Warm and soft today

I loved nothing; hated all.

It's perfect.

I’m sorry.

you used to love her,

Standing on the top of the world.

You may know him as Mr. Mojo Risin, the psychedelic rock god of The Doors or you may know him as just a disturbing and strange artist who joined the famed 27 Club with his death on July 3, 1971. Both accounts would be true. Love him or hate him, James Douglas Morrison created a counter culture movement of rage that filled the 60s in stark opposition to the positive message of love from contemporaries John Lennon. Instead, Morrison tapped into the collective conscious of a generation enraged and disturbed by its wars and conspiracies and failures. Its betrayals.

When it comes to writing, words usually come pretty easy. As true as this statement may be everyone gets hit with cinder blocks that may prevent them from creating a masterpiece.

how does one describe

~

How would it feel to float

Readers discretion please be advised - This poem's nature and language might cause upset or trigger.

I loved nothing; hated all.

you used to love her,

Standing on the top of the world.

It's Friday night and last week at this time

I dream of a life I finally got my shit together

Each moment

Together

Having coffee together

Forever seemed far gone from my present reality

Warm and soft today

Plant based we tread across this damp fragile land,

Fire introduced himself as the fuel for survival and a slow killer. I thought thinking of his slow burns made my teeth chatter not realizing the cold surrounding was the chill of fear. I admired his trickster ways and wanted to learn from him, while I hid in the cold without knowing why.

It's perfect.

Threading the needle,

So far I haven’t published a poem just as I’m writing it but right now it seems fitting. When I post this - even if only the moderator sees it - I won’t be invisible any longer. And that is a happy feeling indeed.

Let's tell a story, untold yet popular

Black,

When my mom tries to make sure I’m not biting my nails, she evaluates my mental health. Taking note of all the names transmitted over phone calls within the past month. Her sentences fill with just make sure’s and as long as’s. As if addiction is easier to swallow if I stopped enjoying the taste of fingers to teeth, As if gnawing away at my mistakes, hoping an even nail will even out my breath. As if my mind doesn’t re-play my anxieties in HD. As if you are ashamed of anxiety personifying the mommy daughter relationship you always prayed for.

I’m sorry.

who wants these divisions?

Imagine having to fight for your right

(I've been trying not to leave such big gaps between each line but it's really difficult with the format that Vocal sets out. I will leave this poem a little gappy today.) I wrote this poem in a bad place. A few years ago now. My job was becoming more and more stressful and I was still living with my parents who I haven't always seen eye-to-eye with. I was feeling like I just needed to get away from it all. I felt like I couldn't be loved back in a romantic or platonic sense. I felt like I didn't deserve my family or friends. I was completely worthless to myself and even to this day I still feel it a little. This poem got to me and I had to write it all down - what I was feeling in that very moment. Needless to say - I felt much better afterwards.

They say life happens when you least expect it

It's dusk and the pool lights

once, an old victorian greenhouse was tucked into a corner of a very old property, it's quaint domes and spires with slow melted glass curvy and throwing reflection in the torchlight.

Living in the 80’s

Many centuries ago once lived a pirate ,