Tears are a powerful medium
a tedium of conversation, creating fears;
they appear as a purple carnation.
_
I look at this flower sometimes
that has ripples like the rhymes
that are forced into neat lines
that pretend to be shrines
_
can we kill it?
rip out its stem?
peel away the petals
one, by one, by one?
_
I present the strong face in the written form
to squeeze the tears out of a heart so worn
With waters of warmth that swirl into a storm
beating out of a heart throbbing with scorn.
_
i know, i tolerate
you when youre broken
but are we not the same
person?
i listen through it
this song of dreamy
suicide, you love it
_
I quest for my courage
as carnations create creamy
paste of my mind, my words
unwillingly rolling to close
that damn:
_
its you hate yourself
you dont have shit
and you hate yourself
you piss off everyone
and you hate yourself
the world judges
and you hate yourself
your problems are others
and you hate—
_
My eyes roll back out of my head. The
poem is there and I have snagged it.
It is there
but falling apart
because i dont know if i can
make it rhyme as it began.
But I find the strength
at length, of one mind.
Multiple mesmerizing
masteries of mentioning,
_
“It will be fine,” as I drop
the carnation and grab a daisy.
There is purity and joy in that.
Logan Heine is a UCI student and Assistant Copy Editor at the New University. He can be reached at leheine@uci.edu.