Reclaim the word:
To be a lover of.
An enthusiast of.
When did you become the oxymoron that stands before me,
meant to belittle me.
meant to separate me.
or even shame me.
Reclaim the word:
To be a lover of.
An enthusiast of.
I am your admirer and devoted friend.
You are not my profession
You are my pleasure.
Much more than a past time or a paycheck.
The day I stop loving or even liking you is the day I stopbeing an
Amateur.
©ChristopherF. Brown 2010
Eman On
I think I over did the canopy but I still am proud of this
Lovers
This one, OMG i could not take a good pic of this one for the life of me but today for some reason this one came. Still not the best pic but its post worthy
The Bridge
I really like this one I have to put it somewhere because I keep wanting to do stuff to it.
As always let me know what you think. Good or bad it all helps. Just be constructive
It’s just times like these that really get to me.
usually when it’s one after another.
I see you in the sparkle of an eye,
the corner of a smile.
I see it in the swagger of their walk
and hear you in the melodic way they talk.
I know it’s you,
or
At least I think it could be.
And there
right there
is the problem.
I’ve learned not to force or fake you.
It never ends well.
so I wait
Not expectantly.
Not eagerly.
Almost ambivalently.
I’ve really been happy without you.
In contrast to all the hurt I had with you.
It’s just times like these that really get to me.
usually when its one after another.
I see you in the sparkle of an eye
the corner of a smile.
I see it in the swagger of their walk
and hear you in the melodic way they talk.
I know it’s you,
or
At least I think it could be.
And there
right there
Is the thought that makes my soul shudder.
The same ole thing all over again.
The only thing new is the clothes you wear.
The same blood that poisons me still pumps through your veins.
That was a little too negative so I’ll take it back.
The few times that were good were really good
Just
They never compared
or out weighed
the bad.
For some reason.
You have this hold on me.
I can’t seem to shake you.
The older I get
The less frequent I even notice you.
It’s just times like these that really get to me.
usually when its one after another.
I see you in the sparkle of an eye.
the corner of a smile.
I see it in the swagger of their walk
and hear you in the melodic way they talk.
I know it’s you,
or
At least I think it could be.
And there
right there
I question;
How could one search for a thing and never find it?
While others have the very thing rain down upon them as they seek shelter from it.
Others run from you.
Others flat out:
reject,
deny,
and loathe you.
I do not sit up at night crying over you.
Anymore
or
Look for you behind every corner or door
I wish you would have taken this last bag with you.
It hurts to be reminded of you.
The you I never had and always wanted
The you I tried for and never got
The you that lives happily ever after with those whom
detested
and
cursed
your name.
The you that I don’t want to want.
Like I said,
The older I get
the less I even know you are there.
It’s just times like these that really get to me.
usually when its one after another.
I see you in the sparkle of an eye.
The corner of a smile.
I see it in the swagger of their walk
and hear you in the melodic way they talk.
I know it’s you,
or
At least I think it could be.
And there
right there
I remind myself
it’s the same old hurt called love again
You upset me too much
You take up too much time and energy
Scars and wounds that barely heal are what I have to show of you.
I cover my ears,
close my eyes,
shut my mouth,
and repeat to myself,
“It’s just that same old hurt called love again.
I won’t be bothered with you anymore.”
I shut the door,
close the window,
and swallow the key,
But
Just like the tenacious little ant you are.
You always find your way in.
Maybe
Just maybe.
You’ll do right this time.
It’s just times like these that really get to me.
usually when its one after another.
I see you in the sparkle of an eye
the corner of a smile.
I see it in the swagger of their walk
and hear you in the melodic way they talk.
I know it’s you,
or
At least I think it could be.
And there
right there
I let you in.
Praying you’ll be different.
Praying that it wasn’t you.
Praying that it was some evil twin.
Praying that my heart has enough strength.
Praying to remember and forget everything from the last time.
I remind myself
I know you
And I wait
Time will reveal all
Once again.
©Christopher F. Brown 2010
You’re worse than the people
you think
you are different from.
You see the external forces driving the mentality of the heard.
You strike left.
You strike right.
Whichever is opposite.
You become opposite of the heard
to be different
to be separate
Not
Because it is what you like or even desire.
You rail against one thing one day
another the next.
only to accept them all when you actually try them.
At least the heard
in their mindless obedience
is true to themselves.
They like what they like
dislike what they don’t.
Even if they are beguiled to do so.
You
You wait for them
Only then can you make your mind up.
Only then can your feelings speak to you.
Only then can like what they don’t
love what they hate.
Instead of trying to be different just be you.
Instead of following the left or right path make your own
At least then the truly original would respect you
At least then I could look into your soul and see
You.
And not just the inverse, opposite of everyone else
You claim not to be.
©Christopher F. Brown 2010
You timidly linger
before you pass me by.
Wanting to know the pleasure of your company
you only leave me the slightest
most timid
of glances.
Your eyes say many things
yet your lips only smile.
I would wager your voice beautiful
your kiss divine.
Yet
You timidly linger.
Only leaving,
“What if?”
Behind.
©Christopher F. Brown 2010
