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

Speechless

Free from the transcendent abyss of apathy,

Empty of all emotion not related to frustration,

Where did all of the class acts go?

Lately, everyone champions poorly placed criticisms.

So many pride themselves upon callousness.

It’s a shame that this is what America is nowadays.

As a bipolar male, I fail at a lot of life efforts.

Yet, I know how to behave myself and learned how to care.

Here we all are America?

Do you think you deserve the glory bestowed upon us?

You might not!

Often, it seems to me that so many are rotten at the core.

Sure, so are polite. But mostly, American decorum died long ago.

So, how do we restore the sanctity of the States?

Broken Up

Leaving her has been the best of choices.
Never did I expect to become so used.
From here on out I will remain rejuvenated and enthused.

With the sound of cheering voices kissing the horizon,
And more importantly without her,
I feel alive and amazing.

Oh, the joy that didn’t come from being tethered.
To another’s heart that was all too punishing.

I adore the cool calm
That comes with the absence of commotion…
Truly a pure emotion.

You should know my soul’s heart
Is not weathered…
just sunshine and freedom.

Happy as a meadowlark flapping its wings
for freedom.
Feeling kind of saintly to myself,
for I have begun once more.

Being away from her has me feeling so contented.
I used to love her.  Now, I just try to forget her.

Break ups are necessary from time to time, ya feel me?
I am ready to meet new people and have time for my friends.
Everywhere I go, all I feel is sweet, meaningful zen.
She sure made me cry, but Spring Break is here.

Thus, I carry on with my backpack
And look forward to spending time with my family.

Self-Reflection

Some of the scientists are calloused hacks.
Hackneyed plagiarized equations rife,
Make something incredible of your life.
Defend the soft spoken form attacks.

Dare to believe.  Reveal the unknowns.
Fact check reality.  Bolster your genius.
No individual ever ought to refrain
From artsy critiques of scientific thrones.

No heart too bereft.  No one disqualified.
We must uphold integrity.  So be sure
Of yourself, of your dreams, and you’ll mature.
No doubt, a lesson learned trumps life not lived.

Oh, to remind a fellow passenger of purpose.
What grander a gift than gregariousness?
Speak freely.  Care wildly.  Remain the gentlest.
And, never exchange love for anything…

Here’s to High Sex

Violet rose bushes line the concrete walking path.
At night, the orangish-white southern moonlight floods the gardens of paradise.
With a mere flap of their wings, holomorphic butterflies map eternities’s seashell lined shores where the twilight times never end.

Ahhhh, to smell the sweet sanctity of chaos.

Dreams still come true in the land of my heart’s seemingly infinite ashing.
During the day, we all wear halos made of zen,
And the angels, well, they sing of sonnets, sunshine, and truth.
When a lyricist fashions art with a pen,
Intention inevitably ripples like the words of the wise.

Surprise! All is not as it seems when it comes to these creatures and their ardent epidermises.
The ever so gentle buttetfly wings glisten in time with these rhymes.

We need to stay on the up and up as the prophets of creative tomorrows.
Life needs some orchestrating, dontcha know.

Stay true to your hearts flames and the flair of the debonair?

Why isn’t most everything seen as Heaven sent?

For all misgivings, may saintly creatures repent.
Where there speech is lacking, may absolute and beauteous felicity find its place, for the immaculate, transcendental beauty of the world will never be erased nor will the smitten sunshine saints of the four seasons be silenced.

Here I stand, comfortable and face to face with the divine, devoid of any purpose other than to formalize the sublime.