Failed Blocking

Some point great need to great thoughts and sleep abuse

I can’t long us many grains

Earth and hard line wheat could sentence these ideas

Plant thresh between you and I

Not land as sea

Don’t cover company with down

While sheep play abuse stories right at home

Baked will make 47 stand far off

Air closes her other four names

End night from high eye want

Spell our ground

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This poem was created with poetry magnets

Just A Thought

So, I wrote this yesterday, and apparently I'm not the only one who feels this way, so here's kinda my outlook on life I suppose.

   Sometimes, when I read too much poetry, I can feel the unreality of the world starting to seep through the cracks in the walls and I can't get upset about anything, because everything's relative to the window of reality you allow into your apartment. You're going to move out sooner or later, and when you do, you may not have to deal with all the things that happened when you let too much reality in.

The Payoff of Living Suits the Cost of Death

Back laced, demographically pleasing violence
   Washes all thought to the gutter,
   Where it sits, pockmarked and painless,
   While I attempt to process the news that
   I'm stuck on the day the apocalypse took all feeling
   From my fingertips and left a gray stripe on my forearm
   Which burns whenever touched,
   Reminding me of the graceless butterflies who hijack my feet
   Thinking to fly, but run instead
   Over shattered bullet shells, tripping at every possible moment,
   Eroding the skin from my feet, setting all the insects free
   To hurt me again.
Twittering birds often shove the talent I had hoped for
   Between the sticks of their nest,
   Intertwining my dreams and beliefs with mud
   For the good of their children.
   Even if it leaves me devoid of flame and water.

I speak too much when no one is     

listening.    

Return To Sender

Could my memories, those frail particles
   Caught by some partial understanding of how fleeting
   Smiles and softened eyes actually are,
   Stop living as though they understand the present
   Through their outdated look on life?

Entrenched

A silhouette of green and black downgrade my strengths quite nicely
   While a magpie laughs at the confusion and destruction playing out
   On the mountain rage below
   Because someone stole someone else's girl back in '95
   Even if people are not objects.
Red on red, lighting the small room which thuds in my ears and behind my eyes,
   Swimming and reeling, though you don't know why this is that way or that is this way,
   Or why everyone must scream and kick like children
   When they clearly left the playground cries and squealing laughter in the far past
   Amid dusty blankets, ripped animals, and smashed plastic toys.
Enmity on the brain with scars on both legs, ripped by the explosion of disgust underwater
   Which punctured the ozone of epidermis my body creates as a means to keep
   Everything out.

Hi

It's interesting how many people have actually looked at this blog. To be honest, I didn't think anyone would ever look at this, but I've apparently gotten 23 this month, which is crazy to me!
Anyways, thanks you guys :)

Honey, I'm home!!!

At the request of a close friend, I am posting again. Hopefully I continue it this time X)
Anyways, I think I'm going to post more poetry on here. Posting about your personal life can be hard to look back on, as I am finding out. Either way, here's a poem I've been working on. It's not done yet, but I was wondering what y'all thought of it.

Practicality promised me something of a reward for the idle thoughts 

Dripping from the stalactite brain inside my cave of a head, filled with the angry dreams

And unused promises I thought would make me more appealing.

Sales floor representatives shove a blackened picture of Me, Myself and I, at total strangers,

Making Me wonder if department store prices are honestly as bad as everyone says,

Making Myself watch the dirt-poor floor self portraits signed by black shoe soles,

And I burst into key locked tears, flooding the place,

Drowning her agony in the onslaught of condescension which followed.

No one leaves me alone with my thoughts…

And I think I like that.

I thought they understood the need for leashes and chains,

For who truly trusts all the swirling intonation of their own voice 

Without it first resonating through their jaw bone,

Leading straight to their inner ear?

      No one I know enjoys the sound of their voice on tape
      As if they don't want anyone knowing the truth about themselves
      Though everyone can see the answers just by the unguarded black
      That steeps like tea into your countenance and being.

Any ideas on where to go next with it?