Patient, kind, yet so often so passionate.
You always make me feel so content.
Giving you peace and pleasure is my intent.
Our feelings for each other are so ornate.
Calm, composed, yet at times so dominant.
The way you speak to me is always erotic:
In every sense your love is pure magic.
You remind me there's no reason to resent.
Confident, soft-hearted, and open-minded.
Even whenever I feel our ship's departed,
You reach for me in same ways we started.
With you I feel our ages are rewinded.
Everything you are: two sides of same coin.
I love how together we are more ourselves.
Our poems for each other shall fill shelves.
I know in every lifetime we shall rejoin.
The world never stops going round,
as each person walks along the ground.
Different we all may be-
but the same we are deep beneath.
One may look different from another,
but deep down, down beneath-
we are funny, and we are all sweet.
Same Roof
We shared a roof, a table, the same four walls,
and still I lived on the far side of a door
no one had thought to knock on.
Their voices filled the house each morning,
familiar as the kettle, the taps, the stairs,
and none of it ever reached me.
I was in the room. I was not seen.
You can stand in a doorway for years
and be furniture to the people you love.
They were meant to be the ones who knew me
before I knew myself,
who could read the weather in my face.
Instead I learned to fold my heart small,
to keep it in a pocket
where no one would ask what it weighed.
I have grieved the things that happened.
That grief has edges. It has names and dates.
The other grief has none.
It is the hush where the conversation should have been,
the hand that never reached across,
the people I sat beside for years
and never met.
I was not only mourning what was done to me.
I was mourning the child who kept waiting to be known,
and the closeness
that never had its chance to exist.
George Francis Train
Introduced the tram to England
I introduced microwaving the sausage and bun together
To a not-very-impressed-American
We talked and talked into the night
About opera
How Norma's role was designed
For Giuditta Pasta
The weather cooled and necessitated
A dressing gown
He got up and strolled through the room
Pondering whether to purchase four-hundred pound Glastonbury tickets
At dawn, we'd moved onto chess
He advised, 'You gotta ram the pieces down their throat.'
When will I be invited to a Beverly Hills mansion dinner?
It's always the same liar,
who spoils the fun with boos;
he wants to break the rules;
who thinks that's fair?
Do you have any friends
who inspire trust,
who share the cost
of painful tragedies?
Do they fool you with silly grins?
Have you fallen victim to their tricks?
No, no, there's no fondness
as that of mother and son;
disappointment brings you down!
No, no, it's always the same liar
who spoils the fun with boos
and wants to set the rules:
who thinks that's fair?
You can judge
and criticize.
Never, never ask me if I agree,
I have put it all out there;
for anyone who will care;
hang me on a tree for spite
and make me suffer in agony.
Nothing will change
for the one feeling the rage.
Always, always help someone
who has fallen into the dark abyss,
saving even one from death is bliss,
keep that friend closer
than a teddy bear;
he won't ever be alone,
his joy he'll share.
You can judge
and criticize.
for a
As I encounter you, I hear myself say
I think you are different I think you are the same
every snowflake is unique we are all beautiful, and we all fall
and every fingerprint longing for another finger
is its own wishing for a home
every soul has its own voice asking for a little love
each special mother’s child so precious
and so, I’ll see how distinct how the alike
we are and hope
I will celebrate and rejoice
that we are different that we are the same
my daughter has noticed this
like the most editorially vexed volume
and its observations
and there's a knock on the door,
and there's a man in the park playing the erhu on
a bench by the pond
the pond of dreams and small morsels of bread for the mallards
the waiting, the twisted heart,
the nausea and difficulty concentrating
i approach the man playing the erhu
he doesn't speak english
i speak mandarin to him
and as we part,
i laugh in the same way my father always does
distinct, undivided, wholehearted.
Can we still be recognized
Who would give a damn
We are documents, comprised
Nowhere woman, nowhere man
It turns out to be the same
About other people
Some of whom are quite insane
Voices loud, minds feeble
They can’t speak for me, I bet
But they do, regardless
It’s the greatest plan been set
To eliminate us.
Nazism and Zionism are two clear faces of the same coin, racism!
We coin words
like faces
no two the same
Elastic, imaginative
creative mint them
to light their flame
Same fabric same clothes
But I stand in the mirror with yet another pose
Same blanket same bed
But I realize my safe haven is just an excuse for procrastination woven with thread
Same wallet same money
But what used to mean freedom now means responsibility
Same tears same eyes
But no more hugs I am in the bathroom with muffled cries
Same face same smile
But the little girl has been lost for a while
The cliff juts high, it towers over water
Its head is dyed with silver-green and orange grass
I got the camera eye of watching walker
To reach the future that next second turns to past
I like to see the strangers who can’t see me
I sniff the scent of lavender and clover
I’m envying the trees and bumblebees
That buzz around, and when the walk is over
I switch to you, to see your smile again
To hear your words, if you may share some news
But fortunately, everything’s the same
As yesterday, and all those days we used..
The alarm rings, morning starts,
coffee cools before it’s dark.
Clock in, clock out, the hours race,
another day gone without a trace.
Screens, machines, the endless pace,
the same four walls, the same old space.
Lunch feels late, then it’s already night,
time keeps slipping just out of sight.
Monday’s gone, then Tuesday too,
Wednesday fades, Thursday drifts through.
Friday’s here before I know,
wasn’t it just Monday, not long ago?
We chase the hours, they don’t stay.
Night turns to morning, then drifts away
We move through work and all we do,
Time keeps moving, it slips right through
But somewhere in the constant motion
a breath, a glance, a fleeting view.
there’s a moment that feels like living,
even as time runs through.
.
i were told
it'd all change
fromg
mine raiment 'to
taste
touch
i'd be
sequester'd
'to
taste
touch
and chaps
now look here daddio
(("what"))
uhh
what color are them thar
chaps
")
The clock strikes twelve and I'm officially thirteen. I blow out the candles and eat cake. This year feels different, strange, undoubtable change. A new world to experience, people deranged. Yet, I go to school and everything’s the same. Same friends, same classes, same face. Same girl, yet different. My emotions are heightened. I live with my heart out of my chest. I barely have time to rest. I’m scared, I’m stressed. I’ve learned that even the prettiest of flowers need the right conditions to bloom. What if I get an inadequate amount of sunlight? What if all I get is rain? Will I still blossom? Is a mediocre flower still “awesome”? As the day sets and the moon reconnects with the sky, I start to make sense of the world. Everyone has an unquenchable, irrevocable, inevitable need to be “perfect”, but “perfect” is subjective. Perfect is a social construct. Chasing something that doesn’t exist is going to drive me insane. So why should I? While the clock hits midnight once more I realize I should just be me. The way I think and present myself may be forever tainted, but I will never stop being me. Same girl, yet different.
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