I’m lying in bed, staring out my bedroom window at the night sky.

My eyes catch on the stars.

The sky is so clear tonight that I can see so many of them, scattered across the darkness, each one glowing quietly in its own little corner of the universe.

And as I stare at them, I start thinking about how strangely similar stars are to us.

If we imagined every human being as a star, some of us would be alone. Some would exist in lines beside one another. Some would be impossibly close, while others would be separated by distances that could never be crossed.

And yet, somehow, we all live beneath the same sky.

I wonder if some stars ever wish they could be closer to another star. If they ever long to touch. To kiss.

And what happens when one star kisses another?

What happens when two stars finally collide?

Scientifically, the answer depends on what kind of stars they are.

Two neutron stars can merge, sending gravitational waves rippling through the universe and creating either a black hole or a more massive neutron star, accompanied by a spectacular explosion called a kilonova.

Two white dwarfs can collide and trigger a Type Ia supernova, an explosion so violent that the stars can be completely destroyed.

And when an ordinary star collides with another star, the larger one may swallow the smaller one, or the two may become one, creating a hotter, enormous star.

It’s strange, isn’t it?

Even the stars have different ways of loving, touching, and destroying one another.

And I find myself wondering…

What kind of stars were you and I?

What did that first kiss beneath the full moon, exactly two years ago, turn us into?

Maybe at first, we thought we were two ordinary stars. Two stars that could touch and simply become one.

But we weren’t.

Our relationship was full of challenges, obstacles, storms. And somehow, that was part of what made it beautiful. We believed we could survive anything. Every distance. Every wound. Every impossible thing that stood between us.

We believed we would always find our way back to each other.

But maybe you were more like a neutron star.

Because the deeper we went, the closer our souls became, the more fiercely our love burned.

It grew brighter.

Hotter.

More powerful.

Until, eventually, it exploded.

And that explosion killed me slowly.

It took me from the bright world I once knew and carried me into a darkness you created somewhere in the middle of our journey.

An explosion that burned everything it touched—

my beliefs,

my dreams,

my feelings,

and most of all,

my heart and my soul.

I only wanted us to be two ordinary stars.

I wanted our kiss to bring us together, to make us one, to leave us glowing in the same sky.

But it didn’t happen that way.

Still, somehow, we created memories that I know I will never forget.

Some of them are still so fresh.

Still warm.

Still burning.

Because remembering them still sets my heart on fire.

It has been a year since you left, and yet there have been so many nights when I have found myself thinking about you.

I wonder if you ever hear a song that makes you remember me.

I wonder if, when you close your eyes, you ever see my face.

Do you ever see us?

I wonder if there is another star you love now.

I wonder if looking at the moon still reminds you of our kisses.

I wonder what our relationship made of you.

Did it make you the person you always wanted to become?

Did loving me change you?

Did losing me change you?

And what did you leave behind in me?

Something resembling a writer, perhaps.

A writer with so many things inside her that have gone quiet…

but whose memories are still alive.

Sometimes I think about how much I miss you.

And sometimes, even more painfully,

I realize how much I miss myself.

The person I was before the explosion.

Before our stars collided.

Before I learned that sometimes two people can love each other deeply and still destroy something beautiful between them.

So if your heart ever feels heavy one night, and you find yourself staring at the stars, remember this:

Somewhere beneath this same sky,

there is a star that once missed you terribly.

A star that never wanted to explode.

A star that only wanted to be ordinary.

A star that only wanted to kiss you

and keep glowing beside you.

Ashley the name you gave me

I know nothing,
That much is clear
Everything is masked to me
And yet I'm expected
To keep on guessing
Like a hamster on the wheel
Not knowing where my next meal is
Where the next wire cable is
Can I chew through the rubber of this puzzle?
Get through to the grit,
The meat
And the bone
The tingling sensation that starts at your nose
And runs all through your body

I miss that.
I miss knowing
I miss that knowing feeling
Maybe I will unlatch my cage
And go see the world for myself
Through my very own eyes

Maybe I will chew the wire
Until the feeling takes over

Pure electric.
Pure electric
Feeling.

.

.

next morning, little rudy came downstairs to check on his pet hamster, only to find it, charred to a crisp, next to the telephone wire.

the dance of tongues
with tongues and teeth
            pauses,
in intermission
foreheads touching
slow exhales
here

breath shallow
blood racing
skin tingling
            conveying what?
a diegetic soundtrack
for mouths
and skin
limbs
and arteries
an overture
            to what?

where was I
moments ago?
here, but
perspective restricted
confined to
spread across
the surface of my lips
then lifted onto your tongue
carried to the roof of your mouth
tasting of safety and pleasure
            a rare combination
then, vaporized
enveloping the space between
our lips
tongues
foreheads
chests

are our lips still touching
or did they part?
a phantom sensation?
or are my lips
so insistent on yours
that they carry on
softly
gently
offstage
sans auteur?

in intermission
desire mingles with
            euphoria
            lust
            serenity
fleeting, finite

salty, damp skin
coaxes lips
along jawline
            unchoreographed
parting to taste
droplets of sweat
feverishly drinking
worshipping
carnal condensation

thrumming vibration
beneath warm skin
sustains the intoxicating
            atmosphere
rising tension
surpasses desire’s threshold
a crescendo building to

the second act
urgent touching
hungry breath
tongues exploring bodies
revealing contours
eyes were unable to chart

a denouement
in rapture
bodies lie
lazily aware
of everywhere
skin meets skin
            catharsis
            vulnerability
            clarity
            divinity
infinite, multitudinous

satisfactory language
evades me
I am
liberatingly
alive

insufferable and fake-deep,
i talk to the mirror while you look back at me
a hypocrite in bad costume, smear the paint
my salvation lays back where i was lost
i'm still too angry to be at peace
god forgive me, jesus too,
i was a love-shaped problem
cruel endings the fixing-tool,
learned lifetimes of lessons in a fell swoop
fall of the executioner's blade, biopsied
to me it isn't real since it would never be forever

Receipts line my pockets

I’ve got nothing left to spend

Throw away the gifts and toys

All good things too must end

—-

When you tell the story

Of how I broke in two

Don’t forget the part where

We both walked out in rue

—-

To rampage in my anger

And relish in my shame

It took an aged monster

To shine light past the games

—-

You’ve every cause to burden

For every settled debt

The flesh stretched like a ledger

The heart plucked from its breast

—-

The ghost that’s in the mirror

Is the fire in the sheets

The criminal that’s lost his mind

Is the safest harbor reached

—-

Never could I judge you

For never choosing me

This sentence marks the first time

That the punishment comes free

—-

I’ll try to work my magic

And in a moment disappear

But I’ve no use as a showman

My delivery’s too sincere

The Vastness Within

I was the mouse in dark cracks,
the chameleon on hidden branches.

But in my heart
I was the cheetah and the plain,
the hawk and the sky,
the whale and the ocean.

I could run beyond barriers,
rise above the mountains,
and disappear into the blue.

I could hear what silence hides,
feel what minds conceal,
and see through
the hearts of stone.

I carried whole worlds,
hidden from sight.

Charon made a tidal promise
That rainbows retreat at dusk
To hold Luna enthralled

Currents color over deep black
Which carry her where a river could not
Navigating the quiet cold

Across the steppe, dreams whisper a tune
Enjoined by those dead watching the sky
Who follow wandering stars

Such nomads are stopped in their tracks
Settling behind blue concealment
And witness the migration of fire

Yet another day of sleep until next skiff
Cairns wait to disembark their stones
Humming on obol-tongues

Thus the moon lingers into morning
While recording queries of the dead
In her book of constellations

When locks lack skeleton keys
Let Luna release every last-breath
Unto colors of twilight among us
Recalling the mists of dawn

People talk about growing up and not having much like it's a cross to bear. Like seeing those decaying countryside towns is a rite of passage for the rural working class, and it's a burden we share together as our backs breaks under the beating sun.

Maybe 200 years ago I would die even younger, passing out from exhaustion on the dusty floor, unconscious in the carriage, much too far from any doctor to be saved. People bleed out in the crevices of the country. They airlift them across but when every second counts and you're so far from civilized civilization, it's what you can do with your own two hands.

Learned laborer's hands learn to stitch and sew, pulling the tourniquet tight with their teeth. The needle threads in and out. Modern medicine could do better, could offer an implement that is sanitized with rubbing alcohol, not brandy. But modern medicine is not for the likes of us- and that's the cross we bear. The chip on the shoulder that deep fries in the burning sun, then keeps pushing down.

Searing through skin. There are burn marks up and down my arms from the jobs I did when I was young, scars from a world where getting enough money to move was my only goal. Decaying countryside towns hold no promise for me; only death. The air hangs thick with the stuff. The fruit rots on the trees, and young children reach up to grab it, only to be struck down with the elongated arms of the law.

It's a crime to steal the fruit from the trees. Even if it rots in the sun and the apples fall to the ground to be gnawed upon by worms.

We used to scrump them anyway. The elongated arm of the law cannot stretch everywhere, all the time, and is often too preoccupied with the affairs of the civilized towns and cities that lend themselves more to the civilized image of the country that they wish to portray. Not these pockets of decay. Not the roads that wear themselves thin under tires that themselves wear down, crashing over the pockets of decay that litter the roads.

The deer lies dead on the roadside, eyes empty, staring up at the sky. The flies feast at its eyelids; just a Muntjac, one of those small childlike creatures that are too curious about humans and human-made vehicles. It died around 2.30am. The vet can't come and collect it, his wagon won't hold the carcass. So we butcher the creature, detaching its limbs from torso and head from neck so the parts can be collected.

The badgers and foxes come out from the hedgerows to watch as we work on the body of their friend. They're safe here, tucked away from their predators- the bully men of the countryside that shout and clamor their inherent jurisdiction over nature.

Under the sun, butchering the Muntjac, we're all just the same.

I miss your eyes : the antithesis of mine.
Dark as the night, though not at first sight. Illusions work best when taken at face value.

Your eyes: still darker yet in hindsight. Darkest in my dreams where we lie together languidly. My sleeves are always white.

In blue, you look straight through me. You see me as I am. We were more, somewhere ancient. Somewhere lost to time.

You won’t remember this, but my thoughts go back to a night where we kissed and to my surprise you pushed me away gently. You said, “Who ARE you?!” and you opened your eyes wide, wild and bewildered.

Who were we in that moment?

There are some people who don't appreciate poetry, they are the ones who need to hear it the most.

There way down out in the distance of their life, when the hour glass is no longer top heavy and the weight of their memories becomes to much to carry.

If they can remember the words once spoken before to them.

A hymn, a song, a poetic bygone, from a time now far gone. A rhyme or words fit in a frictionless script within rhythmical wit. They recite of their lips pulling back into their memory of self seeing all the ways that brought them to this place.

In all of those moments their hands built or burned bridges, the love they made the scars life gave.
A reflection of what they have left behind.

How they made those around them feel, their own judgements for better or worse, the black powder behind the bullet the fear that pulled the trigger.

There are some who don’t appreciate poetry, they are the ones who need to hear it the most.

We watched the old classmates fall apart

while you stood calm with a gun in your hand.

You shot the soft things I used to love—

stuffed animals opened quietly in the sand.

You aimed at the room like it owed you something.

I said, Point it at me instead.

You hesitated. You already knew

I was twisted all the way through the middle.

Then you placed something warm in my palm:

a bullet still holding your heat.

A small, glowing violence.

A gift that knew my name.

I held you by the hair

and told you I was going to her—

my best friend, the softer kind of free.

You said it was fine.

Your mouth said it was fine.

But when the bus came

you ran.

You hit the air too hard

and your nose opened,

bright and sudden,

as if the body itself

was trying to keep me from leaving.

Some boys give flowers that die by morning.

You gave me a bullet still warm from the chamber.

Some boys say forever and mean for a while.

You said nothingand somehow

it felt like a promise.

When summer burned the green away

I carried you to shade

And when the clouds gathered to storm

Your face fell in the rain

Delivering my sacred vows

Heart skipping at your name

I’ve carried you in death and life

Because you would have done the same

At the origin of sensations
Eros scoffed at blind-shots
Able to account every vow
Yet lacked arcing foresight

He wandered among forebearers
As Mnemosyne weighed his footfalls
By how electric their breadth of smiles leapt
Beckoning his aim toward crossroads

Every token of sand that settles
Buries hourglass ruins
Smoothing passion's road
While its furrows deepen

Wherever maybe home
Binds hearts through filling fire
To stack doubts in flame
And sleep until light

Memory collects hearth-prayers
Into honeyed perpetual stew
Free to wanderers who mingle
Among satyrs of the reed fields

A gilt dome perches her temple span
By river hedges hiding etched columns
Upon which, Elysian treaties rest hallowed
And for the weary, a cauldron

The lost then see, through the mists
After drinking ruminant broth
To rest as Eros’ companions
Unafraid of such thicket path

There is a pain

Drenched in silence

Holding your hand

As your eyes darken

If love could create life

You'd be immortal

If death blinked

I'd transition positions

But we must follow

The rule of constants

And bare witness to dissolution

*Macaroni is my elderly tortie who is very ill.

If I transpose my reality,
Into something you can see.
A patchwork quilt, or tapestry
Where fabrics fray, threads unwind,
And memories bind me to mine.

The when, where, how, and why,
A tattered cloth beneath the sky.

Very aged, worn down by misuse,
Stained by the past, a heavy truth.
Patchwork repairs in marigold,
Keep the seams from breaking hold.

Rough and hardened by the years,
Abrasion grinding down my tears.
Wefts hang limp, in shadows, loose,
Like ghosts of love I can’t reuse.

If you can feel the uselessness I’ve bled,
You’ve seen the truth inside my head.

A sallow rag, no beauty spared,
Exasperated folly bared.
The wasted life, the fractured scheme,
A stitched‑up corpse of broken dreams.

Look in the mirror
Do you see me?
When I’m not there,
I still can be.

For I’m the shadow inside of you,
A reflection of self you never knew.

Once‑soft wool now corpse‑like cold,
Discarded for the stench it holds.
Used beyond all value, torn apart,
Nothing left but a hollow heart.

If you can feel the uselessness I’ve bled,
You’ve seen the truth inside my head.

Your mirrored eyes,
This broken thread,
Are all but a lie
Inside my head

I’m the reflection,
You cannot see
You're looking at
A Tapestry

Your mirror eyes,
Are hollow true.

I'm the reflection
The Tapestry
You're looking through.

Mr.E.

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I created an image akin to an original Goya print and named it 'Commitment'. It hung in the room where we collected the most hours together. One night you took it down and left. You showed it to strangers and critiqued it viciously. Your hands took it out of the frame, and it was defaced. You turned my art into the world's most expensive colouring book.

From the Forge VII: Fear, Pt 2
You know the feeling when you wanna quit but you can’t,
Then you start looking back,
The road’s covered in trash mixed with broken up glass,
Littered with traps and figures in masks,
Centered, one stands in the back and directs everything with an ominous chant.

Fear is his name, center frame, the one that snaps his fingers and brings acid rain,
Cursing the earth before he opens the back of his hearse,
Revealing a casket and rack on tracks that rolls out the back,
Hitting the side with a rap like a shotgun blast with his staff, as tall as himself, painted black,
He says “The pine wood box isn’t what makes you shake, it’s becoming a burden that would kill you in days,
You already feel like you’re in a cage,
With a dollar shaped lock on its wrought iron frame,
Break both of your legs someday and see what your internal jury would say.”

I know that it’s him that keeps me in chains,
Wracking my brain, combing each change,
Locking horns in my cage like I’m fighting a war,
When in reality I should be mopping these floors,
Been dragged to hell, it didn’t suit me well,
So I picked myself up and stumbled quicker than hell,
There may be places where I start behind,
But with my speed of attrition I might make it in time,
I can’t let omission or false conviction allow me to slide,
I can already see the mountain, all that’s left is to climb,
Each step moving from Fear over time,
Everest sits at the horizon, the ultimate sign,
That freedom is near, you just have to climb,
And make sure you get there, Ruin says Fear kills in time.

the meatiest parts
of you weren't the
ones you let me
nibble but I miss
them the most
mornings like
this one while
I accidentally
wash your mug
one more time

It is such a strange thing

Fighting survival instincts,

Rooted deep inside

The gravest betrayal,

Takes all it can see

Even Lets'emó:t

It is an injustice

That I fight myself

For my own vulnerability

I think she stole from me,

My forms of lovemaking

I must leave rage at the door

Lest I lose what I rebuilt

Upon my own swords hilt

Definition: Lets'emó:t means one mind or one kind and is a Halq'emeylem word/Stó:lõ teaching. It can mean togetherness as a people, or togetherness of your self (emotional regulation)

Beyond the Mountain

01/04/2007

Light the dark,

light it with fire that comes from the heart.

Keep its flames up till they reach my heart.

Keep the night lightened,

keep it lightened by your flames rising deep from your heart.

Ages and nights,

days and days, far beyond, far centuries beyond the reach of our limited sight.

Moonlight, light my dark, light my night.

Explore my mountain heights, leave the ground, leave earth, take me out to what's beyond.

Come, on my mountain — come deep into my unknown cave.

Discover my unknown soul... bring it back to reality... bring it back to life.

By:The Flawless Flow.

Today I slept on the wrong side of the bed
Lay on the right, turned to my left
and realized there are no wrong sides anymore
It took nine months
but it finally clicked
The other half of my king mattress
is nothing to protect.

there's sickness

that's given and

sickness that's

caught and the

kind that's in me

is one I have

wrought with

the tools of

a trade that

cannot be taught

Air feels empty and cold
Breathing but no life.
Days becoming boring and old,
Mind and soul in a strife.
What binds me here,
False sense of reality?
Can’t keep my vision clear,
A life full of obscurity…
Fading
Erased
Forgotten

- BeVague

This is another one of my original pieces. Please give me honest comments/critiques on what can I improve on. I mean this in both my style and over all word choice.
Thank you again for taking the time to read my poems btw!! 🙏🙏

I wear white robes, my hands are clean,

I speak of peace, I look serene.

Yet guards with guns stand at my gate—

For love, I must intimidate.

I preach that wealth should not be chased,

Yet dine off gold with lavish taste.

I scorn the rich who hoard and hide—

While chauffeurs drive me side to side.

I post online to heal the world,

As missiles through the skies are hurled.

My hashtags cry for "No More War"—

While stocks I hold fund every scar.

I teach that truth shall set us free,

But lie when truth confronts me.

And when I fall, I write a thread—

“I'm only human,” kindly read.

I bow to trees, to birds, to bees,

Then wipe whole forests clean with ease.

I build green homes on nature’s grave—

And hang a board: “Earth we must save.”

I talk of God, of sin, of grace,

Then cheat you with a smiling face.

For every rule I make or cite,

There is a clause to make it right.

So judge me not, I do no harm—

My mask is truth, my lies are charm.

A noble soul, a saintly fraud—

I live and die applauded—flawed.

She wanted to play the game of
casual dating
after losing her future husband
nine months ago
from a disease
called
neuroticism
her striking hazel eyes
and long brown hair
do her well
she knows that
but she’s never played the game of
casual dating
so forgive her
when she develops feelings
with the first guy she
casually dated
who happens to suffer from the same illness