To expel the outlines piled in my mind on paper,
With a light pencil in one hand,
And slice of rubber in the other,
I parent an impression of hope.
Therein lies the potential and the excitement;
A basic figure given the foundation of grandeur,
Amplifying in complexity before me,
With every scratch of graphite.
As it evolves, a heaviness sets in.
And I pause,
And I stop...
I've given something beautiful a half life, again,
As if it was birthed human,
With no flesh to cover its nerves,
And no breath to cry out its agony.
It remains still in my lap,
Eyes blank as ever staring, maybe, at me .
Out of humility, I tack it up on the wall,
A space shared by its many siblings.
I retreat shamefully with the promise to complete them,
Fumbling with the reality of what I do;
Playing God, I shape the husk of a soul,
And drop it when it's still brittle.
I thought I forgot you
I thought I long had you buried
Deep in my memory.
I thought you could no longer haunt me
Like you used to do so often.
I thought I got over you
Until your eyes met mine today,
Once or twice at most and that was about it.
I couldn't look at you,
I couldn't look at you without bursting into tears,
So I burst into laughter instead.
And I suppose that you saw through my fake act.
You were there in your corner,
There in your pedestal,
There in your elegance
Drawing something dangerously beautiful
And you were beautifully dangerous.
I could only watch you from a distance
And learn to admire you
Without touching you,
Without kissing you,
Or fucking you.
We exchanged a conversation
About random things
You know, like
How it took me about an hour
To take a proper picture of the cat you gave me,
How it tragically died,
How I didn't cry when it died...
But I actually did cry when it died...
You looked all right, seriously.
There in your peaceful world
That I no longer was part of.
There in your artistic mind,
There in your capacity to forget,
There in your tendency to break promises,
There in the awful effect you always have on me.
So you said goodbye
Because you had something to go back to.
I said goodbye
Even though I had nothing to go back to.
We parted ways once again,
Me with your drawing pencil in my bag
And you, you my dear, with a piece of me
Inside your pocket.
I remember you once said forever, but you only lied.
I went home,
I went home and cried.
traveling through a large plane
an opalescent sky
wide, encompassing embrace
soft lavender-gray clouds float on a string
hovering like distant islands of heaven
a land promised
tender gradient pink to gray
mile-long notations drift
isolated in blue and soft gold
in shifting rays
your voice is holding me aloft
burnished and blending
filling my movement
rounding my heart
the rising moon
the sweet aching fullness
twinkling colored night
is to you
I've doodled and drawn till my skin's
Smudged grey from graphite,
I've erased and erased till shavings
Covered my floor like a rug,
I've drawn and re-drawn till I think
maybe... maybe it's good enough,
Then I change it some more,
Shade a part again,
Stain my skin some more,
Re-trace lines again...
And I think this time it's just about right,
Not quite, but it's alright,
So I pick up my pencil and
I started drawing when I was nine years old
I drew a picture of a cigarette holding my dad
I drew my friend Jimmy with his third nipple
I drew a picture of this kid Randall who had two nipples but no friends
When I was eleven I drew a comic
of this girl Michelle
stopping crime just by being pretty
she giggled in a bad way at me
but when her friends weren't looking
she squeezed my hand
and I drew a ten pictures of hands that day
I wanted to draw it so you could tell the person with the hand was smiling
without giving myself away
when I was thirteen I drew four hospital beds
and I drew each of my family members in one
and then I drew their coffins as statues
When I was sixteen
I drew Chicago
in the shape of a dollar bill
I drew love as a CD in a locked freezer
I drew God as a people-colored crayon
and Earth was the paper
when I was sixteen
I drew my nine year old self with
God in a coffin
buried with a crayon
like people are buried with crosses
When I was younger,
I wanted to be an artist.
I aspired to be someone
who made a difference,
Picaso or Vincent Van Gogh.
Someone who was remembered.
So like every little kid who has a dream,
I pursued it.
Saving up all the allowence I earned
In just 3 weeks
I had a total of $12.80.
Enough to fund the dream of a child.
I loved drawing.
From the minute I picked up my
I knew my dream was going to come true;
Even if it started with doodles...
of flowers and stick people.
So eventually I grew up and I gave up that dream
of being an artist that makes a difference.
I gave up,
because I couldn't master drawing the perfect person.
I couldn't draw
how the persons eyes shinned when they saw the love of their life,
I couldn't capture
the beauty in the young girls smile
as she ran through the field of daisys towards her father,
who was coming home from war.
I realized that you can't capture the beauty and the memories
that someone holds
with a dream and a $2.50 pencil.