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.

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.

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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.

My Worst Enemy

I shudder and shake, my skin is no home

My body is no shrine

Unless you count it as defiled, this despairing temple of mine.

Cracking foundations and crumbling walls

Haunted hallways hide nothing at all

My words echo throughout this failing facade

My form does crack as the laughter moves on

No, my skin is no home and my mind is not safe

Not when it’s my words, my own thoughts

That so haunt me when I’m awake

My own voice does mock, my own fist does pain

No, my body is no temple, for it’s been defiled, degraded

And it was my own self that did cause this fate.

And yet they cry

They talk that chatter, they’re all a twitter

With no chatter without laughter it me that is the joke

Me they mock, make of fun, and deride

Yet behind the laughter I hear their darkness

The sobs and scars they hide

All are harmed, none are safe

Even the laughing voices behind my eyes

The voices that deride, and tear me down

Even as I cry inside.