 through the tortured gods of which I walk profound love pierced by soul crippling loss the simplest things somehow deemed "but not for me" it seems.. real connections that last, a love that grows, and builds, these things just slip right through my hands it happens all around me someone meets someone and it progresses to permanent call it marriage or union or "sacred other" or not first date, first fuck, courtship, "come of this" boyfriend, girlfriend partner's can't be bought but found all around I hear the stories I watch them play out man and woman man and man whatever the denomination, it's a connect, heart and hand it's all i've dreamed of, simple in my complex it's all i've prayed for someone to see my heart and want it, detect that I am not the player or user, that abounds that my dream, very simple I am the one, unwavering of loyalty, devotion, known, no bounds but, my fate lives on born of the magic tied to tragic entwined to madness, mine, this engulfing sadness I am never "the one", but the "almost" reflection strikes me stung, bludgeoned, done i've been told I'd be perfect if I was only a girl by straight men, who too, don't belong in this world i've been told I was beautiful, if only I was someone else, inside by gay men, who loved only my limbs and holes, and ability to withstand mind fucks and lies i've been told once, a fallen angel that "donnie breaks all the girls hearts", non-sexually, heart-touchingly i guess, the "she", the only ones to ever accept, more of me than any man could and in defense of them, as rightly, they should run away from me and my drown in them need to love and care and be present, ripped bare amongst the few of them found that strike me as truly awake and aware but no matter what all may have offered for a moment i continue to witness, this inherent lonely and lost, it's mine, "own it" doesn't matter what i do, regardless if the love is pure, or reversed a filth-i-fied screw, nothing to prove i find it, the dream and lose it, again in various forms and fires be them literal lovers or "blush struck", drawn friends born to dream and die alone dichotomies surround me, like "homeless" living inside my own home real love and attraction kinetic, electric i "overwhelm", in my adoration and admire and watch as they slip away on to others whose tread of stability must be more hopeful and higher "are you sick of me yet?", he said once, striking me numb "that's what i always say", i replied as he stole a piece of my heart and, in awe and empathy, i died. moments and memories that embody the blooming of love "meant to be", unexpectedly except my "meant to be", means "touched so deep" it seems never will it copulate to "complete" so i walk ahead, altered and heart saddened again, haunted by dreams inside, alone, bleed their passing, and for the hunger of a heart impassioned, do i seep inside, owe them. (the only understanding of my reason for being here) for a love that i seemingly can never quite have right in front of me, touchably untouchable, skinless forever in the search, soul salve. and to rewire this mind and be wrong, for last "once" there is nothing i would be happier to report, feel me, glad bowen hart roselli 24 march 2020 ringwald love
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 concrete and cruelty, insult to injury "this means that, no never mind" changing shit faster, than the passage of time "do this, then that", "no actually, it's that, then this... what's that?"... look who's talking and look who ain't blonde bitch, dumb ass watch as her underlings, start licking her "quaint" the "not there" space between her pussy and ass and those that do, they'll be given, a pass security, paycheck, in a time of pandemic, watch it spread while the rest of us, carted out left to wonder, what hell, comes next treated like we were disposable trash with keys left, and a "we care" my ass no one knows what's going on, like being blindsided by a hand job, conned into thinking there was payoff, a wad if we worked hard, be it a bonus or a chance for advance, valued, valiant, "good cause" job but as the days and months dragged on, the shit show proved endless, as the days grew long there was only one light, that I could see just "some guy" I met, paired up, he and me to work together and give it our all slowly realizing this all seemed predestined to fall... apart, from the start but this guy, Jesus fuck, like a radiant art of complexity and dangerous destructive in his perceptive way, with this need to free himself, this prison of bull shit, all around us, society's structures like a constant blow to his skull raging out, but reigning, kind two "mates", in "soul" who'd already lost their minds in different ways, with different shades no, not that garbage, titled "50 of grey" that's for "the normals" who feed and froth, off the top they skim the soul of everything like not actually hearing the words in the songs they all sing seems we ended up, quite a pair seeing, smelling the stench, of the stale in the air air that offered no bright spot, believe except for me, in that I loved and lived his "receive" as in the feeling, if fleeting, that he "got me" and liked all of my crazy and anxiety ridden mood spikes deriding from the challenge of being out in the world driving blind, my inner compass lost tangled up in his torn, I found all preconceived notions, him, tossed to the wind and back again his song, so sung, I never wanted it to end but then one day, we were given the boot he laughed, we cried, called this whole thing "a hoot" as in more "holler" than caller of a conquest made possible not in a place this chaotic, just this side of, kind of awful funny thing is, he said he loved chaos and he found it, this KWAR and in me, all these emotions risen forth for him, all the more time we spent trapped, like the "stockholm" in "syndrome" but who's the captor, who's the captured, that secret, I surrender, I know, but never will receive the real answer could be one, or could be the other could be, amongst the heightened strain, just two brothers battling this war called KFuck, Ktwat like sand through the hand he, the one thing, no regrets no "for naught" found him, loved him watched him fly lost him, slayed, when I saw the tears pour out his eyes struck me in a way I cannot quite escape from, forget see what happens, some strange, sweet, kind of magic even if surrounded and swamped in a sea of Kshit. bowen hart roselli 31 march 2020 ringwald love  the message from the messenger the undressing from the undressor, worth the player from the play, at hand the stand up, comic, from the stand up man the nectar from the nothingness the chaos camouflaged from confronting, this the intimate from intimacy, feigned the blameless from the externally blamed the lover from the loveless, heart the unwavering from the run away, art the act from the actor, playing a part the target from the targeted, dart the dodge and weave from the intention, deceive the believer from the can't be believed the "know themselves", from the "everyone else" who can't keep track, all the lies, told themselves just a sponge, a mirror, everyone else the chameleon ghost, pray, if before you he fell the charlatan from the scarred, deep within the devil from the divine, of the sin the liar from the lies, he's told the story from the teller, hold "the belief, seduce", from the convenient excuse, it's worth the manipulator from the man, re-birthed from the woman, good, wise, strong the "letting go" in the days, pained wronged the words and sentences, in "meant" versus meaningless the thief of hearts versus the heart, come forth, healing this all the moments perceived with magic when upon you was just a trap for the tragic games played out for the "grab, go" another as in taken because it was there, for the offering there is little "look back now" and even more, "why bothering"... not in a land where there are so many ways to get for the gain, so many ego's in pain because, we know we reject what is real and wonder why wounds they can never quite heal not when "the party" is all around, to partake not when a man presents himself deep, but is fake as in betraying all he claims to be the deepest cut, is the stripped awakening, deceived you were, it's just the blinded by love loving a man for whom nothing is enough to bind him to any fixed idea concept, who he is... this poem, for the golden, in the gift of the girl, named leah... in reflection, reality, it's important to see discernment, he is gone, for now but was he ever really here? or anywhere bleed....the need. to know, to show, to give him gifts to solve the mystery, his gorgeous, your wish... to find yourself, yes, truly found in him while the evidence suggests, the chances are slim... all it takes is a read, between lines discernment the taken from the take, took the time... to "back and forth", the flow you had honor it, respect it, covet it, glad to know it's rare, this kind of connect no need to bite the hand that feeds no thirst to "mind game" the love he seeks "discernment, darling" she whispered, in a dream "let go, it will show".. and maybe, just maybe, one day he will grow, into a man, of discernment and integrity, (your) love, owned... and honored no need to ruin, no run away escape, to roam.. (come home)... discernment the art of looking within, letting, grow.... (the walk away wonders, of whispers "walk with me", felt, lived, known...) bowen hart roselli 9 may 2020 ringwald love  "surface swimming, sadly", she said.. as she tended to the wounds, psychological, his head... he, not like any ordinary man something he struggled with, all "the within", take a stand acutely aware, this game, in illuminate betray one another "falling victim", the material state how we betray the nectar, for "the numb" distillation of depth for the deifying of dumb "the average, the obvious", we succumb as if no other option to be allowed, bathe the sun soak it into our core, our being rapturously righted, our sight inner "seeing" so we settle and surrender in order, "fit in" the inner "patrick bateman", for some of us our paradoxical sin that while we know there is so much more we surface swim, sadly necessity, "open doors"... that we know, we really just wish, could walk past so little here of sustenance the succulence of sensual most can't feel, unaware, devoured, en masse quantities that don't demand of the intricate and so he accepts, and rejects molecular dissonance all man made, these constructs of casual as the "acceptable" state, the latest frothing, "fashionable".. but life, and love, in its "real", not cliche as something within him, repulsed walks away... then contradicts his true self for the crowd and returns to them once more, while knowing inside, they cannot see him, his "proud".. attempts to lead them somewhere, more mysterious more magical, meaningful as if he, only hearing this... yes, it is possible, to transform, "only knew", as in, "if they", could listen see the signs, touch the truth yet he knows, most can't so he self betrays, he, then swallowed by his sense, obligation the wants and wanderings, hearts wallowed in their wants, their needs who they demand, he then be "invisible-ized", again he somehow, convinced, "true self" must recede... to the background, the shadows and be the light they need him to be as his darkness, it seeps into "her" the one, the unexpected, found he in a space and time, quite strange, quite magic he both embraces, rejects her understanding, his "tragic".. all the things that another "not supposed to love" in him, "she just did", and does no end, his mere presence upon her enough the embodiment realized and actualized, in her not a fabrication for the glean, guilt gestation just to let him be, all that he is how it excites, then does scare him as to run, said so said he, "gifts of man, numbed"... yet consistent is she, to his insistent inconsistent, fires, flees no rejection of him, no matter, scrawled in silence his "please be sick of me", plea's simply "always there", he, aware he captured her heart doesn't know what to do with her "bare" and so he runs, and so she walks in honor, his inherent immeasurable illuminant "can't forgets".... ....all the things, in soul silence, she knows that she hopes, one day calls him back to her, shows... not all, so surface swim, sadly not she, to the deep, in divine she awakened one day, to realize, hues of heaven, haunt he as do they her and so, all this concern, care born in worth, bound, this earth... of having lived, loved, lost enough, know the difference between something, someone "just more of the same" and some "one", something, unfathomable his electric, delicate, then demanding, "sweet incredible", engulfing illuminance (there is nothing wrong, "hand in glove", if somehow he could free himself, the "suspect" soul, the "expected of him" role let the heart rise above the "should" of surface swimming, sadly and just....be...truly loved) bowen hart roselli 2 may 2020 ringwald love  snow falls on eyelids imaginary insides where, in this land, a safe place to hide, in the arms of another, beast of beautiful, without the knife, come to die just a little bit and a bit more "deep breath" skin on skin delicate droplets of sweat no worry, rip yourself apart wondering, fearing what comes next just peace, sweet release if this moment is all we have why do we waste it with games, mind, reaped wrath because we do not know ourselves as much as we play, pretend to, and do because we bleed our "self involved" onto others, with little thought, hindsight exactly what we leave behind, once through survival of the fittest but who defined "the fit", first place? snow falls on eyelids, imagined as i awaken to your absence you were never really here or there just a mesmerizing mirage of manhood, betrayed and so the bleed, this removal tragic yet somehow in eyelids, snowfall shines, sunset and i smile, your smile returns again, you were always here and never left...within. begin. again. ("it's all gonna work out, man" and it is here, in his whisper, i somehow believe him, beyond the wanting wonder of when) bowen hart roselli 16 may 2020 ringwald love  i was wrong and that's ok i will live to see another day i will not, however be quite the same transformed by the loss of you and all of the shame that swells and floods comes crashing, like waves that taunt and haunt this path for me, paved a "you" focused soul, so alive in the giving this, the only way i understand, called real living yet brutality strikes time and again what i think that is real all in my head, heart, a sin it seems that i, just don't get it give in most everyone much happier in focus, first and last, just on them what they want and need what they can gain from "the take" in receive and when they are done it's on me, left alone to solve then, the puzzle what is wrong with me, the love lost, no home inside of me to feel strong, safe, secure there once was a time i thought i was sure that trust was a gift that most would not betray so whore-i-fied to learn here, this all just a play of words and emotions rarely real, beyond the moment and at the end of the day all you are, you must own it every perception, misplaced every time you fell, from another's good grace every time you sold your soul for the fleeting warmth, an embrace that was forgotten, the moment pre-planned, gone, left, no trace of remembrance or acknowledgement it takes two, a bond that lasts either a lifetime or for the all too common "didn't mean much, so then not very long"... someday to die in the arms, another a lover, compassionate strong who sees, understands for some of us the path is tumultuous, long for the lasting of love, pure there is no hand, place, cure amongst the "care less" want, wealth and "the never can quite trust yourself" to ever know, when its safe less, a land of ruin and rape to be naked, vulnerable "mask off" and sure for the dreams, visions "belong to you", beautiful what some of us will put ourselves through endure. bowen hart roselli 26 may 2020 ringwald love  serenity, like divinity his alive, sweet awake inspiring this new road, untraveled within, so moved, compelled, partake just focus on the water the sound of it rushing feel and sit amongst the gods nothing false, sacred, the silence, secrets forthcoming schizoid strays of psyche and soul gone, like the games, we live and die upon, roles of the worrier, the warrior the bruised up boy, the boring girl "not today" his, another one enlightening, inspiring phrase that without him, my eyes wouldn't have seen, like the light in the day as in, "what do we say to the god of death" does he like, does he know? he encapsulates so much of my thought, my breath... amongst the water. i am secure, i am safe this clean and clear truth. nothing else feels real, matters but him. (that is you) and all i have got left is this re-imagined, reawakened heart, filled, this truth. and little to even less is more than the slightest sliver, shiver possibility he knows this and is pleased in his own space of silence his own enveloping waters a slight smile we both know he will never dare let on to me. captured without compromise i am guilty his overcome, overpower of me and all i can blame is that voice and those eyes bowen hart roselli 3 july 2020 ringwald love  rip me open to repair me, right change my thought patterns, heal my sight make me see all my bullshit, what it is betrayal of the self should never have been the break, bone, wish the things we do to ourselves, unbelievable just to think, for a moment "escape the wounds", be receivable by some force, some universe, unknown then karma strikes, with a blunt blow, stung like living inside the burn, bruise, blood the tear in the skin, scabbed itching, stitched, come a constant reminder just another lost human, underneath with a dream, an "other half" our whole, found, complete that "one", in warmth electrify, envelope the sheets embody, in body, psyche the "always", in connective rhythm heartbeats that pulse together two storms struck, lightning tethered to the gift, awareness, "adored" is a state called "truly" rare, in existence, anymore.. so simple, yet, so tragically complex in a world, "can't wait", for what comes next "hypnotized, not to live in the now" but for "the next one", unzipped "they might be even more hung, well endowed" or better cherry, chosen more ready and willing to be "popped, licked, lolly, opened" in a land of "no one owes you a thing" think about the selfishness implied, what's that? it's called an "alone", scarring sting that alters you, immeasurably somehow numbs "the plumb" tart, so pleasurably passed around, from the tree of life what is a whore, but someone's "dishes done", drained wife or husband, home but emasculated for the credit card, "more!" replace what we've got, what, with we don't need "it was perfectly fine", but watch, the cycle repeats the one that in volumes, of silence, it speaks too often, we are strangers, chosen partners, spread, sheets it's "don't ask, don't tell" in a hole, as in "rabbit", devours "the divine", dreams our dwell upon all that, which we want, think, "don't have" but is often right there, right in front of us, fell but can't see it, blind to the truth, fear, "too kind" to the fixation, it has to look exactly as we picture, like a catalogue, flipped, frothing, foaming, at the mouth "perfect fixture" that we never find, of course look back, as in "don't" you just might feel that thing called remorse you just might see the truth that was there all along, the mirror your seeping sad eyes, haunted stare so please, take heed and please, be aware sometimes "the seek", in your sought it's right there. the soul that's present in focus, whole being but you are blind to it, doesn't fit, your ideal only seeing.. that which isn't not that, which is that, what is fated, your "underneath", "careful", wished as sometimes, the universe in all it's "mysterious ways" it has other plans... and it sees through, knows all our games. the one's we've played, to oblivion and back the ones on ourselves, our worst enemy, attacked so take a seat, grab some popcorn, relax watch the film, in your mind, play out and the answers, in the end final reel, leave no doubt that the war, it was you, inside me, all along and, for the same in reverse, to be revealed.. you've gotta be ready, stand, unbelievably strong. bowen hart roselli 8 july 2020 ringwald love  i know where i belong. the problem is, no one believes me. because very few, can actually see me bound and tied to the beautiful is the only way i can ever, do feel free each broke the mold and then shattered it again in the allowance of admire, love struck awe, there's no end as if this, somehow just utterly themselves is exact, the ingredients to be destined a life called "sent straight to hell" not for any sin, extraordinary except for not being anything ordinary as in "like all the rest" whats that? an actual heart, throbbing soul, in the chest? please then, fuck them twice, and nice, once more amongst avenues and alleyways all the schemers and whores all the petty and pretty all the upright shallow and the downright shitty in the sunlight, hiding in the shadows we're sitting waiting, wandering feeling, thinking, pondering what exactly, and why are we here? somehow, the answer, coming through, not quite clear so then bound to them is my only escape from the eternal wound, scar intense, the isolative, disconnected shame state like lovers and gods goddesses from another time, place fate lost to me, location, direction, exact so comes, lost, to be just a matter of fact but not when I'm tied, bound lost in the love that is the heaven of them it's not a matter of time it's just a matter of when i, be allowed somewhere else, can i be me? the closest i have come yes, in and with them, bound, real love, light, heart soul set free bowen hart roselli 2 july 2020 ringwald love  sometimes stay and sometimes go sometimes yes and sometimes no sometimes fucked, and sometimes, "fuck you" always though, you inside me, true often lost and often found often surfacing and often drowned often left and often right always, longing, hold you tight never sure and never wrong never weak and never strong never fear and never free always here, why can't you see? daily done and daily didn't daily open and daily hidden daily sleeping and daily awake always ready, for you, your partake usually here and usually not all there usually truth, and usually dare usually sexual and usually platonic always, to please you, yes, i am on it seldom seen and seldom unnoticed seldom known and seldom unknown, this seldom silent and seldom voiced always, in adoration, you leave me no choice unusually bound and unusually free unusually you and unusually me unusually pouring and unusually plugged always, yes, for you, blind man, filled with love. bowen hart roselli 8 july 2020 ringwald love |
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