Infliction

At the time, I was nervous

for living,

when no one else

 

wanted to talk with my mind.

You have no free time

to sacrifice, nor do I.

 

All our time is filled up

with taking others for granted.

Yet we talk on the phone

every couple of years,

and become friends

 

over preferred lovers.

When  we were lovers,

we loved each other,

we lamented our skin

 

As old lovers do.

It never gets old. Your skin is my map

home.

Time makes clouds

of us all.

 

I have no hard feelings

over deleting you

It is merely a word. Define it.

Gone, evaporated. Hack me!

 

The moments are in hearts

reliving the kisses

and the touching

 

every spare day

I spent it all. Poor again

loveless;

Childless.

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Reasons

Some people love you

for all the right reasons

but you still go searching

for the wrong ones. The ones

that keep you up or

make you want to smoke up

all day. I never hide behind

a persona or a brand,

I am what I am

sometimes ditzy

sometimes brilliant

but always me. I woke up

in a Woody Allen movie

you can guess the title

but you know it’s dysfunctional

and petty yet narcissistic. I

liked talking to you

because you never interrupt

and this is such a quality

that I adore. I don’t have

scorn, I just love you

so I put up these walls

to protect myself

from how much I care.

I will never tell you,

of course, or maybe

if I’m drunk and Purple

Rain’s solo is on and you

turn to me and with your

eyes you tell me

how you never meant

to cause me any sorrow.

I know. I am smarter

than you think. I carry

you like e.e cummings poem

nowadays it’s modern:

in my phone, in my pocket,

but in another era

it was in my heart

and you,

you are invisible to everyone

but me. You are like

a magician

popping into my life

like the pills

I swallow.

I loved you and lost

you like

a true poet

and you can’t get

any closer to

art than a few hours

alone in a locked room.

Favim.com-florian-nicolle-art-beautiful-soul-emotion-573684

Book Review of Scissors and Paper Hearts by Lex Letters

Lex Letters and I follow each other on Twitter and we instantly connected through our poems. I read her poetry book and couldn’t put it down. It is a poetry book full of passionate verse and full of a soul that touches your heart. “She was the exception to every rule,” her poem “Undiscovered” begins and that is essentially how the entire book grabs you. It shakes you bends you, and makes you search deep inside yourself for that love that broke you.

Lex Letters’ poetry evokes a yearning for lovers and longing, never quite fulfilled. It is as if lovers are talking, writing poems to each other. In her poem, “Hate” this excerpt stood out for me:

“Breathing is for the living

The rest of us are dying to survive

on expelled breaths and ink

forcing feeling onto paper

trying to make sense of the pain.”

Her poems take you to the past, the present pain and the distant future. The poems mostly live in the past and recount a relationship in moments she can’t forget through memories of being loved and of loving. Take this passage from her poem, “Imagine” where she tells us where she writes from, “I write from an internal beckoning, a raw and emotional grave.”

In this collection “Scissors and Paper Hearts” there is poetry that heals, letting go of a loved one, breaking up, scorned lovers, rage and a tumultuous love affair. I will not spoil the ending, but it is gut-wrenching.

In the poem, “Unsaid,” it begins, “Paper hearts stained, folded into letters, stuffed in pockets, left to be unread.” This, in essence is the crux of this poetry book. How we all live in glass houses, how worlds can fall apart in love, how passionately we can love another person, sometimes even more than they can possibly love us, resulting in an emptiness that most people who fall in love recognize and can connect with her poems. I highly recommend this poetry book.

 

Lex Letters can be found on the following social media links:

Twitter: @_inkaddictionx

Facebook : @Lex Letters Author Page

https://www.spilledinkwellwritingwordpresscom.wordpress.com/about

https://www.amazon.com/Lex-Letters/e/B06W9K8Q6W

Poets

Poets want everything

that you can’t buy

so please don’t be a beautiful fool

full of that deep ache

you label

either love or anxiety

confused with what your brain

tells your heart.

poets should inspire

hurt, reveal, cover up

use foundation on rhymes

but we tend to float

between lives

and we know it takes skill

shallow waters

and observation of the highest calibre.

use a gun on my thoughts

destroy the need to get in my mind

and settle for my body.

fill it up with your elbows, knees

beard, shoulders, lips

any part that the sun kisses.

sigh a bit over my drum beats

red carpet humanity

don’t be ashamed of who we are

be proud

be brilliant

in this poetic grace

only the few like us

survive.

when I left you the last time

we met

I tried hard to not look back.

don’t  you find poets

look back way too often

in real life in  pretend?

some questions are better

left unanswered.

there is a riot

in our minds

and hugs and kisses

to all of you

who love how words

kiss us and kill us

in unison.

 

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=poets+the+tragically+hip

Brooklyn

i hope you realize

that covers will not

keep you away. words

will steal the night

from us. music will

drain the veins.

my undergarments

will vanish. trickery

in the city.

do you see

me

on the street

with Brooklyn

in my eyes

and water

around us?

i float and swim

 

while you take the bus

to Chinatown.

 

(this is from my poetry book Love & Vodka p. 22 available at all on-line bookstores)

thank you so much for reading.

i appreciate all of you here at wordpress for allowing me to express myself and creating poetry.

stay beautiful.

 

 

Burns

Nothing feels normal

when you love with an ache

in your chest. a longing

that can never be fulfilled.

distance can be mathematically

calculated

it’s so easy to memorize the formula

of two cities

but emotionally inaccurate.

i started off with coffee but ended with vodka

i try to be good

but i think of all the ways to be bad.

especially with you.

i do hate the feeling

of never seeing you

and lost in illusions.

who knows if it will

happen again

quite so universally perfect.

we can plan it

but i will lose my mind

and no one can tell

i’m not  fine. i lost my innocence

a long time ago. you had

nothing to do with it.

best time to leave

for New York

is when you’re young.

as i did at sixteen

only i should have never

come back.

 

 

 

voices

i woke up to the voices again

after all that drinking and St-Henri parking

in front of the usual side streets

with bearded hipsters

open door lofts

stolen dreams. Coming out

of Cayenne and Pepper

sexy shoes and leather.

i don’t know what i was

thinking when we had those

shots, those drinks,

wine, and i didn’t smash

into you at the street

corner, looking like

quite the classy whore,

there was some white lace too

enough of it to want to see

underneath. no more questions

about my ass

my poems

just listen to my voices,

or ignore me.

it’s what you do best.

i ran out of cream

have to always catch myself

as I fall. my arms

are comforting

my words free me,

it’s the only way

to breathe from the place

you make it hard to breathe from.

what distance? you’re here,

what time? you’re on it,

what sky? you’re staring at it,

what sex? we did it.

did you have enough of me?

trust me, i know,

i have had just about enough

of myself too. i can’t blame you

for leaving me, i wanted it,

it’s my island

i want to be alone

on it.