sansimi

I tattooed your name on my tongue
so even if I were dumb you would
be all they know. 

They tried to colour me crazy.
Filling my head with As and Bs
but only As because a B is for low life
dirt pushing fuckers with no dreams.

They told me to read.
read books of a history, not mine,
and plays of troubled souls
speaking in tongues and soliloquies
that I dont understand but I nod and agree
as they crank their hands and the climax is saturated
in self satisfaction when their hands plunge deep.

Not for me. But for they.
Degree wielding warriors ready to educate
on who to be but remember no Bs if you want to be
somebody recognised by me and she, he, them, they,
won't stop till they colour me crazy. 

"Play-dough!" I say, as I hand you my heart.
Soft and spongy for you to mold.
You pushed and squeezed till it was cracked and dry;
till it was dirty, diseased and cold.

Not just my trust. My hope. My virginity.
Please take them, piss on them if you will.
But I beg. I beg of you, give it back.
Give me back my poetry. 

I used to write lines with barren words,
as I strung them together haphazardly.
Now I write poems of hearts in bloom,
because you are the words in my poetry.

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
No, for I am not old Will.
I cannot scribe you a bouquet 
nor utter you paintings, still. 

Sour Winters haunt my lines; mine
and his, seasons apart.
A pauper in song, coin and words
but for you, rich is my heart. 

I am so full of self loathing this evening.
And I thought I was on the road to recovery. 

My heart bleeds paprika snow,
pregnant is she with thorns and amor. 
The passion is partial the ache mutual. 
Like a foolish hare in the jaws of a hound.
The barrel of your hand is on my chest.
The stretch of your smell has a hold on my breast.
The perfume of your voice shakes my innards. 
The print of your skin leaves cocoons in my gut.
One day they burst, soaring and kicking, 
shrieking and singing: your name. 

Note: This is one of the poems I was hoping to use for my partner on Valentine's Day. Please feel free to tell me which you think is best.

I have absolutely no idea what I am supposed to be getting Olivia (my girlfriend) for Valentine's day. I have written her a poem but I am not sure it is good enough. Dear God why do I feel so inadequate all the time?

Rose tinted sponge under skin
like marzipan. Slice and she shall weep
wine. Inside a vineyard, of vines, 
clumps and berries. In the juice there are 
tears and the story of time. 

My peoples sang as did the Earth.
Till Gods trampled with a treble clef.
Our song, vex and history. The story 
and my tears, all I have left.