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South of Zuni

Multi-media Poem Project by 19

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“If you’re not careful with rhetoric, rhetoric can and will make a poem a bit too heavy to digest.”

—

poetry quotes

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I got a young boy with confidence. He holds up a weak foundation and calls it an act of heroism. Insecurity drips down cracks in the frame and falls on his feet.

I gave her patchwork. Hard and ugly, but coated in love. He was not the first home I had mended, nor would he be the last. But I always loved a fixer upper.

I got a hopeless romantic terrified he was in the wrong story. Days and nights spend rummaging through the pages, past and present. How could I convince the main character that this is a memoir.

I gave her someone who relied on himself rather than stars. The brightest light guiding him to happiness, a token of his mind. Reality rooted in faith for what he knows, rather than in something he wants to.

I got a heart created and destroyed by the same maker. Trust lost in the uncertainty of intentions. Words that can never be unsaid, ringing on in the shallow echo of a night’s dream.

I gave her someone who sees the damage that can be done if he does not love more than he fears.

I got a lover, I gave her love.

-(a.e.) // I gave her (you)

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We dangle

feet first over our fates

radiant and moony.

Our alligated rivers

smooth gravel beds soft.

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I don’t want you But you want her I always tried to win Our messy arguments Still now, please Don’t let me know That when I thought I was Your second place I was finally right

I understand my logic Is torn and unfair But that’s all we’ve ever known My jealousy My hurt Is not for her Looks, or Love, or lust But for the respect You so easily give

The things you give her I prayed for myself And though I will never receive Nor want to My inner heart wonders What she did to earn That Love so easily When I gave everything For just the chance

-(a.e.) // the other woman

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this fitted sheet was designed to cover a desert

i will sleep on it tonight

next to your voice

i will rise before the sun

to hunt her breakfast

then disappear

back to my woods

with one stomach's worth

of dandelions and lemon juice

no meat

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We are tinny cans

Ringing out cries of

Battle horns and laundry

Lines left to crackle and lash

Out in steady anger

We are footprints

Scuffed on tall tales and

Digging water from wells for

Underwater locked boxes where

All maps lead to molehills

But hills lie empty, indented

For can-holders, map-bringers,

As the man hunched on piles

Of tarnished marble and gold

Has swallowed the key.

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Stardust Soul

A traveler of uncharted roads, 

it took an entire galaxy to weave, 

the stardust into her untamed soul. 

In an exquisite combination, 

of empathy and grace,

sewn into her demure veins. 

She is the soft whisper, 

in a forest full of history,

the crashing tidal waves, 

in a deep ocean of mystery,

To know her is to be seen, 

through a lens of beautiful equity. 

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Bookstore Healing

Walking the aisles

Is a breath of fresh air

My soul is restored

I feel alive again

The books

Pressed cover to cover

With a million stories between

Feeling the spines

Smelling the pages

Hearing the soft music

Heals.

My heart and my mind.

Seeing your old favorites

And finding new ones

Heals.

Being between the isles of the aisles

Heals.

Fel “Bookstore Healing”

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It’s bold of him to knock on the door when he knows you’re done for the while, especially when he knows he’s the one who’s finished you for the time being.

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“Isn’t it tiring, they always ask, to unfurl petal after petal, knowing they will pluck you till you are left bare? It’s about loving, I always answer, every blossoming is a beginning, knowing my scent will linger long after the petals fall.”

— What lingers longer, by @september-stardust

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“His name meant ‘lover of wolves.’ I learned to value investments and speak like the Wall Street type, but I had never been much of a wolf. In primary school, I had once gotten in trouble for leaving bite marks upon my classmates, but it was out of self-defense. He counted cards, but I learned to be a bookie. He was a player, but I learned to rig the match. Then I learned to let go, because life is too short for frivolous games.”

— V.I.P.P.

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reality bites.

It must be nice to have all that power,

You hold over me.

I wouldn’t know,

Because I’ve always loved too hard.

Some say I’m gullible,

Naive.

Empaths crack beneath narcissistic weights,

But the jokes on you, baby.

I gave, and gave, and gave,

And you only know how to take.

Your cup is never full,

I know,

Because I poured myself into it,

Until it overflowed.

Now we’re both drowning,

But whose fault is that, love.

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.

even after

we parted ways

we loved

one another

till our dying days

.

~ @pocketfullofpoesies