Slam Poetry- A man talks about the women he fell in love with and lost. Video here, you must watch it.
This is the saddest video I’ve ever watched, yet it’s wonderful in it’s own little way.
One if the saddest things i have ever seen, damn
This made me cry this guy is amazing
i forgot to reblog at first cause i was crying so much
I carry it like a sack of
fifty pound concrete slung over my
shoulder, a folded up grocery list in
the back pocket of my jeans, a
newborn child. I keep
it hidden, my proverbial skeleton in
my proverbial closet but do
you have any idea how hard
it is to hide a skeleton when you
are waltzing with it in your
living room? It leaves
me tired but I have mastered
the art of misdirection. I am a
regular stage magician, making
secrets disappear from view like so many
colored scarves in a sleeve, turning
them into flying white doves with
a puff of blue smoke.
I carry it and I keep it hidden
because people like to scatter, roaches from
a light bulb, pigeons from a running
child, at first glimpse— or worse,
try to lend a hand. I know tht
your broad shoulders are more than
equipped to hold the weight, perhaps
better than mine (they are so much
petite), but everyone has their
own luggage to haul around and
I won’t ask for help with mine.
its awkward shape is hard for
even your capable hands to
hold and I am weary enough
most days without having to heave
a boulder off the ground. Besides
I fear it’d leave my shoulder blades
with phantom limb syndrome. I
would float, or fly, away without
it to hold me here.
I carry this carefully, a tray
full of water glasses, and I cloister
it away and I carry it alone.
I don’t ask for someone to share
the load, only that you are
patient when I stumble, bow, break
under the yoke and maybe
you will stop and wait for me
to catch up if it slows me
or at the very least please, do
not kick at my ribs when I’m down
or stand idle if I’m suffocating
under a sack of concrete when
it lands on my chest.
Thoughts on Loving You
1. You are the way the September sun feels on
My face when it’s cool and the breeze dies
A little and I tilt my head up to soak it in.
2. When you speak your voice is a symphony, the
Lilt of your voice in harmony with the passion of
Your words, underscored by a low, deep current
Of sincerity that I find astonishing.
3. You fit me: puzzle pieces, lock and key, interlaced
Fingers, and a cozy sock on a cold foot. All the
Metaphors anyone could think of and them some.
Your soul nestles against my heart and fills voids
I didn’t know were there, warms my ribs and
Expands around my lungs as I breathe.
4.I will never be able to be anything but
Woefully inadequate at describing it
And for a love so big, I am grateful.
she cut her lip on
she practiced in
her sleep (to the sheep)
and hung her[note-to]self
on the bedpost
the fever residue
street lamp neon
shh the spectrum is
oh sure i support you
with my styrofoam
oh how you gaped
(over the gap that was your mouth)
we are, we are
(( x sting wish ))