Live my life

I want to be me but you keep on repeating

how my world is not yours. I want to be  you

but you keep on explaining how hard

that could be, what with my wings

and my brains in the sky.

I want to be someone else

just for a day

these blues in me

keep singing.

I bust out once in awhile

and go to the hotel

and stare at the window

and wonder what happened to us.

It’s three o’clock in the morning

and you’re actually sleeping

through my existential crisis.

Again? yes, again and again

I knew you could never handle me.

Why do people who say

“I love you” want you to change

in ways that are not in your nature?

I say “I love you” and can define why.

I love the flaws and imperfections.

I see the world in an absurd way

in a theatre with the playwrights

who made it so. Ionesco weeps

with me too. We all discuss the marvels

of how hating someone

is still loving someone.

I don’t know how you came

to use sex and art as your bullets.

I caught them in my mouth and with my pen

and looked at you to see the love in your eyes

but it wasn’t there.

I still love you though.

I know I don’t deserve it.

I’m wicked now.

A human weeping willow tree,

churning poems for no money.

If only we could be rich

off of words.

If only you cared for me

more than what you claim.

Loving me is difficult I know.

I thought you would smash all the pictures

along my wall

but you only added your photo there

and now I stare at emptiness.

I embrace cupid

and this horrible frightening love.

 

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If

If the water on the windowsill

could be your molecules

they would give me a paper

to smell

a pen to place safely away

near my utensils

think of me when it rains

how the droplets

become you and me

falling from the sky

like bullets on a battlefield

like trees in the rainforest

sometimes still

most times turbulent

aged and chopped

preserved and honoured.
From “Love & Vodka”

All my books are available at all on-line bookstores, Amazon, Barnes & Nobles, etc. Thank you for reading & your support.💞


💙💙💙

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

Metropolis

I mostly watched the singer

shake away his age

as it caught up with him

and nothing seemed to impress us

anymore besides one hundred dollar bills

and vodka shots. The youth left us

with our past. Our ten percent shot

at another night of bringing back the

days. All the drunken sailors

tried to get their hands on us

but we have to try so much more

now and drink so much less.

We’re getting sick of the city

and the dirt and the envy.

We’re getting tired of the puddles

and the hurt and the  five dollar coffee cups.

We’re getting upset with the fake news

the killing sprees, the hiding

of ugly humanity. I swear I want

to leave this place and never

look back. Never think about

what language I should speak

first, second guess someone’s

authenticity. I like the vast sky

the view from my window

on my quiet street, for years

I wanted to run from it

and chase the night. Now

I want to sit, enjoy my moments

and never look back to who

I used to be before I met you.

 

 

hallucinations

Once he saw my eyes

and left me blinded

by his look.

I told him jokingly I would be

his Brooklyn Baby from Montreal,

but he never listened to Lana

as closely as I always do

and

my boyfriend was singing on stage.

I’m too old to love him; I’m to cold to hold him;

I’m too sweet to know his bad-ass;

but he holds my feathers

and sees right through me.

transparent, he whistles, as I walk past him

then he holds the door open for me.

follows me to the sortie

and is gone

but he

watches me smoke

i thought he was gone,

as i stare at the stars

ignoring the chatter

of who wanted to know

how i shared my mind with the world.

i have no choice

i say, i’ll die if i don’t.

he waves from across the street

and i wondered if it was

my mind

hallucinations again

playing tricks on me.

pass the bourbon, i said,

once the dark became light,

serious, intent on getting so drunk

that i wouldn’t reflect

on the exact blue of his eyes

and why the specks

even mattered at all.