Write for yourself.

I sat inside an empty room
and I began to write;
as the words came out
I stacked them in neat piles
until they reached from the floor
and pressed against the ceiling.
Column by column was erected-
towers of ideas I needed to express
and when I ran out of space
I began to fill my body as well
until all the previously hollow
seemingly cavernous spaces
where before there had only been
an ache that required something more
were now a home to all my lost words
and never again would I feel
incomplete or disassembled  because
I truly existed in my words
and my words truly existed in me.

I wrote the words I had always needed
and said the words I had always wanted
until finally I was whole, I was free.

BB

 

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Nightmares

You and I are facing each other on a deserted street. It must be a little after two in the morning and the sky is a starless monochrome. The streetlights cast halos of soft light that drape gently down our faces and extend shadows on the asphalt backwards from our feet. We are close enough to run and reach out and touch each other but far enough that there is no doubt we are separate. Behind you I can see a thick fog rolling in, blanketing the buildings and the road in an opaque sheet, enveloping the world. As the fog nears your turned back, I call to you to come closer to me, away from the fog. I can hear voices all around and I turn to see people I know, or people you have mentioned, standing beside me and behind me. We are shouting out to you, in a cacophony that hurts my ears and makes my throat raw, but I can tell by your face that you cannot hear us. The fog is swirling so close to you, I can no longer see your shoes or the definite lines of your body; I can see your face as you try to hear what it is we are yelling. We are screaming now, a mob of outstretched hands, begging for you to link just a finger with one of ours, to let us anchor you and keep you safe from the dense unknown threatening to overtake you. The last thing I see as you sink into the fog, is a sad little smile, as if you do not believe that we could support the weight that is on your shoulders, that we would be brought down too.

“We are here,” we call in unison, the air has grown thick enough to touch. “We are not leaving.”

But you cannot hear us through the distance, and you cannot see us through the fog.

BB

An Ode To Cats

An ode to these wonderful
four legged creatures
with the tiniest and
simply cutest of features-
they are the only animal
split straight down the line
of personalities that are
either evil or divine;
one quarter fur balls
and another gentle kneading
the third part ungracious
reminders for feeding.
Perhaps the part of cats
most diabolically profound
is their need to push off ledges
anything not bolted down.
But on the other hand
(or paw, one might say)
is how perfect cats are
when enticed to cuddle or play!
When they sprawl on your stomach
or curl up under your chin
you must have that cat
before your nap can truly begin.
Unroll some yarn
so that they can play, sir
or if you want things to get lit
better pull out the laser!
A guilty pleasure
for one and for all
is watching your poor cat
chase the dot up the wall.
Lord have mercy on us
when they reject expensive new food
and when our toilet paper or sweaters
suffer the wrath of their mood.
Blinding is the glory of
a cute cat after a bad day
how quickly a soft belly
can make the stress melt away.
So when you’re in the trenches
of smelly cat litter poop scoops
please remember all of the times
your cat has suffered nose boops.
To adorable, squishy felines
we raise a saucer of milk
to the cute ones and the evil ones
with their fur soft as silk.

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
needed 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