
Took up arms that should have made loving embraces
and protected from the hate which now you breed
and wrote upon his skin - now the poets write for him
The blood that soaks the ground he now bathes in
The dirt must now embrace
You taught him -
Letting the spit of bitter words drip onto that which you were growing
Covering the rotting smell with more was not what was meant
by being fruitful and multiplying
Struggling now to chew the meat that is left because he has died
But not wishing to more to fall to waste
You poisoned him -
Now sons die for fathers who had not the time to tell them why
Now stones are not cast first but thrown in tandem from both sides
Now sons die for fathers who do not look when they wave goodbye
Now stones are raised in memory of those who died
and you killed them.