In The Other Hours...: August 2012

Friday, August 24, 2012

Warden

I wouldn't have let go...
I would have kept you yesterday....
And lavishly, covered myself up
In my own selfish captivation's.

But last night, I watched you sleeping;
And I'm not keeping you this way.
I was your North Star when you were lost,
Now, you need different constellations.

There's a whole word waiting for you out there,
Yet, so long as I am here,
You will stay...
And I know...
When you see my footprints on this wet ground,
You will not understand...

You'll curse my name.
And hate my soul.
Putting every one of my faults out on display....
And as I watch you take to new heights soaringly...
Only then...
Roaringly...
I'll crash land.

In that wreckage...
I'll burn this letter...
So you'll never know how I wished to keep you....
When your old and grey,
And no longer remember me,
My heart...
By you...
Will still be stained.

I was your North star,
But, you were my world,
Without you, there's nothing here to live through.
Still, I'd rather die...
On this burning, wet ground.
Than to breathe...
Knowing.
By me.
You were chained.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Relapsing

Crawling back to you...
As natural as the marrow in my bone...
The familiarity of this worn path...
Deep within me, is sewn...

So, I'll drink in your essence...
'Til I'm so drunk that I can't see...
The person that I know you are...
The one, I know, you cannot be.

Crawling back to you...
And I know, I won't, I cannot...stay...
But, it's enough.
Just here.
With you.
To keep the thoughts of you...
Away...

Monday, August 13, 2012

Arizona

I walked on the path you told me to,
Even as it fell beneath my feet...
On your orders I marched to battle,
Even though I only saw defeat...
I called you still, my hero...
Though you didn't deserve the name.
I breathed to do your bidding,
And I loved you just the same.

It's a cold and silent night here.
My head has no place to rest.
My feet are torn and blistered.
And all my sanity has left.
I've got battle scars left on me,
From being your good soldier.
That girl you said was priceless,
Time has shown, you sold her.

The promises you made me...
Strange, they sounded all so true....
And every time you broke them...
I put the pieces back with glue.

I called you still, my master...
But, it didn't change what you were.
I loved you then, even knowing...
The impairment I would incur.

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say...

I have been writing ever since I was very young though my writing style has changed a bit over the years.
In the words of another great writer "poetry has not been a purpose for me but, a passion."

The pieces I've written have come to me whenever and wherever they deem fit. Many of my poems were originally composed on scrap pieces of paper, napkins, the back of receipts, wherever I could find a place to write down what was in my head at that moment. Sometimes late at night when I couldn't sleep because those words were spinning around in my head...

Most of my work may have what some would consider a "dark" tinge to it, however, please do not mistake me with the "Let the world end, life holds no purpose" writers as that is not who I am.

That being said, my writing comes easiest to me when I honestly "feel" it, and most of the intense feelings I have dealt with, tend to deal with the more complicated things in life; that is why you will most likely never see a poem written by me about rainbows, butterflies and flowers....but, I'll never say never because perhaps, someday I'll be inspired to do so :)

With my poetry, I've felt every word I've ever written... every last syllable was drawn out from an emotion I felt until there was nothing left to take. Each one is tied to a memory that, to this day, even a poem I wrote years and years ago...I can read it and remember that moment and that feeling. My writing comes from a place of honesty that is sometimes painful for me to admit to; difficult to embrace.

Still, I find it necessary to not only face it but, to welcome it...because it has helped me to grow up; to see a side of things and life that maybe I'm not as comfortable with and I feel I'm a better person for it.
I have lived a lot of life at the age of 23 now, some unfortunate circumstances have brought me to where I am but, if I could change one thing, I would not, because I wouldn't be who I am or where I am without those things pushing me to get here.

One of my favorite quotes is by Natalie Babbit, she said "You don't have to live forever, you just have to live" and that is what I try to do.

I enjoy writing some in French and Latin. Some of the titles and some of the poems here may contain some lines of French or Latin in them.

I often enjoy writing in a confined element such as sonnets, villanelles and triolets. Many people do not use these forms of writing anymore but, I still enjoy them.

I also enjoy painting and drawing when I get the time to do it and I have combined certain pieces of my art with certain poems here.

In compiling my work here, it is my hope and desire, that if nothing else, some piece of my writing will reach out and touch at least one person in the way that so many other writers have done for me.

In The Other Hours...