Thoughts in my head

My Broher got out of prison today!!! here is something i wrote while he was down. nothing epic.


Jeremiah
​
Orange was never really your color Bro
You always said I looked good in it though
And I like the drab blue even less
Takes away from your eyes
The guy at the front wouldn’t let me have my purse
Whats with the bodyguards The one by the door had a gun
The bars are a little crazy
Always thought you liked wide open spaces
Sign says no contact
Can’t hug my Brother I don’t like that
Where are all the girls
Those are girls They look like UFC fighters
Can’t imagine what you see in this place
I can’t breath in here
When are you coming home
I miss you
​
 
something I wrote tonight...

An abomination I have always been
thats the cost of all my sin
I so never wanted it to be this way
something in me I can't say

guess I was always meant to be thrown away
I tried to fight it every day
tried to be someone else I can never be
now myself is all I see

I wanted a purpose, I tried so damn hard
why did I let down my guard
tried to keep alive what was dying inside
to death I will not abide

so now what to do after this my last fall
want to build a giant wall
to hide my soul in so it can survive this
the love I almost had and miss
 
Ok I will try my hand at poetry for a minute;

So I sit here alone in front of this screen
trying to learn and help some out.
As I read the questions here
I wanna shout

They ask these questions
that make no sense
It's common problem solving
yet they're on the fence.

Listen noob
It's not that hard
They're not much different
from the plants in the yard.

Give em light,
give water, air and food
Leave em alone
you'll get some buds dude.

Dont fuck with em too much
let em grow
You can love your plants
to death you know.
 
I see my life passing
Right before my eyes
I don’t see a happy ending
Only more goodbyes
Locked inside this cage
The place they call my mind
My soul is truly searching
But there is no key to find
​
 
im posting this poem my brother wrote to me. made me tear up when i read it.


Here I sit
In this prison cell
Not doing much
Thinking of mail
Pages of silver
Words of gold
Open it up
a story told
It lets me know
How your doing
And that you still care
It puts my mind at ease
Knowing that your there
Five days a week
At four thirty
You know where I’ll be at
Waiting by my door
Cause you always write me back​
 
:) Thank you very much HoMEGROWengurl, I didn't realize you started this thread, having gone thru it, have you thought about collecting it all into a book? It actually helped alot getting it...well, not on paper, but dammit, you know what I mean... :p I'm in a much better mood today because of it...
reagaerican was right, its good work...

bigV- that was some funny shit...
 
You’re the first thing I think of
Each morning when I rise
And the last thing that I think of
Before I close my eyes
Your in each thought I have
And every breath I take
My feelings are growing stronger
With every move I make
I want to prove I love you
But that’s the hardest part
So I’m giving all I have to you
I’m giving you my heart
 
You seriously need to get this published...all of it...no really...so...when you submitting...notice wasn't a question... :blsmoke:
 
I miss you so much
And wish you could see
Just because
im not there with you
Your still here with me
I carry you around with me
Your locked inside my heart
That way no matter
How many miles separate us
We are not far apart
So think of me often
And try to smile for me
Someday in the future
I promise I’ll be free​
 
I WASN'T JOKING WOMEN!! †LOL†
I don't care if they came to you in a fevered dream, they run smoothly, they're well written, trust me I read ALOT of poetry growing up. This is just one of those collections that should be put in print for future generations....if you don't do it, I'll eventually break, hand write and bind it about three times over, and send you the other two coppies... (yea, grew up with a library and had to rebind some of my fav books before...I'm multi-talented... :p)
 
Right now they're is 17 poems you've written (yea, I went through and counted three times...yes three, I'm high and the whole loss of short term memory thing wasn't working in my favor :p) when you get to 35 I'm binding it. †L† okay, I should probably ask you, but it will only get submitted to a publisher if you submit the copy, its not my place to do that, and I'm not one to overstep my bounds. But if we've kept Emily Dickenson's works around this long, then yours sure as hell need to be, most of your run smoother...
 
well i really am flattered. lately i have been a lil emotional and it just makes me write alot. missing someone can do weird things to a girl. this is the most i have evr let ppl see. but once i posted it felt kinda good to know is it out there for others to read and maybe relate to in some way. i know that some things i write maybe i shouldnt share but they are the ones i needed to write the most. i dont know about publishing, my dad says that too. its not like a talent or anything tho, just words put on paper so i dont go crazy.
 
hoMEGROWengurl said:
well i really am flattered. lately i have been a lil emotional and it just makes me write alot. missing someone can do weird things to a girl. this is the most i have evr let ppl see. but once i posted it felt kinda good to know is it out there for others to read and maybe relate to in some way. i know that some things i write maybe i shouldnt share but they are the ones i needed to write the most. i dont know about publishing, my dad says that too. its not like a talent or anything tho, just words put on paper so i dont go crazy.
Click to expand...

Yea, news flash, thats what emily did. In fact, only around a dozen of her poems were published while she was breathing, and she had well over 1000, think near 2000. I was just thinking "Hey, it'd be cool if a poet was alive when her work was published...it would even become possible for people to respond to it, because she would still be there. As opposed to reading someone's work thats been dead over 100 years who you couldn't even think of expressing anything to, save for if you want to go the seance root...;)
 
the scene flickers when the little cigarette burn stops.
and we all fall down. the hands interlaced so tightly.
arches under the apex, her breath was so cold.
porcelains dance of the capillary, torn from it's structure.
the archetypal anarchism, clasped fingers in prayer. the shadow is the ego.
and the ego, so the silhouette goes on and on. players on a stage of flesh.
and the stage is weak. the shadow's antagonist lost in a mirror twitching with the marionettes.
the little worms speak in rasps, and her breath was wet.
in cathartic paths the prints circle and circle.
 
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