I Miss Her

It’s red wine nights or an absence of fully blossomed beatitude. It’s frequent pondering of one day realities and making them come true, me and you. And, it’s all about the when and why because I’ll have the how and what down pat. I will softly and soundly sift through the shit-heads that use me […]

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It’s red wine nights or an absence of fully blossomed beatitude.

It’s frequent pondering of one day realities and making them come true, me and you.

 

 

I promise to sort through the kinks in my life,

projecting nothing nothin short of lovely feelings into your irreproachable, far-reaching, magnificent

mind.

..

They say only make love to one’s wife,

Yet in my opinion, there is much more to living out life and love than sexual exclusivity.

In fact, it is about the heart and heart only.

And, if yours doesn’t race like an iambic amphetamine suburban teenagers once did,

I don’t want you around forever.

To me, and maybe to a few others, monogamy is as limiting as the promises of a beautiful sunrise during my suicidal nineteenth year, during which I was way worse off more frequently than I ever admitted.

Why? Because.

Because it is all too filled with ever so broken, yet not entirely impossible, promises.

At this point, I’d like to confess, that I will always be a mess.

But, I’m fine with them– my crooked dreams

and curiously juxtaposed halo-rings

surrounding imaginary supermassive star solar flares

Oh, how our bodies will vibrate harmoniously with laud and vivacity.

Moreover, if you don’t want candle lit lotion massages

And bubble baths after we fuck on the kitchen table,

just tell me.

I can easily run away to another lass with a fat ass in the meadow of blazing hearts that is the land of sweet, sweet love.

Quite frankly, she will be just as wonderful as you in some ways.

But in some respects, you will still be missed.

 

Open Mic Night Piece

Oh how wonderful we were.

At least, at times.
We argued so little in the begining that
Even on nights like this
When I have a strangers come on my sheets
I still feel the likes of you in my soul.

With tears in my eyes
I have never felt so cold, naked, and alone.

With you I felt as if I were on a throne.

Yet, tonight, all I feel is twilight
Beckoning me to usher in everything that is someone else.

No one is around.

Terrible it is to be a big heart
In a half-broken world.

In actuality though, it hasn’t been long enough since you’ve been around.

The distance that now divides us
Now seems to be ever the more awful.

Truth is, I have missed spitting that Sean Smith game on the honies.
Who I want next, I shall never tell.

I miss everything about the..
Their hair, smile, teeth, moods, criticisms, lessons, and wisdoms
They all are tattooed on my heart’s soul.
All I have is life goals oh so distant
And no reason to care where the waves take me.

I know I have live life for me only,
But here I am twenty four and at my absolute best.
I guess I never realized I would learn to dislike Christin this much. She is basically stalking me nowadays. Shits real.

Truth is, Fam, it was tough at times,
But poets like you, ever so sublime,
thereupon the reason to my sonneteer rhyme.


I fucking hate this.

Fuck love.
Fuck loneliness.
Fuck dependence.
Fuck caring.
Fuck feeling better.
And fuck anything not casual romance.

I wish I could just stop
preventing the tears so etched into my eyes.

Far from serene or sleepy,
I am still afraid to feel, to cry.

But at last, I am free.

We are what’s good.

Sincerely thankful,

Sean M. Smith

Fresh Perspectives

Freedom often comes in exchange for sorrow.

But all I believe in tells me tomorrow will be amazing.

So I am keeping my head up and my teeth exposed.

Golden sunbeams wash the earth of its cank.

Moonlit city streets amble in polyphonic blue note fervor.

I used to find I didn’t deserve more than tears…

Tears in my pillow case. Tears falling like water from a faucet.

Yet here I am alive and well, happy and swell.

Tell me is any tragedy that has befallen you deserved?

From what I have observed, more than just the odds define misfortune as undeserved.

Learning from my mistakes, I know I have what it takes to meld hearts into poetics.

So here’s to you, I, and that.

Yours truly,

Sean M. Smith

Sunrise

Like a sun
From the heart
Of a wild lioness.

Tales of wonder
Sailed about the stars,
Heralded you
Long before you were born.

A golden time and place
rests within all of our minds.

What if this beautiful, blissful experiences are reality?
The rest… Well, the rest is chaos.  Or more appropriately,
Forgotten truths that lost meaning to a particular group.

Tonight my Dad said, “Stay hip with the times
And more importantly, stay true to your heart

So much delight.
So creatively free.

Between you and me, I always accept them…
you know, the happy thoughts.

Why? Because…

Because, I’d rather die wrong and happy than wrong and sad.

Sonnet #14

Finding faith in the strangest of places,
Everlasting freedom coursing through my veins,
It seems like the saddest thoughts keep me sane.
Truth is, I’m puzzled by frowning faces.

Sure, I still worry. But I am not dead.
Life is ours to make of it what we must.
Love is ours to share with those whom we trust.
Let lovers speak of the arts in their head.

Here’s to the Eastern winds on wintry nights.
She is the flower I’m always missing.
She makes skies twinkle and hearts believing.
She the season that inspires delight.

Break free. Run wild. Always smile. And stay sweet.
Still Love resides in all the hearts I meet.

Anti-Sonnet #4

Dessert military lands once rained free.
Into civil war they fell.  And, it’s a shame.
Let’s not forget our nations history,
though.
We attack Syrian civil war folks.
However, quite frankly, I don’t know why.
Is death of family not enough to cry about?
Must we psychically torture the flesh of man.
I think not.
In the face of rueful civilians, “Be free.”
Dance and revel in the moonlight city streets.
Support a peace so brilliant laws crumble.
In the light of Tomorrow, there is hope.
Delve into devilish passions.  Find love.
Create art for the sake of therapy.
To map the globe with a sword is futile.