Looking back, it's almost comical
thinking of times I've sought shortcuts
and found myself fumbling
through dead-ends and dark alleys.
I did not know you can't cheat time.
I did not know I was trying.
Looking around, I'm still in this town,
and all roads have led me to now.
Difference is, you weren't mugged
for all that you had
seeking the easy way out.
all of my journals
of half-written things
and half-lived experiences
with half-hearted repentance,
because i can't even commit
to being noncommital.
flipping through them offers
a full representation
of the half-alive girl
who wrote them.
I've never had much of a green thumb.
I've always been far better
at burying things
than planting them.
It's like the sun shines through the Earth
on us, in this darkest minute of night before
the world spins back around to face the day;
through to where we dream together, in lofty
clouds above our heads. it's in this minute
I wake and realize, with your sleepy arms
around me, the love I'm in. enough in love
to feel the sun in only its sleepy reflection, cast
over the moon; to feel the Moon pulling the tide
that is your light breath— in to fill your chest,
Out over the arch of my ear. All it takes to fall
in love all over is your hand across my
heart & lungs;
Lately I'm so tired,
like an asteroid lost in orbit.
Set fire to a match
and now I'm burning for it.
But if there is anything
left I'm sure is true:
Honey, I am tired,
but I'm not tired of you.
Constantly so puzzled
when the pieces just don't fit.
Down the road, I'll work it out,
I feel so sure of it.
Oh, but when you kiss me,
who could care if that was true.
Honey, I am puzzled
but not ever about you.
For so long I've been in love
with no one but myself.
Hid all of the step ladders
and my heart on the top shelf.
The thing just gathered dust,
something I never meant to do.
But you brushed it off and now
I'm so in love with you,
so deep in love with you.
light and quickening,
candle flame flickering,
on my skin
clenched like iron grips,
backs arch, base to tip,
bridging where we'll go,
where we've been
in the sunrise,
with both of us here,
will you think about me?
or about her and everything?
The kindling you saw in her eyes
when she told you
if she wasn't his,
you'd be hers
(and if you not mine,
When I grabbed at the sheets
and you grabbed for your jeans
Was it about your hurry?
or about her and everything?
Everything, everything, all of and anything,
anything that is not me.
the chasm in my chest.
it was Lewis
who thought and said it best.
My words are stifled echoes,
my mangled hands are tied,
and the heavy doors of Hell
are locked from the inside.
The leaf and the petal
from which spring sprouts spirit.
The honey and metal
Forged in a kettle
for all who will hear it.
They meet in the meadow,
this lady and fellow.
Ignite, and catch flight
on the wind.
Stardust and cinder
from fusion of splendor
return to the ether again.
Smooth and sure,
like he shaves with Ockham's razor.
Knocking on her door
at 2 AM.
is you'd think that it would phase her,
but she walks right down the stairs
to let him in.
Fifteen cents in my pocket
feels like losing.
Each drag leaves me a dime
and five grams of coin,
An addict never gets his change
Just fives and tens.
Quietly sleeping, maybe dreaming,
I hear your heartbeat over mine.
I like it better.
Not long ago we spent nights awake,
holding hands, staring past the ceiling
fumbling for words like kids
arranging lettered magnets on a refrigerator door.
So afraid of the feelings
buzzing in our chests like frenzied honeybees
and the sweet, simple words they made
in the combs of our hearts.
The sweet, simple words on the tips of our tongues.
Oh, I could taste them each time you kissed me.
Now we lie here,
quietly sleeping, maybe dreaming
or holding hands, staring past the ceiling
resting on the flowerbed our love made.
What exactly does it mean for me
to wisely my time allocate--
abstain, refrain, to lie in wait?
What more, in afterlife, will I see
in living this life pleasure-free?
Have I opted out of golden gate,
if I, myself, do desecrate,
a Plan which may or may not be?
What precisely does it mean for me
to think instead I choose free-will?
Is there such thing as novelty
or is all written, so it shall be?
As the great end nears, I will know nil;
as I know not now, I will know then, still.
I've never been the type
to let my heart burn a hole in my pocket.
I never needed to be told
not to spend it all in one place.
you are an investment.
It's all currency-
our time and attention,
affection and joy.
I'd like to spend it all with you.
My mind spent too much
time engaged in senseless doubt
though I knew the thoughts
were wasted I was resigned
to hear them out. After
I could see
earned release ; in ex-
change for my destruction,
I discovered inner peace.
In purifying my own soul I
see the goodness of the whole
On my way from you,
taking the last trip down your steps,
I slipped on ice we'd watched freeze from sheets of sleet,
from sheets of jersey cotton.
I caught myself,
but not before thinking back to that fall evening,
to the warm rain that oiled the top of our stairs across town;
back to when, on my way to you,
I left him
and lost my footing.
Grace aside, these moments
parallel in a way that fissured not bone,
but my psyche--
defining at once
this new she who sought one,
despite she who belonged to another.
Oh, the things she did say,
this foreign half of me,
as, descending your crystal-coated staircase,
she heard herself, for the last time, speak.
We had both fallen so in love with the sound of her voice.
On my way from you,
I caught myself,
and pushed her down the stairs.
The overhang saves my parking place
on warm nights, too dark for walking.
Green and alive, it juts out above the brick,
a shapely mess of twig and vine.
By noon, I unlock my doors to find
that it has littered my car with seedpods.
Each with five projections:
finger-like, with digits,
like your hands, like your fingers;
sliding off my body as I pull away.
I am half-way home
and my car is clean.
I planted flowers in the bed--
I tilled the ground up new:
for daffodil and iris bulbs
to grow tall in your lieu.
Not lily nor mum,
no, nothing did come:
as did nothing of you.
dreams suspend me
and render me breathless,
in transcendent bliss with you.
with no tethers or binds,
so clear in my mind
is the freedom i've missed with you.
my heart throbs wildly,
from the feelings inside me-
for the things that i wish that you knew.
it's here in this place,
where i know only your face,
that i tell you i love you, and do.
my favorite part
is, I'm not sure
which of us was trembling;
today i bruised an apple,
i split him to his core.
all he wanted was to nourish me
and nothing more.
once a fragrant flower
fitted in a white bouquet,
he chose to be support for me,
and i cast him away.