Learning to be a poetSour wicker word weavers my drug my drug my sweet jasmine drugLearning to be a poet
Women upon women who know women who own women are taught with nimble finger and sharp tongues
Bleed little baby bleed I cut you
cut you past the quick
and the rind and the calloused undergrowth of
your yesterdays youth
Poets Poets
please be a poet
seduce me and feel me limber loves wrapped in fools wisdom
wishes pour from their pours hope that creeps
tangled in their hair licking their skin like thrilled
jealous fire
Keep ScreamingFingers in my ears, screaming, I'm inches from a nervousKeep Screaming
break through the windows of a convenience store feels like I'm part of a
riot, no, you really are the funniest person I've ever
known criminal, steals hearts and then breaks them in two more steps to the edge and I'll find an empty head for the rest of
forever seems like a lifetime but we often forget that its actually longer, longer, longer I feel like Im never going to wait longer in my entire
life is a funny concept to an eighteen year old with no sense of
self mutilation almost sounds poetic when your not doing
it isn't a
Rebirthcicadas birth from the ground moths from second rate cocoons and I from earthenware painted and prettied with stories of the great greek gods patterned and lullabied with the delicious rot of timeRebirth
and I have risen from baked clay coffin wearing the stories of old like some temptress of athens
sculpted by masters
my spine a display of loveline my lungs full of reds and blacks paint pours out from my mouth
over my laughing tongue
and down my hungry lips to the
palette of my chest
I came from the womb of earth
waiting f
SensesIf I had something to say to you I think it would taste like warm whiskey Rolling onto my cotton coated tongue, pleasantly and painfully clearing theSenses
Taste from my teeth It would sound like a child crying in the grocery store Dim lit by hard fluorescent so even the mold on the lemons looks better than God gray pale veined hands that work the barcode scanner
It would feel like clay drying under fingernail and the panic That ensues for the obsessive compulsive who would rather scratch off their Skin than take one more second If I had something to say to you I would be thankful
Even
What I want!
Tired
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check out the gallery...
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Pablo "DRAKE HARRIS" Romero. Alpedista terrestre clase A, boludo certificado y futuro gran fracaso de la historieta
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Moi, C' est Pas Le Meilleur Person
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do i look like i care? no? well i do
My life, My world, My soulmate, I Love You Maz
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