kobyinperspective

It is chilly outside, but still so humid that it feels like inhaling soup. It is one of those awful nights where one struggles for comfort in the disarraying surrounding of summer nostalgia from a pink-tinged horizon and cicada filled silence, where a clean breath is all that is needed to clear a clouded mind, but all that greets hungry lips is more stuffiness to pad a choked throat. It's the night you feel humiliated. You can deal with the hostility, oh sure, because you're self-assured and strong. But it's the seeds he plants with fiery words that make your insides war, because you can win with anyone but yourself, and that's exactly who

 Tell us, tell us bubbling/chiding its wind song Softly chanting in my fingers as they numbly melt the snow In my fingers all day, growing silent when they brush the paper Tell us, tell us Tell you, tell you what?  what do you want from me To yell, to be childish, to ask questions with Echoes for answers I want the world to call me out on my lies To not make me talk but make me listen to Comfortable silence and thrum warm tea in my veins Until I love what I love to do Again.

Everything is spinning. Shiver winter Splinter Beautiful as ice Clear, cold, and slipping through my fingers winter now and I can see why I adore it.

They chew their vowels, and elongate, enunciate From their mouths is born poetry; fresh, alive, and trembling with new And I need them to. In my lungs a song sleeps Its day will come when the sun shines only for it, only For me when the leaves dance because they have heard its trilling notes I can change, I can change I am less than I say but more than I do Believe that I am Greater Than the silence I swallow.

The moon shines with a light that is not her own Feathers spray across trim grass, and I know my life is a story not worth telling because life has no meaning but It isn't sad like we'd make it out to be, it simply Is. Like a stone on a hilltop Solid, factual, deniable. And it's so original to call humans despicable, deem life unfair, and Scream how God is great, when The most politically correct man sits with his tea and all he thinks is NIGGER, NIGGER, NIGGER, because what are the questions worth asking? what can I say that would make you scream For sense of being alive, to your very core, for it to shake you 'til you're free

The damage left by dinner parties Cold tea left in rimmed cups Being misunderstood. Defending yourself to others, when you bash yourself Alone. Dresses that are too tight, lights that are too dim Drinks that scorch your throat that you pretend to love. The color gray you always wear Rain that we only like On Sundays. Other people's parties that drown out our own small talk And the sound of which tastes more exciting Than our lives. Feeling incomplete. Being insecure and confident. Listening to everyone else's problems because they're easier than yours. when someone likes your shirt And you say thank you Even when all you di

It is all because when I dream it is of the deepest longing, The most eternal grieving for what I know not of. But it had been beautiful, oh yes, that I know So beautiful And in my hands that faceless infant yawned tender and live That shadow in the doorway who is my everything is nothing The child who is not mine wails a million screams that shard through me Not mine, not mine, none of it mine This nothing is my everything And I just want to stop for it moves so fast It is just so hard, so hard                     To be young and not free                           How I long to be old and tired                              T

 You laughed and it Rained in my soul that day. I want to change, I want to change But you must Always stay the same.

 Rain falls, falls off your eyelashes No more the stranger to the sky or so one must have thought with steam of breath Apparition; with your arms outstretched Fingertips misting into atoms where they do not belong, omnipresent and forever You show me Your infinity