It is the words you carry within your heart, the ones that claw at the walls, desperately trying to emerge; those are the ones you need to share with the world.
I’ve already forgotten the feel of you; The beat of your heart beneath my cheek, The vibration of your throat when you start to speak. What was it you smelled like when you were here? Tobacco, crisp leaves and bergamot… How is it possible I’ve already forgot? The taste of you has slipped my mind; Your lips so sweet with minty breath, Your showered skin always fresh. The sounds of you are long gone now; Your voice a steady baritone, The echoes of your pleasured moan. The sight of you is something else; Captured in photos and insta posts These are the relics I cherish the most. By: T.J. Ruberto 2021
I’m not sure what I remember anymore What is a memory? What is a memory of a memory? I do remember the day you picked me up The day you told me The mountain in front of us was called Grasshopper Hill, because Grasshoppers have to pack a lunch to get up it I remember your white shirt Sweat stained Fat flopping over your grease marked jeans I remember sitting beside you Gear shift between my knees I wanted to play barbies with Your daughter The one I went to school with But she wanted to play house Said we had to take our clothes Off Get into bed Because that’s what mommies and daddies do I remember being nervous, feeling Something wasn’t right Barbies on the floor Untouched Naked As most barbies end up Sooner or later But then I remember remembering There you were Watching us Telling me it was ok That you and she played house together All the time Then I don’t remember What happened next My memory goes from vivid technicolour To a blizzard of static I don’t re
I sit here waiting for inspiration to come, Like parched earth waiting for rain, Flowers waiting for sun. I wait for the voice to fill the void, To shout above the silence Or filter out the noise. I wait for those juices to start to flow, For something I can grasp, For the seeds that I can grow. Creativity isn’t for the meek of mind, She’s a gift, a spell, a favour, She’s something you can’t find. She’s mystical and magical, a lady of the night, She comes to you when she’s ready, When she feels the moment’s right. Relinquish your control, let go and let her play, You can’t rush that perfect moment, When she shows you what to say. I sit here waiting for inspiration again, Like snow caps for the sun, And deserts for the rain. By: T.J. Ruberto 2021
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