JenniferB

Something about the faces of men
who’ve passed through your life to touch you and then
drifted away to begin new lives
forgetting the whore, in search of their wives

I had a weird dream last night. I dreamt that I was a bookmark – a human bookmark, resting between the pages of a book.

Pebbles
left to shimmer
on the sea-swept shore
leave me yearning
for so much more
as the salt of my tears
flow back into the ocean
the taste of his lips
breaks down
my emotions

and meanwhile
on the TV
Fox news
blurts out
some shit
about God
and the Republicans
being the only way
to save America
in three days time
so I turn away
and ask him
to change the channel.

another bar, another bed
another poem yet to write
another song to fill the silence
of a cold and lonesome night…

Something in Life has been lost…

You can see it in the eyes of the children
smell it in the flesh of the dead
taste it in the blood of the bleeding
and hear it in the words left unsaid

What if a feeling of peace, now overrides, the desire to write
and the words only came from a need to inspire as I struggled to fight?

What lengths do we go to
to validate our existence
and immortalise ourselves?

I want to write you a love song
but I find it easier
to talk dirty and rough
because I’m so much more used to
playing a role
and acting tough…

accepting less
while taking more…

I’m finding it hard
to express how i feel
when your music
and words
become visual
and real…

I’ll be the Academy Award
that was never given
the book
that was never read,
the poem that was never written,
the music that was never composed
and the song that was never sung.

It’s the "people":http://www.redbubble.com/people/heatherts
who try
to disappear
like shadows
fading away
with the sunlight
those always looking
for clouds
and storms…