Like rosemary twigs, and lavender leaves,
The loss that tore my heart open today,
Chews at my body and mind.
In my stomach I feel an aching from the emptiness therein.
Excitement is low, and I can’t hear the beating of my heart.
That organ seems so quiet and careful,
That I wonder if it’s my heart keeping me alive
Or just some force of the universe or my will.
At times my mind seems like rice paper,
An empty sheet of white with no words written on to tell a story.
At others, my thoughts drift backwards in time,
Wishing that all the moments before would still be alive for later.
I always thought mouths were for kissing, smiling, and laughing.
Isn’t that a beautiful fiction?
Be it is not a hundred miles close to the truth.
Yes, mouths do kiss, and smile, and evoke laughter,
But the movements of the lips are also quick,
Like the strike of a snake.
These mouths spread talk and venomous gossip,
One to another,
Like an apocalyptic plague that brings to all fever and vomiting.
Wouldn't the world be as perfect as an ivory-bell-flower?
If there was no heart break, gossip, or endings.
Here I sit now,
Sitting on my knees with my hands resting on my legs,
And my back arched forward,
Like a monk in meditation.
The rosemary and lavender is growing all over me,
Transforming my body into a scented orb of green.
My feet are long
Long enough to be considered big
Both my big toenails are ingrown
and none of my shoes fit right
On my right leg I have 38 scars
Some of them are so faint
They are almost gone
38 and even though I put every single of them there
not a single one
is my fault
On my left leg I have no scars at all
None whatsoever
A blank slate
Marred only by a small
Dark
Splotchy
Crooked
Heart
it wasn’t meant to be a literary device
My belly is a minefield of pimples and hair and scars and scars and scars
the beautiful thing sticks out farther than my face
it’s large enough to be considered fat
and none of my shirts fit right
Sometimes I feel bad for my breasts
Always squished under the same two bras
inside
outside
inside
outside
if i flip them around that means they’re not dirty anymore
My fingers are bony and thin
People recoil when they see them
They don’t bend the right way
And it hurts to hold a pencil
Maybe they’re ingrown too
My arms are
arms
only one scar worth mentioning
and only worth mentioning
because it was the first one i put on myself
My neck is sensitive
and always sore
it sends a shooting pain down my spine
and i cradle it and ask
what
My face is bright
even if my eyes are dull
big and dull and blue with long lashes
too fucking feminine
i try not to make a 39th
its not my fault
i am beautiful
but beauty belongs to women
The way I speak
In the car in the morning, or under trees
Is swathed in darkness
My words build walls and facades
And cunning passages, contrived corridors
Deceit, whispered ambitions
I'm dispensing my secrets
But dispensing too soon, or too late
Into weak hands
Or disbelief or indifference
Or until their refusal to look me in the eyes propagates a fear
That no amount of courage on my part could ever dissipate
I'm covered in locks
Inside and out
But no one has the keys
And I am not beautiful enough
For anyone to bother trying
She said, "You make me feel like I'm in the wrong skin."
And as he sat there in contemplation of this newest revelation
She told him about Thursday
And how he'd kissed her that way
And how it made her feel whole
As if they were one being meant to be
Joined at the mouth,
But had snapped apart and were together
Again
She told him about the way her heart
Raced with anxiety
And her fingers shook every day
But when he kissed her everything went numb
And her brain thought slowly
And the world kept turning
And she wasn't afraid it would stop anymore
Finally,she told him about the skin
She told him that being away from him
M hr snap back to reality
But she had finally tasted happiness
And her old reality felt all wrong
She felt all wrong without him
She asked him if he loved her
She couldn't bear to leave him
He didn't hear a word
"But your skin is so beautiful."
And he leaned in and kissed her.
too much words,
can fracture.
a beautiful action,
full of grace and beauty.
the truth beneath them,
secrets pasted in between;
no one knows,
and will never we know.
A thousand winds blow through a tree
a tree that is left with old memories
a tree that was once so beautiful and bright
is now living with a constant fight
as spidery moss balls suffocate branches
limiting life that was once full of chances
roots that promised their way deep into the ground
leaving only the soft quiet sound
of the leaves that were once such a sight
falling to the freezing ground on this dreadful night
leaving it's mark within this place
hoping one day to feel the embrace
of springs winds and gentle rains
coaxing it leaves that come again.
the faces of everyone I know turn gray as they push themselves further and further inside
pointing in every direction
uniformity
i shouldn't need so much alcohol for this
at least not god
trying to defy gravity by turning myself inside out
just floating across the raindrops from under your gray expressions
why would you stop beating?
vibrating?
why would you stop sweating whenever you love someone?
why would you try to lift something that shouldn't be lifted?
why would you fear what's intangible?
why would you stop throwing yourself in the stench of the town's hollow eyes?
why won't you fall when you should stay upfront?
why would you push yourself away?
why would you calculate fear? especially when it's so beautiful? even if it's unreal?
why would you turn pale? so you could just say fuck you!?
so you could join the grey faces?
so you could think that there's a difference between what you feel and what others love?
so that you could just stop shouting from the top of your lungs until your heart would tear apart into hundreds of thousands of gods of your own?
so you could see only for a moment and then be blinded by your own reflection?
so then join the group so others can take your place
even if it's useless
even if it's horrible
even if it's just your lungs giving us everything we need
sometimes
even if it's just carelessness
on their part
even if they're imperfect
even if you're perfect
even if it counts
even if it could actually mean something
even if it will kill you in the end?
will you please stop now?
just stop sitting with your head pushed so hard against yourself that you turn into a mosaic of the town
stop making bridges out of yourself
stop reinventing everyone's love stories and
stop living your parents' lives
stop thinking that they love you because they do
stop painting flowers on every broken window
and stop harming what isn't there
even if you want it to
Sometimes magic is just make believe;
it holds no power to surprise
and this code by which you live your life,
can turn out to be a book of lies.
I’ve been waiting most of my life
for something real to arrive,
and now that it’s finally here,
why can’t I open my eyes?
Evil can look so beautiful,
if you dress it up just right.
And the dawn might never come,
even after you’ve seen the light.
I’ve been waiting most of my life
for something real to arrive,
and now that it’s finally here,
why can’t I open my eyes?
time
it flies in your presence
like a homing pigeon
back to me, only
when you're here
filling time with me
talking like we've known
known what its like to live
with and without each other
the latter isn't as pleasant
i suffer, like not breathing
holding air under the water
looking out and around
it screams within me, burns
we've been waiting some
waiting for the perfect time
when the stars finally align
to be together for a while
then it becomes beautiful
the war inside me slows
then stops, calms, breaths
the guns stop battering me
the bombs cease to impale
the birds fly, unafraid
taking time under its wing
like my homing pigeon
back to me.
the cool stone his breath, he digs
hoping to find what he is longing for
the shimmer of a gold vain? sure of what they said
o how they told him long ago
so he blisters, too deep to remember, and how long the depths
the pick axe worn thin, blood and bone and steal and will
rip into the next swing, and cold chunks of stone
fall onto cold chunks of stone, piles, drifting in two and three
...wanting gold
to dig into a swinging party this deep must be a farce… yet
his hands no longer blister, and finding love brief and wonderful,
wild flowers in bloom, a field of holly, the most beautiful
dancing, the sway and whimsy of a ball surround
wind harps sweet air; the beat of the drums stead fast
and after the waltz, the moon walks them home,
knees… begin to ache, the weight of her beauty sore,
her pedals fall against the shores of lapping tides
and fading dreams…
and the longing for gold remembers him
….....deep underground, he awakens to hands blistered dry, now laying beside… detached
knees worn away, and his arms too… just pain the mind reassures
leaving his limbs behind, he must be close… this body to drag, is at least a bit lighter now
for the journey is another mouth full of dirt, the warm carbon against busted teeth
a broken inch crawls into light, the eyes struck blind and his tired tears do not stop him…
still the warm glow, somehow a reminder of the past, an old guide longing to meet him...
and something ancient still looms behind him too, a trail… the thick shadow, of fresh soil
so thoughts convince, to the center of the earth
or maybe a candle, that knows not that it shines,
the warmth he has been longing for, the shadow of dust behind
told of gold, sets off into the soil, and deeps the cold stone
and the cruel trick! or so he thinks, there is no gold down here at all!
just his warm laughter…
and the light ahead…
and the dung behind…
and the earth worm
continues to dig
with a smile
less than an inch away...
from summer grasses
and blooming
goldenrod
