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.

 

I

weird you say!
we are all weird.
isn’t it intriguing?

those oceanic, seismic, celestial eyes,
wow… their still the same.

i would like you to always know that,
in a skeptics world, I know
that you are everything, the whole of existence
to many, including me, so don’t go worrying
about if others think you are too peculiar.

are we not supposed
to expose others to comeliness,
to the divine variation
of persona that sums up
to the universe’s imagination.

II

speak gorgeousness into existence.
your chums will ponder for days,
your monumental, eloquent soliloquies
if you are heroic enough to share with them.
befriend yourself! embrace the muddled emotions.

say something beautiful again. those lovely,
innocent, puckish mavericks whom are your comrades

their dreams may be soon to disappear, leaving them burnt out,
leaving their lives a spiritually barren nightmare.

and, you… well, you’re astonishingly congenial and vivid,
the people, they age like a fine wine because of you.

really! judging form how inspiring you are,
i would be willing to bet my eternity,
that decades down the road,
your friends, still remembering you,
will look up at the stars and see you as a goddess,
exemplifying power and an irreproachable,
peerless, idiosyncratic love and social responsibility
that inspires life itself.

III

you inspire them because since they’ve met you,
your love lighted the way in a fashion
that a bazillion universes of stars and moons could not.

i appreciate you.  they appreciate you.
we appreciate you.  you are surreal
because we all spend time doubting
something so grand could ever exist,
but you’ve got it, that magical divine ardency.
i hope that you never forget to share
yourself with everyone. ranging from the sad stranger
whom you can breathe fire into the third eye of
the already happy friend whom you can bring with you
to even greater transcendent plane of elation.

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

Half Asleep but Already Dreaming

“Mostly my fault?” I guess. I’ve been such a mess.
Can’t believe the mess I’ve been.

Neither can my family.

“Merry Christmas,” I guess. Christin’s a mess.
I’m the same.
So much shame,
For which we’ll never be the same,
For which I’m to blame.

With never-decaying affection,
Risen somewhere beyond tomorrow,
I hope to see her again.

She still chats with me.
Glee courses through me,
Through my heart
Down to my soul.

Things are droll.

Gives me hope.
Hope for all of us.
Dreams of tomorrows together
Abound and resound
In my bones.

“Here’s to luck,” I guess.

Sonnet #20

Sent to you as love sonnets from afar,
Lyricisms transcend despair.  No dread.
So many memories flowing—all supreme.
I am experiencing brighter colors.

I feel nothing but dreams and improvement.
Red-purple, blue-green, and black-white-yellow,
I finally feel the right amount of mellow.
Despite desperate efforts for acceptance,

Few grow to know the doubt of happenstance.
There has to be something more to life.
Apocryphal hate-feels in the tirades.

I became so sad I could not even sing.
Life’s tough at twenty-three and no ring.
Bliss holds no prisoners, nor does it fade.

Ode to the Western Wind

To chart the World’s imagination… Feelings.
Here’s to the innocent people been freed.
Here’s to city street swag and long lost strangers.
The moonlight walks down the riverside express.

Free artifacts of dizzying love spells. 
Concretized into mires, tears, and cheers.
Seems like we climb our own Chains of Being.

Psyches are all-consuming .  Religions
we explore. Cryogenic civilizations n time,
mythologies we create. Legends of microcosms’
past filter through the currents of thought,

Between the moon, you, and I, I abhor and
Am tired of fleeing, fearing and failing.
Wintry ways of Histories’ burgeon into
Civilization-wide cacophony.

Anti Sonnet #8

Fall begins… Vibrant and Boosterish.
The crisp autumn breeze rids me of apathy.
The insides of my soul no longer bruised.
A chilling, breeze whispering of hope
Freezing, wintry December evenings
Cause blithe strangers to the world to stay in.
Comfort the Goddesses and embrace mouths.
Cliche Oversoul dissolution,
Kisses faces with a sweet, splendid smile .
Intrepid explorers exist perfectly.
Oh, how they turn to dust in our hands.
Rise from infinities and dark skies
Like a sunrise harboring secrets
Tales of wonder about sailing the stars.