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100TC - 94. Brokenhearted (or Chris' Lament)The problem is not that I’m alone,
That there’s no one to welcome me home
Or that the bed is empty in the morning
in the evening and dawn.
The issue is not the meals for one,
The evenings in on my own,
That there aren’t calls from anyone
and no reason to have a phone.
The question is not that I’m lonely
in this one bedroom apartment.
That there’s nothing to make it homey,
except for what I can’t have anymore.
The question is you once were here
and you were my one and only.
The question is you showed me more
and had me longing for what I hadn’t before.
The issue is my heart longs for you
and my body misses your touch.
The issue is I’d love to hate you
but I can no longer hold a grudge.
The problem is I fell in love
and made a terrible mistake.
The problem is I am not above
of feeling this heartache.
100TC - 19. HomeI once thought I could only be
happy on the other side of the horizon.
Where the grass was greener
and the seas were so much bluer.
Wherever I was…
I wanted to be somewhere else.
Whoever I was with…
they were never the right one.
Whenever I saw the snow,
had snowball fights and
I wished for the white sand
and to take a swim
on tropical beaches.
Happiness was harder
and harder each day.
The horizon was further
and further away.
(It’s just an
and you can never
I realized I can be happy anywhere.
If I call it home.
The grass sometimes is tall
and the sea if far away.
But there’s no place like home
and no one quite like myself.
I miss the snow.
The water here is freezing.
But happiness is so easy.
And the horizon is just a line.
100TC - 50. 5 a.m.Most days
5 a.m. is when I’m asleep
And you’re awake.
Later I’m awake
And you’re asleep.
5 a.m. is “your 10 p.m.”.
When I wake up and it’s night.
It’s when there’s no work
And I’m awake till the morning light.
5 a.m. is when we meet.
On the street, by your door.
We forget all those screens
And it’s like never before.
100TC - 39. AutumnSeason of gold,
with leaves falling down,
stories to be told,
memories of summer
fading with the cold.
Season of silver,
of rainy days…
some rays of sun.
Murmuring of a river
down my street.
Wet socks make me shiver.
Season of red,
the beauty of vintage,
dark grapes for wine.
Lazy morning in bed,
reading my favourite book
as if I’ve never have.
Season of brown,
of aromatic land,
carpets made of leaves,
I drink coffee in silence
Listening to the sounds.
Do you see me?Do you see me as I see you?
Do you notice how I stare?
I see you look over your shoulder.
Do you notice I’m always there?
I see you look out the window
Checking on the weather.
Will you wear your long coat?
Or maybe your favourite sweater?
I see you leave the house,
Dashing down the street.
You’re late for work, aren’t you?
Did you oversleep?
I see you wrinkle your nose
When you ride the train
And that guy is way to close.
I’ll make sure he won’t do it again.
I see you get to work,
And for hours I won’t see you.
I stay in a bar waiting
Doing my best not to feel blue.
I see you leave work.
You are not alone.
I watch you laugh and talk.
I don’t like that friendly tone.
I see you take the train,
Do you see me as I see you?
You run home under the rain.
Do you see me as I see you?
I see your silhouette against the light.
You don’t see me but I see you.
You are naked on my mind
And for me this is nothing new.
I see the lights going out.
Sometimes...Sometimes I am the rain.
Silver, quiet and sweet.
Washing away the pain
When lovers fail to meet.
Sometimes I am death.
Silent. Painful. Brave.
The memory of the ephemeral,
Of the eternity of the grave.
Sometimes I am love.
Strong and vibrant and wild.
Living in the beauty of a rose
Or the hug of a child.
Most times I am human.
A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words - RewriteThe show started at ten thirty and, even though it was only nine in the evening, the square in front of the stadium was full. Young people walked around holding tickets in hand, knowing that the doors wouldn’t open for some time. There was energy in the air, flickering with every words of excitement as experiences were shared and young people laughed and boasted about the concerts they had already been at. Someone had even brought a guitar and a group sang off tune to one of the songs they would listen later performed by the band.
“I think they’re lost…”
A girl sipped her coffee from the paper cup, looking at the old couple that walked in their direction. At a slow but steady pace, with their arms locked together, they opened way through the excited youngsters, drawing strange looks. The woman was small, with black and short curly hair and a thin and wrinkled face. As for the man, he had almost no hair at all but the ones he had were a beautiful mix of gr
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
now i see the stars.there was a time when i
couldn't catch my breath whenever i
thought about you , (crippled lungs and-
boy, you hit me like an asteroid,
there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,
oceans of my tears cried on
nights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.
thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,
i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,
for a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,
weighted to the ground and
buried in myself, but
where there is no light there are no shadows, and
sometimes, i wonder if i miss me.
yes, i do.
i may not see the moon, but
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
i am made of nights like theseativan boy, you cannot empty out this skull -
not with a pen nor with a bullet. you can
be my hallowed head(case) for spitting out
words like teeth; oh, but i will only love you
when you're weary. i will keep crows caged
between your lungs like veins, like palpitations.
i will rot you through bones & car radios,
but i will never get (you) out of your skin.
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
A broken heartI promised myself I'll never fall in love
Whenever I fall in love I feel renewed and happy
But like a drug
Once everything finishes
I'm crying, depressed and the wreckage of my heart
I always end up feeling worse
I want to find someone that is special
But I'm afraid to suffer again
I'm afraid of losing another person
Do not want to suffer
Do not make me suffer, do not lie to me
Do not hurt me, no more
I will not hold on to people who only sink me
I'll be free and live with have left
A cold and lonely spirit.
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