There Aren't Any Words In Which I Could Put The Purest Act Of Your Love That Is Sitting With Me At Night

there aren't any words in which I could put the purest act of your love that is sitting with me at night and listening to me complain about writing poems and songs

I hope you realise all the love in them is for you

I can't believe it all

how great I've been

and I've been

sleeping thru all nights

without shedding a tear

and I've been content

in the choices I've made

I haven't skipped

a single breakfast in a while

and I prayed every night

without swearing at all

I've gone out with friends

almost every single day

and I came back before

it could get too dark

and I've been fine I swear

I'm just a little tired

but it's nothing

tonight I'll go

way earlier to bed

• lies I told my mother - zero (me)

actually, yet again it's a song bit, but I thought I'd post it

what is a poet if not writing

what if not dead then

my hands ache when I grip a pen

but I refuse to let go

if there is pain there's something to cling to

then there is something to write about

if my hands break from the strain so be it

I will use them until I can't use them further

so may the ache never stop

so may the poets never die

so may the fire burn

so may I still try

• old bandages - zero (me)

gone are the times

when you couldn't sleep

not knowing where I was.

and now this home again

is just as cold as i have

remembered.

I come back from the snowfall

to see my brother leaving and

to you sleeping soundly as ever

and I cannot be upset at any of that.

but I just wish growing old wasn't so hard

• "turning seventeen" - zero (me)

how am I to write of things so beautiful by themselves

there are yellows lights outside and blue fluorescent lights

there was a man on the bus who was so obviously an addict

he's found a teenager's phone by his seat and told his every move to a woman he didn't know for

"he's had too many problems already to steal anything really"

there are yellow nights of laughter and blue strangers who weep in churches

there is a part time job of mine at a flower shop

and I can't explain how throwing out stem cuttings makes me the happiest I've been all week

the world's poetry writes itself and I feel useless in my craftsmanship

"poetry in breathing" - zero (me)

godless children in your churches!

and an atheist f*ggot is teaching them about life!

they are both so dirty and unworthy!

the priest asks for kids who wanna say a prayer

say it loud and proud for the whole church

in front of a microphone for all to see

a dozen little hands shoot up immediately in your eye sight

all of those tiny tired eyes sparkle with hope and faith

for they are still to learn that not even god loves them

the priest does not choose any of the precious children with tired eyes

he chooses a few ones that are dressed appropriately

for church and for the weather

for their age and current fashion trends

a boy who almost never talks drops his head and murmurs

"he's never chosen me yet"

oh is this boy to learn that it takes more than luck to be chosen!

an atheist is asked where god sleeps at night

the answer is far away, just in case

we were to riot at night and he'd have to take blame

an atheist is asked how do we get to heaven?

the answer is, how would I know

god has stated he hates people who love like me

my mother would tell you we get there beautiful and perfect

and I don't believe in your fairytale god

but I believe there's no more ways a child full of hope can be beautiful

but if there's a heaven

if there's a god listening

let death be kinder to these children.

let there be heaven, even if just for them.

let there be warm clothes and shoes without holes

let there be a death, kinder than men

let death be kinder than priests, who can only complain

how unraised they are,

as if we didn't know before

let death take their hands gently and not leave any scabs

let heaven be a place for a better start

• "kids tend to ask hard questions" - zero (me)