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These broken hands
cupped around a
fragile light.
Keeping it safe
and protected from
this endless night.

Only in the depths
of their pain
and despair
does a sliver of light
escape through
the tear.
© Annilda Esterhuysen. All rights reserved.
 Feb 2014 Allen Wilbert
JR Potts
They can tell you all about their dreams
they can sing'em from every street corner
online, offline, on any **** line they want
but I have always had a theory
one good one about us song birds
were busy slinging dreams like cheap dope
because were afraid to live
afraid to take that first step into the unknown
so ******* scared of our own dreams
we talk about'em night and day
mostly at night, avoiding sleep
like lunatics ranting
but instead of hospitals
they got us tied down in bars
forget lithium, they got *****
boooooze I say
and enough drunk ******* to listen
to every petty fear you got
they even let you parade it around
wear it on your lips like a cheap suit
some even start to believe you too
we find ourselves singing from bar stools
like they were mountain tops
every one of us, every last one us
a ******* dreamer
trapped in a real world
Here I am, consciously putting your puzzle piece heart back together because someone played the gambler and bet on your blood only to lose because you found out the game that was going on quicker than your host expected and they dropped your vessel like the glass trinket that it is and it shattered to pieces as it met with the ground. Harlotry is the game she started and didn't know how to quit, her mind seemed confused as well as her chest that seemed to be made cold as ice and black as night.
Here I am doing my best to show you how much I care, how much emotion is there in my heart waiting to be shared, to be left in your arms as the truth that it is, to be reflected in your eyes as the things I see, for I love you that much. I could stay with your help if you wanted me to, and could stare at the smile that I caused for you. Now here I breathe like it's not in my nature because of riggers of passion and moments of pleasure.
We could spread your beauty like a rumour that stays, like an illness that's healthy in odd kinds of ways. We can burn things together like pyro-addicted lovers and laugh in the faces of stupidity of others. And the places we stand will be all but cherished for our bitter facade has all but perished from the lives of those that treat us like **** in this evil world that's hell in a pit of a fruit of the universe that no one would pick for differences that express just how much that it ***** even for those with an Irishman's luck.
So here your faith shatters as mine did too and remembrance and patience are again a virtue that not many have because this world tore them down like a natur-istic thing that survives with a frown. And I love you so much I've faith in you, only you, and the things you may do for the hope that humanity will change one day and be more like you.
For Orion.
Here I am thinking

What have I become?

Is this me, Was it me before?

I'm exhausted by the constant adding up

-multiplying the times I have had to reassess

Where am I in this maze..

I feel the certainty chip away as the people I love wilt and disappear

The knowledge I once held close I lay down next to their once comforting words

Nothing is definite
Fact is a state of Illusion
Am I alright with this?

I once declared..  "I thrive on chaos"
I now search for comfort within it, and hold on tight to my own prospects

Is this really who I have become?
What do I fear? .. Measurement(?)

Those who are adding up their own multiples(?)

Me
As I look myself over in the mirror
judging.. assessing the weight of each insult

Who cares?
Do I? How can I find contentment in all of these flaws
My lack of effort
My lack of effort to conform to ideals .. is this part of me, a rebellion of sort

Will it pay off in the long run or will I fall flat on my face in the abyss of conformity

I am lucky I am loved. I think

oh so lucky .. luck is temporary, it's all temporary
that's the good part(!) We don't have to dwell but(!) might we have to Answer

To Pay.. for all decisions and outcomes.
Is this why(?)


..I know I am not the only one thinking..
 Feb 2014 Allen Wilbert
Renae
I never thought
   you were a tree at all, much less a money tree
.   I saw you as my partner is all, someone to balance me
     Guess you didn't need me as much as I needed you
.   So now you interrupt me constantly, you love to make me blue, to crush and hurt and call me greedy to make me feel like I'm just needy to make me feel so incomplete So insignificant, So indiscreet. As though I somehow have a choice, as though I even had a voice
You cut me off  without a chance and leave me nothing but second hands, I scrimp and scrape
and gather together to afford gas in my
car & food on the table
yet in your revenge
To conquer me
to make me as
small as I can be
You toss some
pocket change
my way then
turn your back
  on me & tell
  everyone I must
  think you're
my money tree
It's just a bite, what harm could it do?
It triggers a domino effect, because one bite invariably turns into two, and three, and four and all of a sudden you're eating.
But you can't do that, because being skinny will make everything better.
You look in the mirror, hoping to see ribs and spine and hip-bones. You stretch your skin farther over your bones, and watch the fat melt away. You are skinny, and you are indestructible.
Nothing fits.
You shop for new clothes
but they sag in all the wrong places.
Nothing pulls over your chest the way it used to, instead it hangs there limply.
There are inches of extra fabric behind your thighs.
Your hips used to be graceful and womanly, but now you look like a pre-pubescent child.
Being skinny just isn't fun anymore.
But you can't go back, because you remember times when you'd stand in front of dressing room mirrors and clothes would s t r e t c h over your stomach and hips and thighs and *******. Everything would be too tight in all the wrong places.
It is either skinny or fat, never an in-between. You can never be "healthy" because that's fat too.
And the food is still on your plate while all of this runs through your mind and it almost kills you, because it's JUST A BITE.
but it isn't 'just' anything. it's a big deal.
So you leave the bite behind and your stomach begs you for something, anything. And then you see the candy.
The chips.
The diet sodas.
The protein bars.
The brownies.
The ice cream.
The milkshakes.
And suddenly you are out of control, eating it all at once and you can't stop. It goes in but it HAS TO COME OUT.
So you lock yourself in the stall.
You tickle the back of your throat with your pointer finger and it comes back.
Purple,
Orange,
Blue.
Unnatural colors that come from processed foods.
Red,
yellow,
green.
And you are empty again,
crying on the bathroom floor
with no one to save you.
loitering in German is repulsive
always inebriated, even –
understand?

repetition and throat plug
pronouns (she gags on “du”
bleats “mein”)
exotic?  nah.  adored?

well

they tell me “das Gift” peals a
heavy cognate; it also
answers to “poison”

but Gifts in King’s
is “toxic” not
sorry
are – not – toxic

so flash me that
yellowbird
lather, anchor in strand

these quicksilver
nothings, murmured
honeydew venom


overheard myself last night
calling du but your scent
killed by mein pulse
almost fooled me, nearly

sounded like
the antidote
and other delicious gifts
you’ve given me
 Jan 2014 Allen Wilbert
Powers
One
 Jan 2014 Allen Wilbert
Powers
One
I own one spoon
one knife
one fork
one bowl
and one plate
but I own two mugs
in hopes we'll fall in love over a cup of coffee.
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