I wish it we're summer,
but I'd settle for spring.
It's hard to forget you,
when you're still wearing my ring.
And I tried to stop thinking,
Because that's what kills me every time.
So I stopped seeing your face,
But you live in my mind.
How can you erase a soul,
that's scoured you with it's mark?
Do you just pretend,
pick up some habits,
Feel new bodies in the dark?
You're every cigarette I smoke,
every J that I spark.
If I could rewrite that chapter,
If I could burn our fucking book.
Maybe I wouldn't keep remembering,
The moment you gave me that look.
There are only so many ways to say,
"I'm sorry- I shouldn't have walked down that aisle.
I shouldn't have forced my pink bride smile.
But I loved you, I really did, I really do.
You love me regardless.
Gave me everything short of your shoes.
And maybe what it is, what I'll never understand,
What it's like to love the person who doesn't crush you in their hands.
theres three things that bother me. rotten pears, old laundry detergent and the ash from cigarette butts. i tell myself that it would bother me less if we took one of them out of the picture, but we can’t. we just can’t.
in my backyard lies the pile of pears. fruit flies surround them, and their curves gape with holes and maggots. i keep telling myself that i don’t even like the taste of pears; they’re bland. they taste like waking up in the morning. they taste horrible. their curves aren’t voluptuous. their skin isn’t smooth. their freckled spots are ugly. and in the back of my pillow rests a cotton shirt that smells like laundry detergent.
do you want me to open up to you and embarrass myself? fine.
i seal things in my chest every night and i state my wishes as i smell your shirt. the laundry detergent takes me back to your memory, and i find myself whispering all my sorrows into your breast. i miss your warmth, i miss your presence. i miss your curves, i miss your taste, and i miss knowing.
the folds of my sheets crash into one another and my hand buries itself in the craters of my bed. please come back. a hundred ‘night and days’ can only pass, so i ask of you, please come back.
to be faced with silence in the night follows along the ugliest truth. you’re not coming back.
you’re not coming back.
you’re not coming back.
i know of that.
so i’ll stay bothered—flicking the cigarette ash, thinking of you, and dragging it against the concrete.
This was a freestyle poem I wrote back in 2004. Came across it the other day and thought I’d share. Enjoy! 🤟🏼 . #thakman #kenirwin #freestylepoem #poem #outlastall #poemoflove #xtheboundaries #indieauthor #indieartist #photographer #videographer #pdx #pnw #biloxi #inspirationalwords #magical #emotion https://www.instagram.com/p/CBwEG9OA0e-/?igshid=fivcfj01l3hp
Hearing to their sweet stories,
I too want a person.
A person who genuinely loves me,
To whom I can share my desires.
I want a person I can trust,
With my darkest sin.
And I want to be with a person,
To whom I can speak to without thinking.
So when will I find one?
Who loves me.
Not for my fame and intelligence,
But for my personality's beauty.
