Blended

[blendedout]

I want to make a new tradition of interlacing my contentment with the rising sun as a new revolution beckons the sun spots on my skin I’ll be awoken to the haunting aromas of fresh days and open eyes and of yearning to be good and do good and to find nothing but myself.

B.B. Happy New Year

[blendedout]

I can’t wait to be on an island with you Like an intransient being I wish I knew you already But the island can wait Like the tossed hair we’ll have Like the yearning of freedom our strands dance for I’ll dance for you, Love Every day that we construct And every day that deconstructs I’ll be the in-betweens Beginning and end The ebb and flow The sudden stops And the sudden go’s

B.B. Quality Air

[blendedout]

I've been outlining your ocean with wires Because this shortage was the capsized place in my heart Where I felt I was drowning You see how my intentions are simply to set fire to your mind Yet I'm shaking from the surges The way it shocks my heart into a dead line monitor

THE OCEAN IS A TERRIBLE PLACE FOR A LIGHTNING STORM, B. B.

[blendedout]

Waves. How they return more feverishly than any abled body. 
Exhaustion. How I’ve been chasing my own shore. Knee deep 
Tide strong 
With a wind on the horizon that drunkenly whispers such profound heartbreak. 
 That red sunset. How it leaks away from your veins and cheeks 
How it’s softened by the hardening of night.

[blendedout]

You said I have soft hands And I want to apologize for every soul that brushed against your corners with sandpaper. Trying to smooth the edges and build upon a support for them alone. I hope you know I like the angles your nose makes and the way your body curves around your frame. I don't think I could "fix" these holes you claim to exist I do want to fill them, however, With every touch and glance I want to fill them above your skin To the point your insecurities become the beams of an ancient cathedral And your sighs become the setting of stone

[blendedout]

I’m just lost in the ebbing and flowing of your being
The way you return to me like a wild sunrise

[blendedout]

What breaks my heart is the colossal undertaking of building cathedrals in the cracks of skin I’ve seen it in the veins of leaves And I’ve heard every choir And every angel as they gently float Down Away from growth and towards The crumbling acceptance of death and accumulation And Rebirth

B. B.

[blendedout]

I feel as if Aphrodite is always shadowed by Ares

I no longer dedicate shrines to people

or pour my blood out in the street

each blood cell laced with loyalty 

as the heavenly deities savor the meat

I will not align my tomb under star bits

alongside rooms of earthly riches

The power I have in myself

is the power to refrain

I’m not missing out on rehearsed verse

or unknown future rains

I’m at war with war

and the love it detains.

-- "All is Fair in Love and War" B.B.

[poetrybomb]

I used to think I was a poet that my words would build castles on shores I’d visit then I read a message in a bottle that whispered self doubt into the cracks of my skin: you lack depth and vocabulary your experience centers you in the crevice of a book never dancing among the pages but sinking within the spine with the empty words that have trailed  off corners of crusted eyes

But I forgot to acknowledge the skin we shed from day to day grows again and again like how children build sandcastles knowing the ocean will wash them away like how monks spend patience on mandalas only to wipe away time like how doctors sew up innards just to send naked bodies out to play

I am growing to regrow and erasing to draw again

My words may not take minds to unknown places or weave into the fabrics of baby blankets my stones may lack the weathered look and the ivy that grows has only just begun but I’ll start my own renaissance within myself  because I know my intentions may mimic  the dusty relics but I’ll make an evolving masterpiece of myself never to be hung or washed away

— “Never listen to drunken sailors” B.B. http://www.blendedout.tumblr.com

[blendedout]

You will not be unseen You will grow with the wildflowers  and one day you'll touch the arms of someone running the fields because that's how care finds free -- "Carefree" B.B.

[blendedout]

My thoughts roam tombs on mornings like this. And one by one, I take a head count How many bodies can lie in the shadows of these sheets While I lose myself in the contrast? -- "The sun brings it all out" B.B.

[blendedout]

I see the patterns you choose like in the quilts your grandmother made new and you’ll say they won’t ever wash out because she laid them upon you and I see the shapes of your lovers how their hairs all fall away from their mothers and I’ll feel softened I’ll read about your encounters with all the troubling mounters demons dancing among harbors ones you’d steer clear from your daughters and I’ll wonder why you refrain from romance when you so love to slow dance and why you sink heavenly fingers into such hauntingly eager demeanors the patterns they trace you giving you lines to fall into when all I ever wanted was to hold you — “Because who chases a quiet ocean" B.B.

[blendedout]

I used to think I was a poet that my words would build castles on shores I’d visit then I read a message in a bottle that whispered self doubt into the cracks of my skin: you lack depth and vocabulary your experience centers you in the crevice of a book never dancing among the pages but sinking within the spine with the empty words that have trailed off corners of crusted eyes

But I forgot to acknowledge the skin we shed from day to day grows again and again like how children build sandcastles knowing the ocean will wash them away like how monks spend patience on mandalas only to wipe away time like how doctors sew up innards just to send naked bodies out to play

I am growing to regrow and erasing to draw again

My words may not take minds to unknown places or weave into the fabrics of baby blankets my stones may lack the weathered look and the ivy that grows has only just begun but I’ll start my own renaissance within myself because I know my intentions may mimic the dusty relics but I’ll make an evolving masterpiece of myself never to be hung or washed away

— “Never listen to drunken sailors” B.B.