Polite Plea

Come and be human with me

eat nothing that means us both leaving the house

sit on the floor in strange places

and sleep in familiar beds

 

I will make art, not for, but about you

speak truths while you’re sleeping and wake you with hands

we will dive deeply into one another

and stay out of our own weary heads

 

We will argue in glorious fireworks

I will throw words, you will break my guitar

remind ourselves that it’s something worth burning

and be all the better for making up

 

Come and eat cereal late at night

in silence, undressed on the kitchen floor

be far too tired for tomorrow’s long stroll

in love, just enough for the waking up

 

come in your own time, and human be

 

yours politely,

lonely me

K. Henson

https://i0.wp.com/pictify.saatchigallery.com/files/works/keaton-henson-mhvh-1351036985_b.jpg

 

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Look forward to all the chances to get hurt again

K.H.

“move on,
hearts will inevitably break as they are wont to do,
you can stay away from love if you think it will help, but people will leave, and die, and betray
write it down. draw a picture. sing a song.
or do the english thing and go get laughed at by those that remain.
all manner of brainly ills can be cured with cups of tea, a particularly strong breeze,
or the words “i’m still here” even if the word that echoes is “still”
dwelling is the deadliest addiction of all. dwelling is sweet from the dwelling place, but remember it projects outwardly as bitterness.

move on. watch trees and count leaves,
if no one surrounds you, wait for the words “i’m your friend”
you’ll find them in familiar smelling houses and unclean mouths, sweet from morning pastries, don’t let that put you off

i have dwelled, people i don’t know, know me through two albums worth of my dwelling place. I have turned the things that burned me into product, and sold it with ribbons of cardboard, they’re not so scary then.

if your dwelling place has locked you in, look at the sky as the day is ending, it is filthy and orange and pink,
the sky is streaked with the sins of the day just been,
spattered and scrawled with car fumes and electric lights from another day of humankind’s inevitable folly.
go to sleep. all is well there

wake early,
look again,
you’ll notice the world is now blue, the sky has recovered and smells of wet grass, no longer spilled beer and words not meant,
breathe it in. its another chance, and it happens daily. just for you.
go out and swim in the mornings fresh start,
as the cars rev their engines and begin to undo it all again.
don’t pay them mind, they need to take their owners to work,
this morning’s for you
move on, into its mystery.

why do we listen to albums like mine? why do i revel in poems meant for funerals?
because others dwellings are a comfortable fix, methadone for the weary soul,
like serial killers who’ve been dead for hundreds of years, and strangers houses
other peoples pain is always more beautiful than our own
count it, rub your hands on your face, check it’s still there, still looks like you
and move on

she still exists, i see her on trains, what a wonderful thing

move on,
you will get hurt
make beauty from your dwelling place
and look forward to all the chances to get hurt again”

gloaming henson

3:26 a.m

There’s pain in the heartbreak
Or in the mind’s overtake.
But how beautiful is it to find
All your pieces on the ground
Waiting for you to pick them up
As high as the great Sun God,
To construct another version
Of everything you are as a person.
The hability to create new
To forget all the used.
We are humans made of particules
Or we are told so anyway
And in every possible way
Without destroying we can’t create.
So we live our lives like we’re unique
And maybe we all are but not like this
It is not the need for attention
Or the battles with our great ego,
It’s the kindness, the free mind,
The soul within our tired eyes
That makes us different somehow.
Stop looking for groups to join
And listen to your own thoughts
That’s the one with the truth
That’s the one you cannot lose.
Do you feel the breeze ?
Do you see the peace?
Running from your lungs
Into the chamber of your soul?
That’s you, the real you
Asking for a truce.
Sweetlips you broke me,
Everything I hoped to be
Vanished with your hips
When you said not to fight thee.
Nowadays I don’t feel anything
But peace and love in me,
No hate no anger, just this
And the memory of us happy
Like I never hoped to feel.
And I forgive you
And I forgive me
After all it is not our fault
That life is so wrong
And society kills our prose.
I’ll ask you one more time
To take my love back
Just to feel your chest
Growing into the thin space
Of the melody we forever create.

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Smoked too much weed and this came to me, never mind, be free

J’avais gardé un bédo de weed
Pour si tu songeais à moi la nuit,
Mais cette herbe est pourrie
D’attendre sans armistice.
J’ai entendu que tu as un canon
Et il pointe dans ma direction,
Gaspille pas tes intentions
Mon âme n’a pas d’armement.
Juste dis moi ce que tu veux
Et part sans laisser d’adieu,
Après tout nous sommes les deux
Des enfants qui cachent leur passion.
Je fume ce soir seul et j’entends
Le silence qui me rends anxieux,
Je songe des paysages du Japon
Si calmes entre les tremblements.
J’aimerais être aussi simple
Mais la raison m’échappe,
Quand le parfum d’un arbre
Me rappelle ton sourire âpre.
J’ai connu cet jour ensoleillé
La raison pour laquelle un poète,
Entre les flammes d’une comète
S’accroche aux ciments de la terre.
Désormais j’écris de moins en moins
Et tout semble s’évanouir dans le noir,
Quand mes yeux se ferment le soir
Toutes les chaînes parlent de toi.
J’ai balancé ma télé par la fenêtre
Mais j’entends toujours cette nouvelle,
Tu mors des lèvres qui ne sont pas les miennes
Tard le soir quand la lune est pleine.
Alors je fume, bois et j’écris
Sincèrement c’est inutile,
Les mots qui ne sont pas dis
Ne feront jamais de plaisir.

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