Blemishes


If my nose were missing
Would you treat me as if I
Were just a snake forever hissing
Just a pest that needs to die?

…Or would you so embrace
The imperfections of my face
And all the flaws I can’t erase
And see instead, the parts that cannot be replaced?

If my hands were mangled
Would you treat me as if I
Were just a monster to be strangled
And discarded like a fly?

…Or would you try to hold
Me knowing well how very cold
It is when empathy is sold
And by our blemishes, our value is controlled?

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Bandages


Beyond the sorrow strewn
Like pebbles on a path of poison
Stretching out and ever on as if a melancholic tune
Beset with lamposts made of noise when
All the light of day allowed is what’s reflected by the moon

Were echoes made of you
A tide of soft reverberations
Building towers of elan above a world of morning dew
And painted in consideration
By the warmest of confessions given only to a few

As if a window sealed
So long ago by ancient curtains
You had pulled aside and saw, did I, the vision you revealed
That seemed to pale beneath your worth in
Every way that I could quantify and so I chose to kneel

And try to put in words
That you were loved and you were missed when
You departed, you were silent, you could hear, but weren’t heard
It meant the world that you would listen
Knowing well you offered bandages for injuries you never could have cured

 

Piper


Have you seen the part of me
That sang the songs of you
I saw him last
Head up his ass
Strumming on a harp for thee
Proclaiming love was true

Surely now he’s dead and gone
His fervor always thin
For he is meek
And he is weak
Forever going on and on
About the “you and him”

If you see him, let him know
To come and get his shit
No need to talk
I changed the locks
I hope he tries to cross the road
And by a car, he’s hit

Let’s forget the part of me
That tried to really feel
He was a sad
Pathetic cad
Now if you’ll briefly pardon me
I need some time to heal

Difference


Is it sad how much of you I no longer remember?
Or is it a reprieve forgetting May when it’s November?
It means not being mired in the season that has fled
But what it leaves is focus on a world that’s growing dead

I don’t know if I’m happy that I can’t recall your voice
When rainbows disappear, is that a reason to rejoice?
It means the storm is over and there’ll be a change of weather
But change is not a guarantee that things are getting better

Is it easier when music doesn’t sing your name?
Or is it made imperfect since it doesn’t feel the same?
It means that certain songs no longer twist my very being
But sadly, some releases in this life are hardly freeing

I don’t know if I’m sad that now my heart is finished racing
When now it’s in a circle, where despondently it’s pacing
It means not hearing from you doesn’t come with quite the sting
But maybe pain was better than not feeling anything…