I go back to Pinterest because why wouldn't I.
It's addictive and gives me something to do I won't even lie.
I scroll and click and scroll and click once more.
It's hard to put down because it keeps my mind in control.
There's rings, clothes, books, and most importantly help for me.
I can relate a little too much to some of the posts and that's key
For me to come back I need to want, to CRAVE the feed
Everyday I open it and everyday I feel my hate for myself grow and my love for Pinterest turn into need.
It makes me happy. I know it's confusing but that's where my heart settled
I lay in my bed looking at these people who I wish I was and I meddle
I meddle with my mind but also my body. But I can't be them and I never will be and I come to term
I've thought that I hate this app but I love it because it can be good, i've learned
It's fun, nice, addictive, and amazing just don't scroll too deep or you'll get beat
I've had too much experience diving too deep and that's a fact
But I just CAN'T stop going back!
The day grows thin around my hands,
a silence I barely understand;
I breathe, though nothing sets me free~
and still this quiet lives in me.
I walk through hours drained of light,
too tired to argue with the night;
I let the dark do what it will~
and still this quiet lives in me.
Old hopes fall softly at my feet,
like leaves that know their own defeat;
I do not chase what used to be~
and still this quiet lives in me.
Yet in the calm of letting go,
a tender truth begins to show:
resigned, I rest in what must be~
and still this quiet lives in me.
If deathless prose there be, forsooth
In poetry lives on more truth
Through life in soul which outlasts all
Whose breath is life, and death is small
As stone will claim what bones remain
And all ends in public domain
The Untouchable
I stand where love is passed from hand to hand,
A warmth I feel, yet never truly hold;
It blooms for others just beyond my stand,
While mine remains a story never told.
I’ve learned to smile at vows not meant for me,
To bless the joy I’ll never claim as mine;
I trace its shape in what will never be,
A ghost of hope I’ve trained myself to blind.
It lives in glances I was not designed to keep,
In tender words that falter at my name;
I bury want so carefully and deep,
Till longing dulls and scarcely feels the same.
Some hearts are forged to witness from afar—
To know of love, yet never touch the star.
She knocks on my rib cage
seeking access to my heart again
The knock—the pounding pestle—
taunts, its echo won’t stand to be ignored
I hold my knees and cover my ears
as if that’ll keep my walls untampered
I let my flesh wrap me whole—
so tight I might suffocate,
but I cannot breathe outside this
prison, no—this haven
She’s still here at my door,
holding flowers too vibrant in color—
the amber petals too lifeless for summer
Her indifferent smile, gentle and fair,
yet brings chill to my bones exposed in June air
My teeth knock against each other
tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap—
I want to scream for her to leave
but the only voice made out
was the repeating beat of horror
She’ll eventually enter,
one way or another—
Winter takes up a room in my chest
always waiting to host her.
Silence is golden
Brave words
Embolden
Ignite the fire
No refuge
From this pyre
Peace is a myth
Fairytale
Does not exist
True that it might
Most definitely
Be my fight
But I gave up when
This all proved
Pretend
When it's all over
No rainbow
No clover
If this is the cost
Well then
All hope is lost
If my heart you doubt
Then good
Because I fold I'm out
Alas, I thought you loved me
But you did not in reality
I know for facts that you love money
Success, my dreams, and property.
Yes, you did not love me
Because of the fashion you reacted
When you and I were in need of the almighty money
Oh! You became wicked, kooky and swollen-headed.
For some alien reasons, you thought that I was
At the nethermost hull or keel of the ship
But you forgot that life can be a long trip.
Forthwith, I definitely know that love
Had nothing to do with the sweet-smelling rose
I’m forevermore resigned to flee like a brave dove.
Copyright © May 2023, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
six year old
acceptance speech
“it is what it is”
It felt as though I could not breathe a breath.
My arms and legs were made of heavy stone.
I could not move as though no flesh or bone
and I was primed and waiting for my death.
His fiery eyes caught me in thoughtful gaze.
He stood his deadly scythe upon the ground.
This specter took a somber look around,
then settled eyes to rest on mine in craze.
The hooded figure motioned it was time
that I should attest my final goodbye
and meet impending death with calm sublime.
I leave this earthly place a paradigm.
Amid glad tear and heavy sigh I die
as tolling bells begin to sound their chime.
The Disaster.
When you play the helpless victim,
making me out to be a whore.
I'll move out of the equation,
Your fantasy villain, no more!
When I feel like a worthless slave,
that disappointed his master
Please accept my resignation,
Yours’s Faithfully,
The GrandMaster.
The song of resignation
Memories are not crystal clear, a broken mirror on which the sun shines
The residue of the imagined, what ensued or will happen of equal interest
as time doesn’t, a time within does.
Past and future are the same pains me; I shall not see my savannah again.
No pictures, as a proof it existed, in the tall grass, see no wildebeest
my motorbike is sold, I can no longer pretend to be an adventurer.
What I do remember, through a haze, is my enduring remote happiness
perhaps that was an illusion too.
A vision of human disappointment, to try but never succeed.
In the game,
to the winner,
the victory,
to the loser
the defeat... !
At the finale of life,
the same prize
and reward:
The mortuary coffin,
means of transport
to eternal life...!
sometimes our skin a trampoline
word tricks bouncing outside borders
letters getting stuck in springs
too hard to pronounce
sometimes a male forest
trees and bark and dark animal like that
sometimes I suppose its prose
I don’t knows
it’s the many one thing
scrunching fingers and toes
sometimes teeth and nose
we know exactly what we’ll never like
what we’re never like
not like that
until our eyes and ears
are pinned into the music
and then our skin sinks deeper into
canyons as we realize the trick is no illusion
just another us
protruding from inside youthful insolent springs
Mindful roadside rest
staggered tear nostalgia
tender re entry
some souls can’t be reached from here.
It isn’t planned that way,
it just becomes.
doors are opened, doors are closed
we seldom see a fish swim backwards
more than several feet.
perhaps they just tread water
until their stream rolls by.
bells never stop mid-swing,
mid-ring, mid-everything.
rain falls upward
in weeping dreams
souls fall down
awkwardly awakened by
what many call their life.
I want to paint a broken cup,
to make it whole
but flowers don’t un-grow
they simply die
or maybe not so simply after all.
We’re all caught up in the wiggle and grin
of lives held together
by what’s called a “safety” pin.
when there’s nothing really safe
about you after all.
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