25 lies because i love you:

doesn't hurt
doesn't matter
I'm not sad
I'm not mad
no worries
no problem
no promises
no big deal
no hard feelings
maybe next time
maybe later
maybe someday
it was fun
it was nothing
it wasn't important

whenever
whatever works
shit happens..

i understand
i get it
i knew it
i forgot it

it's fine
it's all good
it's cool.....

25, myself and you,
protecting lies

but my love for you
not a lie, just....

the truth.

my thing
my fault
my shit
my bad
my part

my heart.

my stars,
(the one's in my eyes for you)

the eternal question,
solely mine, yours or ours?

we tell ourselves, each other
lies to alleviate
the pain, the sting, the fear
of the scars....

because if life is for living
and living means something

remotely, remarkably even close
to the truth, of a deep emotion felt, throbbing, loving

then truly caring can be hard
to comprehend
which is why so many get scared,
run away, or live in the land of so many
called pretend

and the biggest lie,
that means the love ain't that real at all
is the kind that's easy,
handed out like "the party treats",
they are pleasing..

it may be easy to fall
but in the long run..
to stick around, put the effort, time
work in,

it's all....

a heaven of a hell of a lot harder
than we want to perceive
that's why the real thing
contains real give, real receive

real want, respect, soul sensitivity
to another's risk, the hope
reciprocal variations, vulnerability

and is almost like a miracle,
modern day, here now
the kind, when it strikes you
it almost cannot be comprehended...

"bruise me beautifully",
barely believed.

that someone like you

could happen to me.

(love comes in many formations,
like constellations of stars, the ones in my eyes,
you refuse to allow yourself, in your own eyes, to see)...



bowen hart roselli
1 october 2020
ringwald love 

through the tortured gods
of which I walk
profound love pierced
by soul crippling loss

the simplest things
somehow deemed
"but not for me"
it seems..

real connections
that last,
a love that grows,
and builds,
these things just slip right through my hands

it happens all around me
someone meets someone
and it progresses to permanent

call it marriage
or union
or "sacred other"
or not

first date, first fuck,
courtship, "come of this"
boyfriend, girlfriend
partner's
can't be bought

but found
all around
I hear the stories
I watch them play out

man and woman
man and man
whatever the denomination,
it's a connect, heart and hand

it's all i've dreamed of,
simple in my complex
it's all i've prayed for
someone to see my heart
and want it, detect

that I am not the player
or user, that abounds
that my dream, very simple
I am the one, unwavering
of loyalty, devotion, known, no bounds

but,
my fate lives on
born of the magic
tied to tragic

entwined to madness,
mine, this engulfing sadness

I am never "the one",
but the "almost" reflection
strikes me stung, bludgeoned, done

i've been told
I'd be perfect if I was only a girl
by straight men, who too,
don't belong in this world

i've been told
I was beautiful, if only
I was someone else, inside
by gay men, who loved only my limbs
and holes, and ability to withstand
mind fucks and lies

i've been told
once, a fallen angel
that "donnie breaks all the girls hearts",
non-sexually, heart-touchingly
i guess, the "she", the only ones to
ever accept, more of me

than any man could
and in defense of them,
as rightly, they should

run away from me
and my drown in them need
to love and care and be present,
ripped bare

amongst the few of them found
that strike me as truly awake and aware

but no matter what all may have offered
for a moment
i continue to witness,
this inherent lonely and lost,
it's mine, "own it"

doesn't matter what i do,
regardless if the love is pure,
or reversed
a filth-i-fied screw, nothing to prove

i find it, the dream
and lose it, again
in various forms and fires
be them literal lovers or
"blush struck", drawn friends

born to dream and die alone
dichotomies surround me,
like "homeless" living inside
my own home

real love and attraction
kinetic, electric
i "overwhelm",
in my adoration and admire

and watch as they slip away
on to others whose
tread of stability must be more
hopeful and higher

"are you sick of me yet?",
he said once, striking me numb

"that's what i always say", i replied
as he stole a piece of my heart
and, in awe and empathy, i died.

moments and memories
that embody the blooming of love
"meant to be", unexpectedly

except my "meant to be",
means "touched so deep" it seems
never will it copulate to "complete"

so i walk ahead,
altered and heart saddened
again,
haunted by dreams inside,
alone, bleed their passing,
and for the hunger of a heart
impassioned, do i seep inside,
owe them.

(the only understanding of my
reason for being here)

for a love that i seemingly can never quite have
right in front of me, touchably
untouchable, skinless
forever in the search, soul salve.

and to rewire this mind
and be wrong, for last "once"
there is nothing i would be happier
to report, feel me, glad



bowen hart roselli
24 march 2020
ringwald love

concrete and cruelty,
insult to injury
"this means that, no never mind"
changing shit faster,
than the passage of time

"do this, then that",
"no actually, it's that, then this...
what's that?"...

look who's talking
and look who ain't
blonde bitch, dumb ass
watch as her underlings,
start licking her "quaint"

the  "not there" space between her pussy
and ass
and those that do, they'll be given,
a pass

security, paycheck,
in a time of pandemic,
watch it spread

while the rest of us, carted out
left to wonder, what hell, comes next

treated like we were disposable trash
with keys left, and a "we care"
my ass

no one knows what's going on,
like being blindsided by
a hand job, conned

into thinking there was payoff,
a wad
if we worked hard, be it a bonus
or a chance for advance,
valued, valiant, "good cause" job

but as the days and months
dragged on,
the shit show
proved endless,
as the days grew long

there was only one light, that I could see
just "some guy" I met,
paired up, he and me

to work together and give it our all
slowly realizing this all seemed
predestined to fall...

apart, from the start
but this guy, Jesus fuck,
like a radiant art
of complexity and dangerous
destructive in his perceptive way,
with this

need to free himself, this prison of bull
shit, all around us, society's structures
like a constant blow to his skull

raging out, but reigning, kind
two "mates", in "soul"
who'd already lost their minds
in different ways, with different shades
no, not that garbage,
titled "50 of grey"

that's for "the normals"
who feed and froth, off the top
they skim the soul of everything
like not actually hearing the words
in the songs they all sing

seems we ended up, quite a pair
seeing, smelling the stench, of the stale
in the air
air that offered no bright spot, believe
except for me, in that I loved and lived
his "receive"

as in the feeling, if fleeting,
that he "got me" and liked
all of my crazy and anxiety ridden
mood spikes

deriding from the challenge
of being out in the world
driving blind, my inner compass lost
tangled up in his torn, I found
all preconceived notions, him, tossed

to the wind and back again
his song, so sung,
I never wanted  it to end

but then one day,
we were given the boot
he laughed, we cried,
called this whole thing "a hoot"

as in more "holler" than caller
of a conquest made possible
not in a place this chaotic,
just this side of, kind of awful

funny thing is,
he said he loved chaos
and he found it, this KWAR
and in me, all these emotions
risen forth for him, all the more

time we spent trapped,
like the "stockholm" in "syndrome"
but who's the captor,
who's the captured,
that secret, I surrender,
I know, but never will receive
the real answer

could be one, or could be the other
could be, amongst
the heightened strain, just two brothers

battling this war
called KFuck, Ktwat
like sand through the hand
he, the one thing, no regrets
no "for naught"

found him, loved him
watched him fly
lost him, slayed, when
I saw the tears pour out his eyes

struck me in a way
I cannot quite escape from, forget
see what happens,
some strange, sweet, kind of magic
even if surrounded and swamped
in a sea of Kshit.



bowen hart roselli
31 march 2020
ringwald love

the message from the messenger
the undressing from the undressor, worth
the player from the play, at hand
the stand up, comic,
from the stand up man

the nectar from the nothingness
the chaos camouflaged from confronting, this
the intimate from intimacy, feigned
the blameless from the externally blamed

the lover from the loveless, heart
the unwavering from the run away, art
the act from the actor, playing a part
the target from the targeted, dart

the dodge and weave
from the intention, deceive
the believer from the can't be believed
the "know themselves", from the
"everyone else"
who can't keep track, all the lies,
told themselves

just a sponge, a mirror, everyone else
the chameleon ghost, pray, if before you
he fell

the charlatan from
the scarred, deep within
the devil from the divine, of the sin
the liar from the lies, he's told
the story from the teller, hold

"the belief, seduce",
from the convenient excuse,
it's worth
the manipulator from the man, re-birthed

from the woman, good, wise, strong
the "letting go" in the days, pained
wronged

the words and sentences,
in "meant" versus meaningless
the thief of hearts versus
the heart, come forth, healing this

all the moments perceived with magic
when upon you
was just a trap for the tragic
games played out for the "grab, go"
another
as in taken because it was there,
for the offering
there is little "look back now"
and even more, "why bothering"...

not in a land where
there are so many ways
to get for the gain,
so many ego's in pain

because, we know
we reject what is real
and wonder why wounds
they can never quite heal

not when "the party"
is all around, to partake
not when a man presents himself deep,
but is fake

as in betraying all he claims to be
the deepest cut, is the stripped
awakening, deceived

you were, it's just the blinded by love
loving a man for whom nothing is enough
to bind him to any fixed idea
concept, who he is...

this poem, for the golden, in the gift
of the girl, named leah...

in reflection, reality, it's important to see
discernment, he is gone, for now
but was he ever really here?
or anywhere

bleed....the need.

to know, to show, to give him gifts
to solve the mystery, his gorgeous,
your wish...

to find yourself, yes, truly found in him
while the evidence suggests,
the chances are slim...

all it takes is a read, between lines
discernment
the taken from the take,
took the time...

to "back and forth", the flow you had
honor it, respect it, covet it, glad
to know it's rare, this kind of connect
no need to bite the hand that feeds
no thirst to "mind game" the love
he seeks

"discernment, darling"
she whispered, in a dream
"let go, it will show"..
and maybe, just maybe, one day
he will grow,
into a man, of discernment
and integrity,

(your) love, owned...

and honored
no need to ruin, no run away
escape, to roam..

(come home)...

discernment
the art of looking within,
letting, grow....

(the walk away wonders, of whispers
"walk with me", felt, lived, known...)


bowen hart roselli
9 may 2020
ringwald love

"surface swimming, sadly", she said..
as she tended to the wounds,
psychological, his head...

he, not like any ordinary man
something he struggled with,
all "the within", take a stand

acutely aware, this game,
in illuminate
betray one another
"falling victim", the material state

how we betray the nectar,
for "the numb"
distillation of depth
for the deifying of dumb

"the average, the obvious",
we succumb
as if no other option
to be allowed, bathe the sun

soak it into our core, our being
rapturously righted, our sight
inner "seeing"

so we settle
and surrender
in order, "fit in"
the inner "patrick bateman",
for some of us
our paradoxical sin

that while we know
there is so much more
we surface swim, sadly
necessity, "open doors"...

that we know, we really just wish,
could walk past
so little here of sustenance
the succulence of sensual
most can't feel, unaware,
devoured, en masse

quantities
that don't demand of the intricate
and so he accepts, and rejects
molecular dissonance

all man made,
these constructs of casual
as the "acceptable" state,
the latest frothing, "fashionable"..

but life, and love, in its "real",
not cliche
as something within him, repulsed
walks away...

then contradicts his true self
for the crowd
and returns to them
once more, while knowing inside,
they cannot see him, his "proud"..

attempts to lead them
somewhere, more mysterious
more magical, meaningful
as if he, only hearing this...

yes, it is possible, to transform,
"only knew",
as in, "if they", could listen
see the signs, touch the truth

yet he knows, most can't
so he self betrays, he, then swallowed
by his sense, obligation
the wants and wanderings,
hearts wallowed

in their wants, their needs
who they demand, he then be
"invisible-ized", again
he somehow, convinced, "true self"
must recede...

to the background, the shadows
and be the light they need him to be
as his darkness, it seeps into "her"
the one, the unexpected, found he

in a space and time, quite strange,
quite magic
he both embraces, rejects
her understanding,
his "tragic"..

all the things that another
"not supposed to love"
in him, "she just did", and does
no end, his mere presence upon her
enough

the embodiment realized
and actualized, in her
not a fabrication for
the glean, guilt gestation

just to let him be,
all that he is
how it excites, then does scare him
as to run, said so said he,
"gifts of man, numbed"...

yet consistent is she,
to his insistent inconsistent,
fires, flees
no rejection of him,
no matter, scrawled in silence
his "please be sick of me", plea's

simply "always there",
he, aware
he captured her heart
doesn't know what to do
with her "bare"
and so he runs, and so she walks
in honor, his inherent
immeasurable illuminant
"can't forgets"....

....all the things, in soul silence,
she knows
that she hopes, one day
calls him back to her, shows...

not all, so surface swim, sadly
not she,
to the deep, in divine
she awakened one day,
to realize, hues of heaven, haunt he

as do they her
and so, all this concern, care
born in worth,
bound, this earth...

of having lived, loved, lost
enough, know the difference
between something, someone
"just more of the same"
and some "one", something, unfathomable
his electric, delicate, then demanding,
"sweet incredible", engulfing

illuminance

(there is nothing wrong,
"hand in glove",
if somehow he could free himself,
the "suspect" soul,
the "expected of him" role
let the heart rise above
the "should" of surface swimming, sadly
and just....be...truly loved)


bowen hart roselli
2 may 2020
ringwald love

snow falls on eyelids
imaginary insides
where, in this land,
a safe place to hide,
in the arms of another,
beast of beautiful,
without the knife,
come to die

just a little bit
and a bit more
"deep breath"
skin on skin
delicate droplets of sweat
no worry, rip yourself apart
wondering, fearing
what comes next

just peace,
sweet release
if this moment is all we have
why do we waste it with games,
mind, reaped wrath

because we do not know ourselves
as much as we play, pretend
to, and do
because we bleed our "self involved"
onto others, with little thought, hindsight
exactly what we leave behind,
once through

survival of the fittest
but who defined "the fit", first place?
snow falls on eyelids, imagined
as i awaken to your absence
you were never really here or there
just a mesmerizing mirage
of manhood, betrayed
and so the bleed, this removal
tragic

yet somehow
in eyelids, snowfall
shines, sunset
and i smile, your smile
returns again,
you were always here
and never left...within.

begin.
again.

("it's all gonna work out, man"
and it is here,
in his whisper, i somehow believe him,
beyond the wanting wonder of when)


bowen hart roselli
16 may 2020
ringwald love