Sooner or later
The truth comes out
Like a kick in the head
A blow to your chest
Cut off at the knees
You weep those tears
Of bitter betrayal
Choke on the shame
Of being the last to know
Bleed out from the wound
Of that knife in your back
And you sit there thinking
Like the cold hand that touches me in the Winter
I cringe in Sadness every time
Too afraid to face the Cold
That hit me
With the force
Of a terrified band of horses
Running loose in the night
And when they reach me
I know it will hurt
A Memory of you
Passes through my mind
Each one a hard blow to my Heart
i am a blow fish,
i am a porcupine,
i am the poison mushroom,
the girl your mother warned you about.
i am the rabbit,
and the hole.
i am the last drink before you forget.
i am the sunburn,
on an overcast day.
i am everything you'll never be.
forgive i do not.
forget i do not.
foot so far out the door,
all you see is my shadow.
persistence will fail you,
ends of wits is all ill bring you.
I want to say something,
these words I can't keep,
but I'm afraid I'll lose you
after the tiniest peep.
I wish I could tell you
just how I feel,
but I'm afraid it's too much,
and you'll gasp and you'll reel.
I need to touch you
in the most gentle of ways,
but you're miles away,
the swim would take days.
I miss your voice
and your face
and your hair,
having to keep this inside
just doesn't seem fair.
I want you to shout out
how you feel about me.
I need to know
how you feel about me.
I wish you would tell me
how you feel about me,
so I can blurt out this passion
and finally be free.
The winter winds blow again
On fallen leaves
and broken hearts
The clouds cast
On the streets
we walk close
hand in hand
step in step
Motion by motion by motion
We are alone
We are cold
We are nothing
It doesn’t matter what we’ve had
Because in the end
the colors fall
and our lives are still
-Black and white-
Light is lost to the atmospheric tendencies
of the times we enter
We are cold again
there is no end
to these winter winds
Blowing our shadows
The sun splitting stones, he'd never been this cold
A traipse in a daze, he was what he was, and he was what he owned
All angles perfect, signal all systems go
A rushed scrawl of penance, you'll understand, don't we all in the end?
Knows the drawer, but draws them all
Watches, letters and diaries fall and scatter, his charge in amongst it all
Little thought then did he give to what they'd find
As he inclined the .45 to blow his mind
leather of codes
child of no garden I want to be trash shining metal bucket streets
echoes of his scars crash deeply from his quick glance and words
his crushed inner faces blow by me like shotgun shells flipping ejected
a warm burn enters my ear and falls to the ground like pure seed
there has been a siberian tiger heart perhaps
a trumpet's bright coming tip in the night is his voice
but night has no color, only the air of space and eternal infinite collossalness
he has not been there, he knows I think I have been
his voice hunts in silence the opening of his throat
I never felt my neck arch as though I were angelic spinning holy pollen
my feet are broken from my birth's uncertain angles
my white skin is somber to me and it dreams of thick, muscular hair
his back hunts me like a prowling silent perfect killer
he has no meat for me in his most beautiful kind thoughts, nor ice
I know he does not want my soul, its irrelevance like bad country music
he glares at me his eyes are beautiful in their transubstantial wizardry
as though I a child with no hope to ever be less or more
this is the way beer cans bounce of cars better than wet silken breasts may rise
he has felt his lover's wine fully enter him in his sweetest moments
I am a child of no garden he would have
but thoughts of exclusion are often only private codes of want
his serbian tiger motion is utter but I am child of no garden until I can dance
I know he so poignantly relevant would in some fierce and mad
teach me of my father
that I might be coddled beyond redemption my white skin
he wants to giggle a soft stance or a minion of pretense
I am fully truly what he sees, yet I cannot touch him
he has no time for me I would see my heritage's murderous take
he knows I bow down to his conspicuous innocence
he has forgotten the child he knows I think I have been
he wears a leather of codes I can never remember
you are not crazy, baby, but you need to stop chasing after wind.
it changes like a chameleon, blends into wherever it's comfortable
and always leaves you searching for something that doesn't want
to be found. you are not crazy, baby, but you are damaged like
the cardboard boxes left in the recycling bin. you keep folding in
all the wrong places, you need to stay strong, baby. you can't keep
using yourself up to make others feel what you want them to feel,
they have lives of their own, they've got brains in their heads, they've
got reasons, too. we all have reasons. you've gotta let them breathe.
you can't blow the wind in whichever direction you prefer just because
you prefer it because the wind is god-strong. it can move mountains,
it can collapse trees, and it will bury you too if you let it. don't push
against doors that don't want to be open. sometimes it's alright to be
alone, baby. sometimes you have to hold your own hand and sometimes
you have to kiss your own forehead and sometimes you've got to tell
yourself to breathe. you were put here for a reason, we've all got a reason.
we've all got reasons. baby, you can't make everyone fall in love with you,
you can't fix all the broken boys and you can't expect them to fix you,
they've got their own roofs to patch up and their own walls to spackle.
you don't get to choose who they pay attention to, baby, I know it's hard.
I know he turns your oceans into ponds, I know he turns the noise off,
but you've gotta be your own god, baby. you've got to learn how to draw
your own shades, learn where your volume buttons are, baby. press them
when you need to. learn to function. you don't need a hero, baby. you've
got yourself. and sometimes, baby, you've got to learn when to swallow
the rain, when to stifle all the rawness pouring out of you. not everyone
can handle the storm you harbor, but you can keep it still. you don't need
to be always raging, baby. sometimes it's okay to sleep.
you've got to learn how to be.
I am afraid.
I am afraid because I am here
And I want to walk away
But instead I am right here.
I sit here.
Do I sit here?
I think I'm doing it
Just to see how long I can.
It's like holding your fingers over a burning candle
To see how long you can stand the heat
Before your skin blisters
And you pull away, defeated.
I sit still.
I always sit still when it hurts.
I think stillness
Started a few years ago.
When I first hit the ground
I was afraid to breathe.
It was like I had been dropped from a high bridge onto a concrete sidewalk
And I knew
Knew beyond any doubt
That things were broken.
Things inside were very very broken.
Things were splintered and punctured,
And if I moved, even to draw a breath,
I would bleed out right there.
I think that's when the stillness started.
And now whenever I am hurt
Whenever something hits me
I go still as stone
Except for shaking hands
That flutter, fragile and white, until I clasp them tight together.
The world moves around me
But I stay still as death
Not even daring to breathe
As if I will be found
As if I will tear apart into a million shreds of wasted paper
And drift to the floor.
I stay so still my muscles ache.
I never cry.
I can't cry.
I just sit there and feel how peculiar the sense of damage is.
How odd it is to be full of explosions and debris whipping around inside
An utterly motionless body.
And part of me, even as I feel
With how much I know I'd die if my body betrayed my anguish in real injury
Part of me looks on from above,
With a detached analysis
Of this and that
Of just where I feel this blow
And this stabbing pain,
Of just how each moment changes me.
I freeze like ice outside
And burn like hell inside.
It is the most curious sensation in the world
And I hate it so much I would die to escape it.
And yet when it comes upon me
I do nothing
Nothing at all.
I say nothing.
I turn to stone, part by part,
Like I'm being submerged in drying cement
And finally my lungs
The top of my head
Until all that is left
Are my eyes
I am paralyzed
And I look out on a world in motion
Moments before I was a part of the rhythm like a heartbeat
But that was moments ago,
And we all know how much can change in just a moment.
When I am stone
You can come at me with a chisel
And I will say nothing.
Bang bang bang
And little chunks come off
A shard of my cheek
A finger at the joint
The swell of my collarbone,
They crumble when struck
But I can't move an inch.
I sit still.
I always sit still.
My stillness is the waiting.
It is the wish
It is the craving
Hot and metallic
To do something
To slice away how much I hate my own helplessness.
It is knowing that there is a relief
Besides just being saved.
There is a way to save myself
From this chaos inside
A way to feel better
My stillness is the resistance
The longing and the "No, I can't."
The firm denial
Cold as ice
Hard as granite.
Is it strong to let the world dismantle you by the inch
When you know you could get there first?
Is it strong to sit and take take take
And do nothing whatsoever?
Is a statue strong
Or is it just
they say it's easy to forget your troubles when the weather is warm
but all it takes is one fall breeze to blow reality right back in your thoughts