Words Fail, We Fail.

IMG_5694Sometimes words can be
just too damn anemic
and you’re forced to
contend with all of the
wrong words to describe
a constant fear that
you’re falling short in
the only ways that matter.

BB

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War of the Words

Sticks and stones
may break your bones
but words can massacre you.

Pulled from a quiver
like arrows they deliver
a perfect execution.

Then the infection to fear
that can last up to years
sometimes you never heal.

So if I am threatened
with words or with weapons
I’ll chance it against the stones.

BB

Help Eachother

I was once a beautiful statue
standing in a square
and people would come
from all over the world and
offer me their broken hearts.

I would take a little handful of
the cool clay that made my being
and I would fill in the cracks
to make those embattled hearts
stronger then ever.

More and more people made a
pilgrimage to see me and soon
I had to take plaster from my
arms and legs and body until
there was no material left for me.

It seemed that everybody knew
where to find me when they
neededย a little extra help but
when they were fixed they forgot
to return and repay the kindness.

Please remember that those
who allow you to lean on them
sometimes need help too
but they will keep on giving clay
until it runs out.

Do not let them become
an empty platform in a square
where a beautiful statue
used to reside.

BB

We Should Not Be Comfortable

One day the sun stopped
shining in the sky.

Every major city burned
pyres of wood so they could see.

When the logs ran out
they used dreams instead.

The dreams lit up like horrible
beautifully efficient infernos.

We were so fucking hollow
once our dreams became ash.

We were paper thin but we told
ourselves that at least we were warm.

We sacrificed our ideals and dreams
lest we might become uncomfortable.

BB

To anyone feeling a little lost, I am right there with you.

I am an elevator midway
between one and another floor
just another lost soul with one
foot in and one out the door.
I am every single stupid
damn glittering metaphor
of a heart beating restless and
hands that can’t help wanting more-
an aching whimper when
I am used to being a roar!
But how do I begin the
future I know is in store
to stop being a line in a poem
and become the stuff of lore?

BB