the one place
we try to talk
but it is as if
we speak different tongues
holding misunderstandings
from the beginning of time
he comes from
the one place
lives out his days
will die there
sure he’s travelled
taken package tours
with an on tap guide
a day to day itinerary
& me
the wanderer
not living where I was raised
trying to fend off
the stench of all that
seeking out the strange
looking to find better ways
peering round corners
following this muse
into mischief & fun
will not die in the one place
where I was born
cannot live out my days there
so we talk in different tongues
to misunderstand
neil benbow
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3:26 A.M Sidewalk
You dig knives into me in order to carve me a heart, but I'm bleeding out all over your armor.
You're trying to bring me down but it's not like I could anyways make it any further.
You excuse your acts of cruelty towards me saying it's love
And I accept it because I wouldn't know what is supposed to be love anyways.
Am I letting you stay around even if you don't need permission? Yes.
I'm clinging onto my abuser.
Because I can accept love in whichever form it is
Even if it skins me and leaves me raw on the 3:26 a.m sidewalk.
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𝙰 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍
A world fading to pieces, crumbling before the eyes, it becoming colorless. Lifeless. Meaningless. To wake up into a world that was in pieces, a world filled with life she could only dream of, for that dream to come true. One in a multiverse, not the only one to have existed, a life that couldn't be made anywhere else.
Paintbrushes dabbing gently on a canvas, a blooming artwork, made with love. The purple and red, intertwining with each other, a magenta hue surrounding them. A warmth, tingling thoughts when separated, fluttering hearts of each other's smile in their heads.
Painted graffiti in the corners, evident on their fingers, the found culprits. Sunflowers and lavenders intertwining roots with each other from beneath the ground, growing together, dying together. Sunlight caressing her face, his hand caressing hers, gold around their ring fingers.
Streets lamps flickering, darkness taking over brightness as the sun goes down, crime settling itself comfortably between them. The ugly side of the night, dangerous and deadly, hideous. Moon standing out in the sky, stars sparkling, skin coming in contact with bed sheets for a well deserved rest. The beautiful side of the night, safe and heavenly, comforting.
Orange and red, black in between, red hands staining white gloves. Heroes in both universes, a universe they don't know, a world they don't know. It's safer here, calm and nice, peaceful.
Earth-1610, a world that wasn't supposed to be hers, yet it became hers. It's not safe, to stay somewhere that couldn't keep her for long, she's staying however.
Snowflakes falling between her palms, melting away, more coming down. Looking down at the city, at New York City, upside down. Cheek resting on his shoulder, head resting on her head, on each other.
A world that wasn't hers, a world that was theirs, to share.
Iron gauntlet next to her head, gloved hand on his cheek, eyes on each other. Matching scars to add onto their love, the love they held to their world, despite of its flaws. Perhaps their world wasn't as blessed as theirs, earth-42 having not such of a great luck, yet it's their world.
A reputation they build for themselves not necessarily being good, not being bad either, vigilantes were known to complicated feelings by others. Their feelings were strong, the shades of purple that represent them, their broken yet stable world.
Wilting flowers, roots intertwined and alive deep inside, never having broken down like they have on the outside. A cold heart melted down by eyes that were broken like glass, the light reflecting itself on the pieces, back to his heart. The Prowler wasn't heartless, his assistant held his heart, taking it home with her and keeping it safe.
Two separate worlds, having it's flaws, having it's good and bad. Something in common, an undying love held by the ones that live there, different yet same people. A heart like theirs, life like theirs, pain like theirs.
A world isn't always perfect, their worlds certainly weren't, that's true and it's a fact. Something about it contracts to one another, connecting together, melting together. Suffering together, fading together, doing everything together.
It's not perfect, there's no denying such thing, because it's nothing but the truth. Red having stained the concrete before, salted liquid cascading down their cheeks, hitting the ground. There's no denying that, perhaps not necessarily a world you'd expect someone to live in, yet they do.
She wants to stay there, despite the glitches on her body, the electrifying hurt coursing through her body whenever it happens. It didn't matter when holding onto something that was useful, preventing such from happening, to stop it.
It’s a world that was meant to be only one person's, and it somehow became hers, when her eyes could only remember seeing white from where she's previously belonged in. That wasn't her world anymore, it was gone now, there's no reason for her to return there.
No more.
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Hey everyone. It is going to be the last poem of this year. This year has been challenging for many, including myself. Although it doesn't feel right to complain about my seemingly painless difficulties when so many people lost their homes and loved ones in a military aggression unseen in Europe since the ugly days of World War 2.
Regardless of the outcome, people are enduring creatures, and we often manage to overcome our problems. So that's why I wish everyone in the upcoming new year to grow and not dwell on our obstacles and use them as an opportunity to grow.
Next year I plan to change up the format of posting poetry online and, hopefully, will positively surprise you in my journey as a writer and a poet.
I will see you next year!
Thoughtful image by @shklyaevmax on Unsplash
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