Page 7 of King of Iron Hearts
Within her brain
Like a pearl trapped
Between layers of pink velvet
I thought I needed
Currency
To buy it
Class
To own it
But I realized the only way
To gain a pearl
Like her
Was to be gifted it
I’m sorry if I kiss you too much
Too long
And
Too often
But I know the time will come
Where you won’t want my touch at all
And so
I take advantage
Of your lips
And that smile against my smile
Because when it is gone
I fear my mouth will forget the shape of yours
And the taste of yours
Even though my heart with forever mourn
You went to hell
On a one-way ticket
Condemned and beaten
Only to meet Satan amid the flames
He took your warm hand, kissed your fingers with cold lips
And said,
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
She was conceived, born, and raised in the light
The dark, they told her, was full of horrors
If she stayed far away from the shadows
She would thrive
So why did they whisper to her like lovers do
A caress at the base of her sensitive spine
A sinful kiss of desire at her neck
Rage tucked like flaming tissue around her
Strange multifaceted heart?
Because nothing is all black or all white.
I fell into the deep abyss
Between the mountains
Of love and hate
Arms pinned
Heartbeat shallow
Mind awash with the fear that this was my new and bitter forever
It was not comfortable but there was some safety
In being alone in the dark
With no one to hurt me but myself
I tried to work myself out of the pit of despair
But it was hard to remember
the heart was made to be broken
and the only one who could mend it
was me
She was an old coat
With pink silk lining
A cracked vase filled with
Passion red roses
A hundred-dollar bill
Found in a forgotten purse
She surprised you with her beauty
And instead of judging you for your shock
She blessed you with her kindness
Instead
She had daddy issues.
She wore these problems
Shame-faced but bold
Like a tattoo that seemed
A good idea
While drunk.
I won’t lie.
They drew me to her
Those daddy issues
But not for the reasons you think.
It was a call to action
For a man like me
To show the woman what she could be
If she had a man to love and protect her
While she fixed her problems herself
What is more dangerous?
A man with a gun
Or one posed with a pen?
The kind who threatens your safety
The one where you might end up dead
Or the one that will never let you go
Who will trap you forever with that pen
And his ink
In a poem.
You can call me beautiful
Compare me to a summer’s day
Or a spring morning
Romanticize my winter storms
Into cleansing tempest that stir your soul
But we both know just like the
Mother nature
You compare me too
I am so much more than that
My summer’s day could scorch you up
My spring morning could leave you blind
And my winter storms could rip you apart like confetti
I could as easily kill you as kiss you.
Damaged souls
Aren’t broken irrevocably.
They have a condition;
PTSD.
After wars of the heart blew open their ribs and scored shrapnel into flesh,
They dream about the horrors of battle
Stare at the scars that will never fade
And feel the ones on their soul that will never be seen.
The magic of healing
Is that such a small act
Can make a lifetime of destruction seem small too
Wrapped in your arms
Washed clean by your faith
Day by day
My damaged soul is made once more whole.
Be water
Constantly moving
Flowing through time and space
Carrying the debris of the past
But still
Streaming
Full of life
Do not let life
Turn you into ice
Trapping the detritus
Like scars and puncture points
In your cold soul
Stopping you from ever
Moving on
Again
Fill the cracks and puncture wounds in your heart
Inflicted by the callous acts of others
With the mortar of self-love
Kintsugi
He ripped her world apart with his bare hands
Sucked out the poison and spit out the bones
Until all that was left was
Possibility and choice
He handed back to her with his lips
In a kiss.
Definition:
When the cards are played face up and visible to all the players.
Someone once asked me,
“Why poetry?”
And I said,
“Why does the sea kiss the shore over and over like an eager lover
With a salty tongue?
Why does the moon reflect the sun turning golden rays into
Silver fragments?
And why does the bee visit the spring flowers
A buffet of pastel blooms?
Because it is only natural
Because they are born with a purpose written in their code
Just as mine is penned in prose.”
Poetry gives words to feelings with no end
A road map for the vast plains of the heart
A lighthouse for those lost in its inky depths
And an oasis for those wandering its desserts parched with thirst.
I hide you in my poetry
As unsubtle as a gun beneath a blanket.
I want you to feel your spirit in the words
Know that as I craft this prose
It is you seeped in the ink
You I feel moving my hand across the page
And you in the beat of my heart as it times
Each legato phrase.
I don’t want to text.
I want to press my fingers to the page and
Smudge my print in the ink
On the paper
As I write you a love letter.
