Category: Poetry

Why do we ask people “how do you take your coffee, how do you want your eggs, But never “how do you want your love?”

So how do you want to be loved?? Do you need me to carry the moon in my mouth.

Perhaps stalk the stars – let them know they all exist to shine for you.

Let them know the universe merely shifts for you.

Do you want to be loved fiercely and/or gently? Do you want coffee in the morning, with two sugars and a pinch of my smile? Or you simply crave to know I will split the oceans in half, if you wished it so?

Do you want to be loved unapologetically, fearlessly and dramatically?

Are you a selfless god. Does the universe depend on you to let the sun rise every morning and do you carry forests in your eyes and wish a hunter knew them intimately. Tell me how to love you and drown in you and breathe a new life. And it will be so.

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Stones

I would have loved you even if you packed my throat with hot stones.

Hiccups of Innocence

You have to be able to write some people out of your mouth the same way they walk out of your life.

With little respect if not none. In total silence and not a second beat.

You have to do it with so much grace they are left with hiccups of your innocence.

Red – A Series

I love you.
On most days I feel it coming up my throat and I have to close my eyes. So that the universe does not stand still. So that I don’t run back to you.

 
I love you.

Some days though, I have to pack it up and leave it under  my pillow and go on with my day.

It’s been four years – my heart stays faithful and true.

So you want to be a writer – Charles Bukowski

“So you want to be a writer

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.

if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.

if you’re doing it for money or
fame,
don’t do it.

if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.

if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.

if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.

if you’re trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.

unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.

unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.”
― Charles Bukowski