Poems and Bad Writing

Everything

[framed-sunshine]

Untitled poem V

I am not a holy man.

I am filled with smoke and lies,

And with curses between prayer

Though I do yearn for your blessed touch

I may be sacreligious,

When my fingers dance over my own skin

And your name slips out from between my lips in vain

Only then do I want to believe

In spite of my sin I would never blaspheme

Never take for granted what you have given

When you'd kiss my hair each night

And clear the tempest in my mind

I'd write any song and every stanza

Relate all prayer back to you

In the morning and before I dreamed

If that is what it took

And if you cried for more

Then Id cut myself open and kneel

And present my heart, impure as it is

Just to feel your fingers brush mine as you'd reach to take it

[framed-sunshine]

Untitled poem IV

I find comfort in the people I hate,

Writhe myself between the cracks of heartache,

Not unlike the weeds on my driveway,

Though resilience has never been my strong suit.

I am inseparable from my hatred,

Raw and unadulterated and soft,

Sketched with each drag

And committed with every burn.

Truth is, I've never hated.

I am a coward in the face of anger,

Drown out misplaced blame with cheap cigarettes

And faux meaningful words to make prose.

Now I am left to scrub off the stench

Of the guilt you have left me with.

Break me with empty bottles and half-finished promises,

I'll still miss my mother's embrace.

[framed-sunshine]

Untitled work III

There is a dip on your back in the space between your shoulder blades. A memory of something bigger than yourself. A perfect impression of the world you bear that you so painfully long to grip in your hands.

That night you held me beneath the sky, entranced by whatever secrets the stars could keep. You reached up, palm to universe, as if it was your duty to brace Creation itself.

I saw in that moment the weight you uphold, your heart wide open and wanting. Bleeding. Holy. Brushed by moonlight so gently and painted in perfect antithesis.

I have never been one to hate but, God, I would never forgive a world so cruel and drenched in profanity.

[framed-sunshine]

Untitled poem II

I admire the complexities of your soul like numbers in an equation,

Woven between letters and symbols and decades of practiced arithmetic

Spelling out secrets in a language im so desperate to understand,

Chalk dust spilling out from your lungs into my eyes,

But I never quite got algebra back in highschool anyway so I blink and laugh along

Losing myself in the indices and division, Forever forgetting to carry the one.

Your world is foreign to me.

[framed-sunshine]

The plague can't stop me I'm still rocking and rolling

[framed-sunshine]

Untitled poem I

You kiss me with soft lips and understanding,

As though my gasps spell out secrets and shame,

Yet you don't cower from my dying fire,

You pick up a match and run it across your heart,

Devotion dripping down your hands,

Slow, deliberate, tempting.

It is in those moments, between whispered laughs and stifled moans,

When your breath entangles around mine,

And your fingers weave through all that is imperfect,

That my pages fall apart, history burnt away.

I am on my knees pleading for your heat,

Desire hanging in the air like an oath

And I am truly and wholly yours,

In my entirety, through my eternity,

Ignited by your patience.

I want you sacredly.