Poetry is the name of the game.

So I haven't been able to work on my Story of L blog. Why, not because I'm being a complete bum (although there are moments where I think my brain is fried and refuse to do anything) but because I have been attending class. This semester's focus is poetry. In fact the entire summer's focus is poetry. So I may not have the next chapter in the thrilling search for love as L seeks a new relationship but I do have about 15 recently written poems to share. Writing poetry is my hobby, not my first love, but I do find it exciting in it's own way. I will share two of my favorites with you here. I'll add postings of more as time progresses. As most writers know it is a matter of constant tweaking and the final product can always change. There are some I want to alter and others I never want to see the day of light. Until next time.

For Lover’s Only

Food for the soul is what we need to flourish. Or we
become as blue as Smurfs because we
are suffocating like animals in a zoo,
trying to clear the stagnant social dust on our lives. We
are near an end, unaware of the time that ticks by
slowly then quickly, a five step chacha. We
are unthinking of our actions as a whole,
a constant flux of situations that are forever changing
like the waves that crash against my feet.
Inconsiderate and egotistical we
never move towards the overall benefit really.
Really just selfish, all of us,
thinking only of the ones we
regard as part of our humanity. Thus
all others are less human.

I’m tired of it. The faces of physical starvation,
social indecency, and moral destruction
all part of a world that is tearing itself asunder.
A steak with two pit bulls fighting over it has a better chance.
Displeasure towards one type, distaste for another,
subtle hate all of it. Yet, they all turn to me
looking to me as if I have the answer when
I am just like them. I too am unable
to understand why we suffer
or why loss should even occur. Left feeling empty
and ashamed  like a two dollar whore
after the dick is taken out.
I question the structure of the world
only because they are me. So why don’t
I have the answers to feed myself,
nourish me, and provide myself the substance I need.
I refuse, I will not limit myself to a place than insists on death.
I will flourish and thrive.
I will go into myself only to expel outwards like a ball of fire
so that my light may shine by example.
Be myself but not the concerns of the world.

Depression

God must have washed the world in hot today.

Nothing holds a shine.
 

The sky looks as though

its dye has been rinsed away.
The emerald green of the treetops
no longer twinkles in my eyes.
Even the sun’s torch runs low
and on these days my head hangs from
the weight, heavy as boulders, swinging
on ropes like pendulums of sorrow around
my neck, their twisted knots cutting into my skin.
My arms like toothpicks are of no use
and so my feet drag
forward and the pain seeps
into my existence like a thick dark smoke.
It chokes the very life from me and leaves
my chest aching and my future dreary.
This desert of the mind has no oasis
and I am unable to find an end to its bleak landscape.