everyone's a liar
everyone's a lover
in some way, shape, form
or another

we lie to ourselves
the worst, most of all
and take, along with us
hostages of heart,
those chosen, compelled
here, to fall

apart, like an art
our strained and pained,
preyed humanity
how to get to the tender of trust
when all here, defensive blows
so swift to strike,
war of ego and vanity

so much possible,
yet impossible the same,
i came, remarkably, to love you
not fill you with blame
and all the tragic, too often
"more of the same"

safe/unsafe
there is something inside
your dangerous reign
something unspeakable
i cannot reach, explain

yet i find myself
a captive
to the want to try
again and again

risking the ruin
the message, worn thin
i retreat, or at least try to
lick the wounds,
yet called back to you, when...

you seem to be the only one
i am speaking
from the depths, the inner soul
seeking
something safe in your unsafe
as if you, unconsciously now
have put me, your world
in my proper, rightful place

the meaning, it may have
gotten lost, in the dark
the bludgeon of purity,
the stoic in stark

contrast to
the good intent,
i came with, upon you
unlike any other,
nothing tried, nothing true

never came to harm,
scare, like a hope,
heart, imbued

i just somehow got lost
in the depths of the safe/unsafe
punctured psyche, reality, recognition

of all the things torn apart, us both
inside, now conditioned

the endlessly searching,
silent knowing/unknowing
drown, here defined,

safely, unsafely

as

the naturally, organically
developed dynamic

me and you....


bowen hart roselli
27 september 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

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

rip me open to repair me, right
change my thought patterns,
heal my sight

make me see all my bullshit,
what it is
betrayal of the self
should never have been
the break, bone, wish

the things we do to ourselves, unbelievable
just to think, for a moment
"escape the wounds", be receivable

by some force,
some universe, unknown
then karma strikes,
with a blunt blow,
stung

like living inside the burn,
bruise, blood
the tear in the skin, scabbed
itching, stitched, come

a constant reminder
just another lost human, underneath
with a dream, an "other half"
our whole, found, complete

that "one", in warmth
electrify, envelope the sheets
embody, in body, psyche
the "always", in connective rhythm
heartbeats

that pulse together
two storms struck, lightning
tethered
to the gift, awareness, "adored"
is a state called "truly"
rare, in existence, anymore..

so simple, yet, so tragically complex
in a world, "can't wait",
for what comes next
"hypnotized, not to live in the now"
but for "the next one", unzipped
"they might be even more hung, well endowed"

or better cherry, chosen
more ready and willing
to be "popped, licked, lolly, opened"
in a land of "no one owes you a thing"
think about the selfishness implied,
what's that?
it's called an "alone", scarring sting

that alters you, immeasurably
somehow numbs "the plumb"
tart, so pleasurably
passed around, from the tree of life
what is a whore, but someone's
"dishes done", drained wife

or husband, home
but emasculated for
the credit card, "more!"
replace what we've got,
what, with we don't need
"it was perfectly fine",
but watch, the cycle repeats

the one that in volumes, of silence,
it speaks
too often, we are strangers,
chosen partners, spread, sheets
it's "don't ask, don't tell"
in a hole, as in "rabbit",
devours "the divine", dreams
our dwell

upon all that, which we want,
think, "don't have"
but is often right there,
right in front of us, fell

but can't see it, blind
to the truth, fear, "too kind"
to the fixation, it has to look
exactly as we picture,
like a catalogue, flipped,
frothing, foaming, at the mouth
"perfect fixture"

that we never find, of course
look back, as in "don't"
you just might feel that thing
called remorse
you just might see the truth
that was there
all along, the mirror
your seeping sad eyes, haunted stare

so please, take heed
and please, be aware
sometimes "the seek", in your sought
it's right there.
the soul that's present in focus,
whole being
but you are blind to it,
doesn't fit, your ideal
only seeing..

that which isn't
not that, which is
that, what is fated,
your "underneath",
"careful", wished

as sometimes, the universe
in all it's "mysterious ways"
it has other plans...

and it sees through,
knows all our games.

the one's we've played,
to oblivion and back
the ones on ourselves,
our worst enemy, attacked

so take a seat,
grab some popcorn, relax
watch the film, in your mind,
play out

and the answers, in the end
final reel, leave no doubt

that the war, it was you,
inside me, all along
and, for the same in reverse,
to be revealed..

you've gotta be ready,
stand, unbelievably

strong.


bowen hart roselli
8 july 2020
ringwald love

serenity, like divinity
his alive, sweet awake
inspiring this new road, untraveled
within, so moved, compelled, partake

just focus on the water
the sound of it
rushing
feel and sit
amongst the gods
nothing false,
sacred, the silence, secrets forthcoming

schizoid strays of psyche and soul
gone, like the games, we live and die
upon, roles
of the worrier, the warrior
the bruised up boy, the boring girl

"not today"
his, another one
enlightening, inspiring phrase
that without him, my eyes
wouldn't have seen,
like the light in the day

as in,
"what do we say to the god of death"

does he like, does he know?
he encapsulates so much of my
thought, my breath...

amongst the water.
i am secure, i am safe
this clean and clear truth.

nothing else feels real,
matters

but him.

(that is you)

and all i have got left
is this re-imagined, reawakened
heart,

filled,
this truth.

and little to even less
is more
than the slightest sliver, shiver
possibility

he knows this
and is pleased
in his own space of silence
his own enveloping waters

a slight smile
we both know
he will never dare
let on to me.

captured
without compromise
i am guilty
his overcome, overpower of me
and all i can blame
is that voice
and those eyes


bowen hart roselli
3 july 2020
ringwald love 

i was wrong
and that's ok
i will live to see another day
i will not, however
be quite the same
transformed by the loss of you
and all of the shame

that swells and floods
comes crashing, like waves
that taunt and haunt
this path for me, paved

a "you" focused soul,
so alive in the giving
this, the only way
i understand, called real living

yet brutality strikes
time and again
what i think that is real
all in my head, heart, a sin

it seems that i, just don't get it
give in
most everyone much happier
in focus, first and last, just on them

what they want and need
what they can gain from "the take"
in receive
and when they are done
it's on me, left alone
to solve then, the puzzle
what is wrong with me,
the love lost, no home

inside of me
to feel strong, safe, secure
there once was a time
i thought i was sure

that trust was a gift
that most would not betray
so whore-i-fied
to learn here, this all just a play

of words and emotions
rarely real, beyond the moment
and at the end of the day
all you are, you must own it

every perception, misplaced
every time you fell, from another's
good grace
every time you sold your soul
for the fleeting warmth, an embrace
that was forgotten, the moment
pre-planned, gone, left, no trace

of remembrance
or acknowledgement
it takes two, a bond
that lasts either a lifetime
or for the all too common
"didn't mean much, so then
not very long"...

someday
to die
in the arms, another
a lover, compassionate
strong

who sees, understands
for some of us
the path is tumultuous, long

for the lasting of love, pure
there is no hand, place, cure

amongst the "care less"
want, wealth
and
"the never can quite trust yourself"

to ever know, when its safe
less, a land of ruin and rape
to be naked, vulnerable
"mask off" and sure

for the dreams, visions
"belong to you", beautiful
what some of us
will put ourselves through

endure.


bowen hart roselli
26 may 2020
ringwald love