I'm the kind of flower
that grows out of concrete,
but with one look,
I appear just like a weed.
I've got a reinforced stem
and a will to burst through the cracks;
I don't wilt without water,
and I refuse to cut back.
I grow in adversity,
under the shade, in the dust,
in the hard rock pressing against
my roots, when it's rough;
but I'm not some simple dandelion
waiting for grubby hands to rip from the dirt,
I'm a flower, not a weed,
I cannot be deterred.
I never knew I could feel so shattered,
simply by leaving your room,
by hanging up a call too soon,
having my throat burning and clogged with a vigorous pain,
something that boils inside me
every time we have to walk away,
and I never knew I could miss someone while being just a foot astray,
a step too far has me clenching my hands together,
biting my lip,
trying to understand why I feel so strained;
why did no one tell me I could miss you like this?
"Is it all you dreamed of?"
She wished to be rich, famous;
to prance round with her name in
bright lights, flashing; a star all her own.
God, was she was happy-
She had a great debut, immediately a sensation;
people galore, a sea of pens, paper,
cameras swarming, flash after flash,
each one crowding her every movement,
Where was her escape? Where were the exits?
Her face on every newspaper, magazine, like a microscope image;
her faults hand-picked, like ripe fruit, a grape carefully picked off the vine and crushed slowly between the fingers.
What a dream she had thought long ago.
Never did sacrifice drift through an ear,
the day she walked onto the stage.
She sighed as she covered her panicked face,
yet more paparazzi engulfed her.
Soon her cheering fans ceased to exist,
her ideas merely trivial, a mistake;
scandals, fights, tears, she took a deep breath,
she couldn’t keep up with the spiral much longer,
Her name was known.
“Is this what you dreamed of?”
One drink after another, glass after glass,
she watched her career drown with.
Are all dreams worth living?
so yeah HERE
boom boom bust
a little bit of water makes a metal heart rust
boom boom pow
your gears wound up but you don't know how
boom boom crush
too many repairs make a weak heart mush.
Somehow I knew you before
in a cottage;
in tepid water;
in the absence,
my own prayers,
and in dreams detailing
small snippets of the to-be
like clippings of newspaper.
I thought I’d lost you,
and I waded through hail
trying to dig deeper,
but I hadn’t met you yet,
so when I started to remember
sleeping in my mind
I knew I had to trek back.
Your voice plays,
like a record long saved, tucked away,
playing as it did the very first time;
each touch, a step
to a dance I always loved
but convinced myself I’d forgotten;
your smile, a comfort lost in childhood
a sun shining in my memories,
and I knew I recognized it.
You had to be ethereal.
Dreams wash over my eyes
as my body trembles in sweat
beneath my sheets
chilled and starched
and with a resemblance
to the space of night
jumbled with stars from
the galaxy's jar;
left with my sputtered breaths
declaring disarray with
what the world has cooked
and what the conscience designed.