martinhamilton

People call it beauty from pain, but its really what they helped us make. You gave us the will to forge a mask. A mask to cover up our tear streaked face. This mask is made from tears, from our hurt. The mask is all smiles, joy, laughter, happiness, but it is only there to hide us.

There's constant repeat in the street. Down where the tough kids go to meet. Been there over a hundred times. Must a heard a thousand rhymes. Toting, packing, hustling, f***ing s**t up. Can't see they're just another chump. Get an education, the teachers saying. "With who's money, lady? You payin?" Countless faces, all one in the same, leave this earth with violence to blame. So beat by beat, and shot by shot, The hoodlums meet outside the shop.

 The brown-haired girl enters my office and sits quietly, eyes darting around the room.  My secretary looks at me over her head as she shows her in, face filled with curiosity. "Thank you, Marisa.  Please hold my calls for the next hour."  She blinks, but nods in the affirmative before heading back to her desk, closing the door behind her. "Hello, Miss Sandiego," I say to the girl in front of me.  She offers me a superficial smile, wan and wary. "Hello, Chief."  Undeterred, I try to continue the conversation. "So, you won a huge prize on a game show a couple of years ago, right? &

She clothes herself in poetry, seals her skin within the verse. Each line becomes another garment that conceals her fixed form's curvature, but peels away when read. Last night I dissected a stanza, clamped it tight between my teeth and tugged it down her legs. Her body breathes warm and sweet, speckled red like a summer strawberry field. I sucked the juice from her lines and spit the punctuation like seeds. My lips mouthed the shape of her words as my skin grew more sticky with every splash of imagery dripping down my chin. I peeled apart her soft pages with sticky, pink fingertips that left them clinging to my skin. A sing

Perhaps in the hollow space between my clavicle and scapula- That's where your chin rested all summer long and that's where the tears fell in September.

I know I lost the "right" to be jealous, when  I gave up on being with him. I know I'm not "allowed" to feel like this. But the problem is, I'll never stop. And that's something I can't change; no matter how I try. I'm always going to want to keep him all to myself. I'm always going to need him by my side. No matter who we're with, or what we do, he's always going to be my refuge. Sometimes I wish things were different. I wish I could just get over all this. But the fact is that I can't. So instead of crying or complaining, I know this is how it is. I'm working on dealing with that...

I am afraid to fear Of what I might be Had you not been near. I am in no way orthodox And while I seem queer, My intentions are genuine, And emotions sincere. Though I may jeer, Know my conscience is clear Of that once dreadful leer That loneliness did spear Through my soul, filled with fear Of myself.Thanks to you my dear.

While my eyes blinked closed, the sun passed its shadow gently from my face. It passed me by, taking all light exposed. While my eyes shut lay, Winter passed to spring in the melting of snow, And breathed its last chill breath away. While my eyes squint below, The blinding sun of Summer's grace, With hair in my face, mopping my brow so, When my eyes closed stay, One last flitting day of Summer festival, They open no more to watch the elements pass by me.