We All Want What We Can’t Have

I want to break the binds,
and reject the embrace
I’m stuck in.
I want to sever the knots
in the stitches holding
the hurt inside my head.
I want to scream in the silence
and shatter the glass cage
keeping the numbing ice
pressed against my skin,
when all I need
is the warmth
of gentle fingertips
and the tenderness
of delicately spoken promises.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

I Know Why the Caged Heart Beats

A free heart knows
how it feels to be held,
caressed by gentle hands
who’s only intentions are to nurture
and show how it feels to sing.

A caged heart knows
how it feels to pump
a thousand miles
to the sound of its hurt.

A free heart hears
the sound of silence
and knows its calmness
is not a threat to its health.

A caged heart screams,
drum kits breaking
in the anxious pounding
of the rib-cage bars
holding it in its cell.

The caged heart beats
because it knows the tales
of what could be
if it were to be freed.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

She Understands

She understands the crushing weight
of loneliness holding her lungs in a
vise, making her question whether
she’d ever remember how it feels to
breathe.

She understands the smell of skin
singed by the hands of what should
be, burning holes in what can’t live
up to expectations.

She understands the desire to scream
underwater while being silence by the
drain.

And she understands no one else will
ever understand how it feels to drown
in a drought.


Be sure to check out the inspiration of this poem from The Awkward Bear Writes. 

 

Lonely Fern

This started as a short story I was going to write, and it turned into this poetic piece. 

 

There is a river along the banks of beauty’s backroads. It never has to feel alone with the intimacy the banks bring it, offering their hands for the gentle strokes of the push-pull flow of the water. The wind nudges the shyness from its grasp, and the river makes friends with the fish, making homes in the darkest sections of the riverbed. A lonely fern stretches its skinny fingers for a chance to taste all that the stream provides, not quite reaching what it longs for. There is a river along the banks of beauty’s backroads. It mesmerizes everything within its view, unaware of the lonely fern among the trees, just out of reach. The stream, devoid of physical flaws, only inciting them in the ones it overlooks. On starry nights, the moon acts as a spotlight, illuminating the ridges in the gentle waves, furthering the tease on the poor, lonely fern, that yearns for the river’s embrace.

Sick

When my insides grew tired of living in a body so broken,
I was lucky enough to have loneliness there, holding my
hair back and telling me it was okay to lay my contents
out for security to inspect. That it is okay to show him
what my insecurities are made of. That we are in this
together. I tell him I am alone and he tells me no. That
he is a friend that refuses to leave. I tell him I am sick,
and he tells me no. That if I were sick, that would make
him a virus. I tell him yes. That he is bacteria, spreading
an illness through me with his futile reassurance.

Mr. Lonely

Time is precious, and lonely knows it.
He is a greedy man, stealing moments
that should be spent filling your heart,
not your cup. He locks your mind in a
box, leaving the slideshow of memories
from a time you were not alone. He
leaves your aching heart to mend its
own, knowing your only company is
pain and the numbing substance of
your choosing.

Apartment

Silence and loneliness work hand-in-hand
to create feelings without sound and
noise without sentiment.

Loneliness is the quiet friend,
mumbling so you cannot understand
his secrets, giving himself the
nickname company.

Silence is loud, screaming in your
ears With a shrill ring, filling up
the space loneliness left behind

Their blood splatters your clothes
as they fight for the heart of empty.

Emptiness is beautiful, spilling blonde
hair and blue eyes in areas you
believed could hold nothing more than
the bunk-beds quiet and alone share.

Your body is the room they’re filling
with their presence and it’s almost
time to pick some new renters.