I don’t write a lot of happy poetry because I share my happiness fully and freely with people. I write poetry when I’m frustrated, angry, or hurt. I write poetry because I can share my thoughts without burdening someone else with them. I have plenty of people who wouldn’t consider it a burden but for…
Today I sat with some past traumas. Sometimes they surface and I’ve learned to listen. Light leaves the room Full of shadows I close my eyes And wish words away I wish her away I wish him away But the shadows stay And I know tomorrow I’ll never feel the same Because the shadows Grabbed…
There is a collective pain A bleary faucet that flows Spiritual hand me downs Into our hearts and souls Born empty and open Waiting to be filled As the pain begins to drip From one ancestor To the next. To the next. The unhealed wounds Broken and bleeding Into you and me Into all of…
I reconciled an old wound As I slept and dreamed Old regrets never resolved Played out and laid to rest
What I’d like to tell you Will never pass my lips My words mean too much To end up changed, twisted Because that’s what you do Turn hankies into birds And people clap and cheer Then they point and jeer When you tell them I’m the one, the horrible one Turning birds into hankies When…
The sorrows are hanging Left in the dark to cure Wrung out and dried Just waiting to be worn
Sometimes the walls cry Flooded by waterfalls Stones crumble then fly Leaving a pile a mile high Carvings on pieces Blood splatter dialog Rooms left behind Flooded and drained Moldy rotting floors Splinter weak doors Rooms left behind But never forgotten
I’ve been reading some poetry from a woman I’ve followed for years and I swear she’s been speaking from a place I left many years ago. I thought I wouldn’t survive. I did. And so can you. There are people out there who are a better fit. When you are in a storm you can’t…
It’s hard To sit in the dark Surrounded By old feelings To let them Materialize brand new To be searched Yet again To be picked apart To be analyzed It’s hard To face your trauma To feel it To listen to it But this time You get to speak Here in this dark The doors…
When Your Dad Tries to Kill You I hope you read the post above. Byron can also be found writing on Vocal.com. From the moment I met Byron I liked him. He had a good heart and I didn’t need much more than words on a piece of paper to know that. He started out…
HASTYWORDS 