Fool – I have no idea.

Fondly fuming over the oddly amusing, strangely seething with distressed good meaning.

So while strange seething of seeming distressed good meaning this fondly fuming fumbling fool does proffer a profit towards friendship true.

Still delightfully disturbed and perfectly perturbed this friendship true I offer you, with no feeling of ill or rue, though I’ll admit an adversarial amusement in diligently distressing in minor measures the thorough thinking and intellectual illumination you offer in return for this friendship true.

So fondling fuming and oh oddly amusing this strangely seething fumbling fool does offer a profit in form of friendship true that thankfully is through and through a simple thing to seemingly soothe the strangely seething intellectual you, this fumbling fool you call your friend would walk with you forever, hand in hand, but alas as always it’s an exasperating experience walking with that fondly fuming ever musing fool.

Perhaps if proffered once more we can start again with smiles and laughs lacking the lack luster feeling that fills the intellectual you while standing beside this fumbling fool, I’d apologize,  but this fumbling fool that is perfectly perturbed and annoyingly amused is all I know to be and all I’ve ever been but being this being is not in keeping with this proffered profitable friendship, so perhaps its time we walk another way, back to back and facing a way, walking apart and never together leaving this past behind.

No long fond, not really fuming, just here sadly seething at a foolish fumbling me that let the future fade before it even became the past. Lonely, alone, and ever the fool.

You walked away from me.

Awkward and Odd – Lines

I’m an awkward person, with an odd sort of mind.

From time to time, I’ll cross a line.

I don’t mean to offend, the intent to harm isn’t mine.

I’m an awkward person, with an odd sort of mind.

I’ll talk out of turn, or say something forward. Still…

I don’t mean to offend, the thought to harm or alarm is not what’s on my mind.

It’s awkward and strange and an odd sort of place, that place behind my eyes.

I’ll step across that line, I’ll offend from time to time.

Without intent, I dare say that no harm was meant, no cause for alarm was offered though it was taken all the same.

I’m an odd sort of person, with an awkward frame of mind, I might step across the line, but I didn’t see it there, with my gaze up in the air.

Consider this an apology if you must, a way of saying sorry for a skewed perception of me, for I can’t say I consider myself mean.

As an awkward person with an odd frame of mind, I can’t be blamed for miscommunication, for lack of conversation that would otherwise show me, tell me when to draw back as I’m about to cross that line, your mind isn’t mine, how would I know to pull back when it was you who drew the line?

You who decided where to take offense and where to make a friend? With no intent to harm I offered my words freely, you took them as knives to wound you dearly and silenced the words completely.

Takes this as you will, but despite my crossing your line, for which I did apologize.

In ignoring me, you have crossed one of mine.

Writing My Soul

I have a strangeness in my hands, a tingling in the soul

My muse is calling, my muse is carving

Worlds and words only she does know

Not quite the tool, not quite the art

Something in between

This place in which I reside, thoughts in front words behind

With pen in hand and paper near, thoughts of my muse I hold so dear

I am the writer, not quite a tool, not quite the art

The soul of language flowing forth like ink I impart

This task I have, this place of mine

It’s what my muse made of me, not something I desired but something I did find

My ink my blood, my words my pain, the bits of brightness shine

I share my life, I share my soul, I bare it all and the scars do show

But this is my place, this is my part

This painful digging at scars is all part of writing, language’s art.

Jumble in My Head/Mess Inside My Brain

Running forward looking back the path remains the same

The track though changes all the time the curves straighten into circular lines

It makes no sense it’s a jumble in my head, topsy-turvy inside out

It’s a mess inside my brain

I run the track and I walk back looking forward along the path

The path that never remains the same on the singular consistent track

It makes no sense this jumble in my head things don’t remain from one moment to the next

This topsy-turvy, inside out, this upside-down circle, this route that can’t get straightened out

It’s a jumble inside my head it’s a mess inside my brain I can’t get a handle I can’t stay sane

I wish I knew the rules, I wish knew the game but it never remains the same

This topsy-turvy inside out jumble inside my head, this mess inside my brain

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~P.S.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can also this on my deviant art, along with a lot of older poems and stories. I’m going to be trying to keep the two in sync as I post for now one (as I should have been doing from the start really)

http://zip0186.deviantart.com/art/Jumble-in-My-Head-Mess-Inside-My-brain-669632864

 

 

 

Shifting Shades

Shifting moods like shifting shades, greys and whites drifting together as black shadows of ink run down the page.

Shifting moods like shifting shades, like the changing shape of molded clay, unfinished and unrefined,  I’m constantly shifting, this unsteady mind of mine.

So I attempt to change my colors, and shift this shade, I’ll alter this picture with the words put down on a page.

I’ll capture my sorrow, that deep grey tone, I’ll capture my fear, that inky black I’ve always known, I’ll paint my self free with these words of mine, since I can’t pick up the brush I’ll use this pen to put upon the finished touch.

I see my muse, that sorrow I know, and I’ll raise the stakes, I’ll write myself free of this dreary state. I’ll let myself go with these words to change these shifting moods.

My shifting shades.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t usually write a message or an after thought on my poems. Normally my poems are just things I have to get out of my head when I’m in a particular mood. It’s amusing I suppose that I try to tell people that I don’t normally have much inspiration past the thoughts in my head, the things going on and I feel must be said. This time though I can’t quite claim that, I can say quite clearly this came to mind after reading a rather wonderful piece by the author of this wordpress briannadawn. I wanted to be honest on that part because I feel reading that and then immediately posting that without at least a nod to them would have been rude. (Should the author of that page want the link and mention removed I’ll do so, I’ve never really done this before but I tend to keep to myself normally so I’m not really sure how these things work.)

Sorrow

You see my friend the voices are back, they chat and whisper so.

They show me shadows, the twists in the light and tell me secrets only they do know.

They feed on sorrow, this pain I know so well, and turn this to words and worlds, stories and poems to share and tell.

The sorrow is my mistress, my creator and my muse, without I’d be little at all, it defines me so.

Bright/Shadow

I see my friends and they shine so bright, their life does hold such glow.

I look to them and take a step before I see my shadow encroach upon their show, their star lit scene.

I turn my head and retrace my step, to go for help, to ask for aid would douse that light I hold so dear.

So with head hung low and defeat upon my shoulders and fear gnashing on my heels,I dash my tears and retrace my step.

I turn my back and fade to black, I know that light, that bright love for life, is something I could never know.

I’ll taint their glow with so selfish a need and so…and so my pain is something they’ll never know, as off to the dark I go, carrying my tears and sadness I walk into that cold

By myself, alone.