Undulate

If only we could see the same beauty in Earth
That we see in the frosty-eyed sky…

There is no guarantee of forever being,
Yet maybe we can branch towards the eternal together.
I wager that even if we cease to be as a force of life,
We can curate a place worthy of future populations.

Inspired by Robert Lowell

I am observing the social sphere from behind a barrier…
Most people do not even press their heads against mine
On the glass wall.

Incurably enervated and entirely unenthused,
I bury myself in my room.

I wanted them to breathe my love,
But, they still won’t acknowledge I have a heart.

I am a foreign creature, freshly released into
The world of sycophants

Sure, I shattered to bits.

But, her I am, Humanity, alive and free.
Purple is my soul, and the moon, well, it bears my breadth.

The dream world and a few select friends saved me when even my sanity abandoned me;
Anad therein lies why I never again will be a beacon of hope in an utterly mendacious world.

 

 

Bipolar Romance

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 for what is truly, carefully calculated chump change, laughing maniacally along the way.

Blow me, Bitches?!

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

that are actually me talking about

my future maybe-spouse’s G-spot.

And,  my own Aphrodite, will bow my cock like a cello.
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 guess you can both have bits of my heart.

Furthermore, I dance to Ellie Goulding to work on my strip teases.

I’ve never told any one that secret.

Also, I eat pussy extraordinary well, especially if you rest drugs on your belly as a reward.
But fear not, I won’t rush you.
I’ll just do a line or watch you roll a joint for afterwards.

With Love,
Sean Matthew Smith

Estuary: A Revision

I.

My biggest fear is forgetting to miss someone.

Once upon a grim time, I believed something wrong with me.
I thought I was ill-mannered and unloved and weird.

Surely, this was partly true.  For there is, indubitably, a dark side to every moon, to me and you.

But truthfully, I am a giggly, gregarious fool.

You see, I used to delude myself into believing that no one cared about me.
My heart fire extinguished… nothing but useless ashes…

I genuinely adore most people.
Some, I even love.

But I have a bugbear…

I fear I try too hard while trying to make up for lost time.

Possibly…  Possibly I was wrong to think people don’t care about me;
However, the most likely explanation is that I cared too much for the wrong people.

And it stings.

But dammit, there is something extraordinary about you and me, something like a divine spark that will travel and Illuminate the cosmos forever.

So I am not missing a beat.
The moment someone mistreats me
I will be up and on my feet
And out the door never to return.
Not even once more.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot to treat every day like I am with my best friends.

I long to live like this is all I will ever have and I yearn to relive It again and again and again, forever,
Until I finally I become so perfect I burst through the confines of my intellect and spirituality.

I will become something more.
Not something like a God, though.
Something like a starry-eyed wanderer
With a blank slate I get to decorate
With melodious, multicolored visions.

I want to paint some woman’s naked body after passionately Fucking with the lights on because I want to explore the entirety of someone else’s Eternity with no fear of judgment as I slowly pass in and out of a tranquil ocean of cummy peace.

And, my tears for all of the tragedy in the world won’t stop me.

Even if another friend of so many dies too young like Hayley And Stephanie and Mary Kaitlin, I will not cease.

I will not be altered.

I still love so fearlessly that the universe’s heart skips a beat
And begins dancing to the rhythm and blues of my dreams.
And, the universe will know a joy so intense it is like a parent
Holding a child in their arms for the first time.

I will leave friends and chase my destiny across the world
Looking for the perfect glimmer of hope in one woman’s eyes.
And, I will partake in a communion of sorts with my family that
Will love me beyond death and loathing and drugs.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot to treat every day like it may be my last moments with my best friends.

II.

Friends live complex lives of which I am not the center.

Truth is, we don’t know when someone will disappear from our lives; this is scary at times.
But I am starting to believe that the course of my life is unfolding as it does.

This life doesn’t have to be fantastic, poetic, or perfect.
It Simply has to be what is was, what it is, and what it will Become.

I will remain calm, cool, and composed like an Evergreen in the winter frost.

We are all priceless works of art, poems of ourselves, that I yearn to bring with my into my future lives.

Always Bluesy.
Never Ceasing.

Homeward Bound

If someone asked me why I move so much, I am not sure I could produce a response. By that, I don’t mean a good answer. I mean any answer at all.  I would probably just swoon.

In my younger years, I used to always hear the phrase “home is where the heart is.” It seemed like a farce. Home was my parent’s house. Of course, I love them, but my friends’ houses certainly weren’t home to me, just vacation destinations.
But, I have wandered outside the golden circumference that is my parent’s home. I now understand that adults most cope with loneliness in an imperfect, incomplete world.

You see, bits of my heart are scattered about the world. Like meadows of purple wildflowers, my friends are enamoring America with tales of the South. And, I am proud.
Even though I want to chase them across the world until we are all old for the fun of it, more than anything I need to stop feeling restless and alone.  That’s how I wound up in New York for this month. I needed to visit some old friends to get my mind right.

Inasmuch, as a bachelor, as a traveler, as a single man, I delve into my lonely mind all too often. At times, I am utterly discontented and alone. Even in a room of friends and babes, there is a subtle blueness to my expression, for I know all to well how people shine then fade. Hell, I disappear more than anyone. So I should know.

I am working on not putting too much faith in reuniting with my old friends, and instead, putting my energy into forging friendships were I am. I am feeling less scatter brained, less lonely, and less lost. But dammit missing people sucks.

I hate the initial eeriness of moving. But, I indubitably love the ambling across unfamiliar landscapes, and I adore meeting faces previously unknown. Yet every time I move, it feels like I am losing something dear to me; all things considered, I am missing out on having a permanent home.  But, at the same time, so many people have filled my face with warm-blooded smiles and breaths of love… maybe it will all work out.

Estuary

front-porch

I

My biggest fear is forgetting to miss someone.

Once upon a grim time, I believed there was something wrong with me.  I thought I was ill-mannered and unloved and weird.

Surely, this was partly true.  For there is, indubitably, a dark side to every moon, to me and you.

But truthfully, I am a giggly, rambling fool.

I genuinely adore most people.  Some, I even love.

But I have a fear…

You see, I used to delude myself into thinking that no one cared about me.

My heart fire extinguished… nothing but useless ashes…

Now, I fear I try to hard while trying to make up for lost time.  Possibly…  Possibly I was wrong about people not caring about me.  However, the most likely explanation is that I cared too much for the wrong people.

And it stings.

But dammit, there is something extraordinary about me, something like a divine spark that will travel and illuminate the cosmos forever.  So I am not missing a beat.  The moment someone mistreats me I will be up and on my feet and out the door never to return.  Not even once more.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot to treat every day like I am with my best friends.

I long to live like this is all I will ever have and I yearn to relive it again and again and again and again forever until I finally I become so perfect I burst through the confines of my intellect and spirituality and I become something more.  Not something like a God, though.
Something like a starry-eyed wandered with a blank canvas I get to decorate with melodious, multicolored visions.  I want to paint my some woman’s naked body after passionately fucking with the lights on because I want to explore the entirety of someone else’s soul with no fear of judgment as I slowly pass into an ocean of cummy peace.

My tears for all of the tragedy in the world won’t stop me.
Even if another friend of so many dies too young like Hayley and Stephanie and Mary Kaitlin, I will not cease.  I will not be altered.
I will still love in a way so fearless that the universe’s heart skips a beat and begins dancing to the rhythm and blues of my dreams and the universe will know a joy so intense it is like a parent holding a child in their arms for the first time.  I will leave friends and chase my destiny across the world looking for the perfect glimmer of hope in a woman’s eye.
I will partake in a communion of sorts with my family that will love me beyond death and loathing and drugs and I will smile wider than the crescent moon.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot to treat every day like it may be my last moments with my best friends.

I am a priceless work of art.  I want to bring the canvas with my into my next reality.

II.

Friends live complex lives of which I am not the center.

Truth is, we don’t know when someone will dissapear from our lives; this is scary at times.
But I am starting to believe that the course of my life is unfolding as it does.

This life doesn’t have to be fantastic, poetic, or perfect.  It simply has to be what is was, what it is, and what it will become.  I will remain calm, cool, and composed like an evergreen in the winter frost.

Nothing more.
Nothing less.

Best wishes,
Sean Matthew Smith