The Man Who Makes Me Little (A Continuation)

I realize part one is not on here at the moment, but I’ll put this up any way.

The man who makes me little
Who makes me feel safe,
Has begun to slip,
Started to fade.
He cannot be blamed.
The man who makes me little
Is just so far away.

Do not confuse this as your cue,
Your entrance into my life.
There isn’t room for you here.
Do not try to change my mind.
I miss the man who makes me little,
Miss his sweet voice.
If I miss the man who makes me little
It is by my own choice.

Do not tell me you’ll help me forget.
That’s not what I want, but what I fear.
The man who makes me little
Does not need your help to disappear.

Please don’t disappear.

No Streaks

Head splitting.
Face buried.
Eyes tear up
but leave no streaks down cheeks.

I want to cry.
Really, I do.

Crying would justify all you 
and I have been through and done.
Crying would mean that I 
care about how we've come 
to disregard one another.

But unfortunately for me,
        Unfortunately for you,
these watery eyes are due
to wearing contacts too long.

When the contacts come out
and the glasses are on,
the world becomes much more clear.
Confusing signals and wrong
signs disappear
with those
lying
watery
eyes
that won't streak.

Solid

Can we go back
to before we were?
Sure, 
it's not that bad in this place,
a nameless space 
in which we reside.

We're not floating.
Feet touch ground -- solid.
I just can't figure out
what to call it.

Single Syllables

Do not tell me you love me,
I know not what it means.
Such a loaded word
Twists its way in
(Infects)
Changes how you see.

My reasoning:

                       Love is subjective as any other
                       single syllable word.
                       The giver intended one thing
                       but the getter heard
                       something entirely else.

Single syllable words are dangerous.
This is why I fear
love and god. Tales of god and love. 

If you love me
Do not set me free,
But understand that vaguely
Using words is cruel and manipulating.

If you love me
Tell me why.

                                   It’s the ways your eyes
                                   See right through me.
                                   It’s when you hold me tight,
                                   That I realize why Billy
                                   sings of birds, honeysuckles, bees.

If it's a word you need of me
You’re not listening
to what I say.
Save your single syllables
For some new girl
some new day.

Do not tell me you love me,
I don’t know what it means.
It’s unnecessary
because you being here
is all the proof I need.

Can’t

You can't kiss me
Can't hold me
Can't feel my heart 
Beat against your chest.
You get the consolation
prize instead.
                        
      Neither can anyone else.

What good are words?

What good are words?
Sounds turn to syllables turn to words to lines...
What good is this noise?
How does a face full of purpose not confide?

A stranger grasps, reaches out
With a lost and desperate gaze.
No more than a stranger, yet,
It's a clearly recognizable haze.

How then, can you say you don't know
My thoughts - So clearly displayed?
We're supposedly so close
but you need words to convey
What my eyes already say, and my
hands in their trembling way.
Silent still lips beg you to stay.

Lines turn to words turn to syllables to sounds..
Silence says more truth than any words I have found.


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Haven't been on here in FOREVER.  So here's a bunch of poems to catch up for lost time (:

The porch lights go out.
The lamp posts are lit.
Electric machines emit
Constantly.

Never is there dark.

The broadcasting stops.
The whispers begin.
Secrets normally held within
Escape.

Never is there silence. 

Eyes closed, the world is still there.
I don’t want to care
-Unaware- my dreams do not allow me to forget.

Poetry is Falling

Poetry is falling in love.
Deciphering lines.
Attempting to read thoughts.
Both tragically end
With a reader lost.
Empty words
Strung together and bluffed.
The form seemed promising
But the content isn’t enough.

Suddenly clear.
Suspicions confirmed.
Lines loves and letters
Show your love is returned.
---Discovery.
Two paths it takes.
Love -a gentle kind-
Or lies to forsake.
Regret has no place on the map.

Time will tell if time
Used in figuring the message out
Will end a journey
Or keep you wondering about.

Falling in love is poetry.
You the reader, the discoverer, will not doubt.

One Hilarious Misadventure of the Week

While walking outside, I couldn’t help but notice how lovely the day was. A perfectly cool breeze blew my hair in my face.
Looking down for a split second to button my sweater, I continued walking at my usual moderately brisk pace. This trance like state resulting from the fantastic weather was soon shattered. Suddenly, I found my face colliding with an innocently inanimate handicap sign. (The irony kills me.) I ran into a pole. Just as my head felt the impact I couldn’t help but laugh. I caught a glance paired with suppressed chuckles from a lucky spectator as i regained sanity.

Until today I was not aware that this actually happened. Who does that? Oh right…me.

Not Worth the Rhyme

I thought you left those issues in the past.
You are unimaginably crass.
Such idiocy is hard to surpass.
Some how, you’ve accomplished the task.
The vulgarity goes unmatched.
You do it to get to me, success, it has.
If I wish I will give you sass.
In the end I still have more class.
If you want something you’ll have to ask.
In your ever wonderful presence I refuse to bask.
You should know I won’t hide behind a mask.
On sucking up I’ll just have to pass.
This would be a good time to inform you; You’re an
-extremely difficult person.