It was a sunday,
that I remember like it was
and I wished,
I could kiss your lips,
and feel you emotionally.
But the problem,
with intimacy is,
it’s mostly a two way street.
emotional or physical.
So I stand back,
and look at the lights,
as they hit your soft eyes,
and tell me things about myself,
I never really knew.
I took pride in the fact,
I wanted nothing,
and life gave back the same.
But as you entered,
I soon came to realize,
that everything will change.
and it did,
good or bad,
I still can’t decide.
But I wish,
I was as simple,
as coloring a page,
and colors and detail.
anyway you want,
anyhow you want.
But I am a jigsaw puzzle,
with the pieces thrown together,
most of them missing.
You came to me,
when I needed it most.
But it’s not enough,
to rid of my ghosts.
Insecurity is a burden to be,
which is why i cling to independency.
I wish it were different,
but you are you,
I am me.
I lost myself once upon a time
in a place that was only whispered to me in dreams.
Where the fog is thick and threads through the seams
of street lights and street cars with bum fights and brillo bars.
I tell you I lost myself on the tongue of insanity
who swallowed my soul to feed its humanity.
I lost myself
in a city that found me;
San Francisco, 2013
Let me extend two points like two bridges
that begin in separate places but lead to the same thing.
I’m talking the people in both hands with countless art in between.
The people, the people, the people.
What can’t be said about the near million faces
sleeping on warm pillows or cold stones,
wearing top hats or traffic cones
because not every night are people thriving.
But they’re still surviving, getting busy living or getting busy dying.
In their eyes are stories being told
once you wipe those windows into their souls, deep.
You see it all,
Just like every star in the fall when the sun goes to sleep.
I gave a homeless man a dollar who gave it to another homeless man who then gave it back to me
Like we were passing a love note that said, “You need this more than me.”
So which of us was the one without the home?
Home I soon found in the art of every step taken,
one foot in front of the next.
I can’t walk through that city discounting the side effects.
I was drunk,
but not from bottles or cans
I was drunk from the hands
that told tales with graffiti art to camera pans.
and countless other melodies
massaging bricks into the landmarks that spanned.
Culture sprinkling up and down the hills and between the cracks
Painting colors in the sky as the rainbows stacked,
Finding pots of gold by merely lifting my eye lids back.
There is so much to say about this city in the bay,
that is held in place by the people of race
and the vessels of art that encompass in its space
like stories and attitude,
survival and gratitude,
muse and expression
in delight or depression.
I tell you I lost myself in that city.
But I know now that being lost is sometimes the only way to be truly found.
I thought of being an artist
A career I’ve always dreamed
But perhaps I wasn't the smartest
It wasn’t as it seemed
The lines disconnect and break
These colors a garish hue
A piece most bleak and fake
Is one I always rue
My hands mislead my mind
Unable to recreate for me
The picture I imagined, I find
This frustration a hefty fee
Art is expression, or so they say
But how can I express, I ask,
When my art only blocks the way
And proves a more daunting task?
i am every unfinished poem that sits in piles of crumpled paper by your waste bin and every crowded thought in the cranial space above your neck. i am every word that begs to be free from the tip of your tongue but remains just out of your memory's reach. i am comprised of the colors of sunrise but am more the mood of a sunset. i am the familiar fingerprints on your favorite coffee mug. i am a wicker rocking chair on somebody's grandmother's porch. i am bite marks on your pencil and the crick in your neck. i am the vacant blurry buzz of an old television set. i am all of the places i have never been. i am lovers' names carved into summertime tree bark, promising "forever" - only to fall short of that promise by the time the leaves change. i am here. i am not where i belong.
you are the gravity that keeps my feet on earth. you are the atmosphere i breathe. you are the rain that feeds my soul & makes flowers grow. you are my revival and my revolution and the courage i kept hidden inside of closed fists for so long i formed crescent moons in my palms. you are an unstoppable fire that is burning me alive in the best way. you are the only rooftop i have ever visited that i haven't felt the urge to jump off of. you are the gentle hum and rumble of the washing machine i used to nap beside when i was a little girl. you are the creaky wooden swing in my backyard where i sat for countless hours and smoked and cried and pondered. you are all my favorite odds & ends bound together by my wildest dreams. you are sometimes so beyond my understanding, that i wonder when i'm going to wake up; and if i ever did find out that you were just a dream, i would bang on heaven's gates and plead with god to let me sleep. you are there. i am here, you are there.
one of us needs to move.
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
This will be the smallest, most insignificant, most trivial,
And most forgettable poetic parable anyone has ever written
Because for once I’ve been wrung of all my deep evocations
I’ve been whittled of my angular description of the commonplace
Of verbose, grandiose trajectories mapped out
By minds I will never exist alongside but I will sure emulate
I have sat down and asked myself, innumerable times,
“Okay, so how will I describe the sunrise now?”
And more importantly, perhaps more existentially:
“What about the sunset?”
What colors haven’t I used, what other comparable thing
Haven’t I eluded those colors to,
And what kind of uncharted, beautiful, spiritually-boggling human emotion
Hasn’t been tapped by this setting star until right now,
Right as I string together letters like they’ve
Never been strung before?
There’s the endless wellspring of my poetic—
Oh, look, there I go, visualizing thoughts and feelings
As a mystical, water-associated apparatus
(It’s my go-to)
For a time more innumerable than the sunrise.
I’m getting tired of it,
And I can’t imagine how mind-blowingly dull it must be for you
So I’m going to try it like this:
I see the sunset again, and tonight it’s very pretty.
But, poet, this kind of routine, boring description
Doesn’t do much for me.
I know what a sunset is, I’ve seen it
My three year old can probably
Get a pretty accurate crayon drawing penned out in a few seconds
And that will hardly distinguish itself from
What you’ve made the sunset out to be
But, poet, from all across the world, from their unique angles
All the aspiring poets gaze toward the same sun,
Whether in setting, whether rising, or hung there in the sky
And describe it as a tantalizing metaphor
And then relate that sun
To a deep, embedding, defining emotion or craving for human connection
As if to say,
I see the sun that way too
I feel that way too
And then those poets submit their poems to publishing
And watch the sunset as any normal person would
Once they’re out of the mode.
In fact, what’s on television? / Shut the blinds, Dylan,
There’s a glare on the screen.
This poem hasn’t brought itself out there, out to you
As a grand accomplishment of absolute detachment
As a way to try to break the barrier of poetry once again,
To define itself as a new genre, or an edgy statement the author
Very desperately intends his audience ‘gets’
Or even to prove an angle nobody has ever seen or attempted before
Because how I am supposed to know how you think?
Or what you see, and how you see it?
This poem is a message of the ordinary,
That it’s okay, it’s absolutely fine, to remove the mysticism from the mundane
And understand the world as a beauty in itself,
One that doesn’t need the aloof, grand, mystical verbosity of poetry
To be felt as something poetic
In fact, I won’t even leave you to ponder the greater meaning of it,
Of this line, or that line. I will say it here,
At the end, at the climactic and awesome point of emotional delivery
That all poetry intends:
I see the sunset again, and tonight it’s very pretty.
Crying is nothing
But red tears came
A broken heart surrendered
A tired mind remain
Agony is here
As I cut my blood
I hang on to dear life
But then I give up
Life is but without colors
And happiness is what I lack then
Emotions so powered
But no glass to fill them in
My life rush through days
But nothing interesting
Seems to happen
Your life so serene
Continue to live
But here I stop
I wrote this poem for you because
you smoked your cigarette
sitting on those steps in
was it the smoke
or your breath
I saw in the brisk air
coming out of your mouth?
I’ll never know
I wanted to bottle it up
and watch it
colors in the setting sun
I wrote this poem for you because
you had a nose stud
that sparkled in
like your laugh
in the warm record store
like your eyes
when you mistook me
for being in college
like your fork
as you ate another bite
of your apple pie
with cherry topping
I wrote this poem for you because
you talked to me
like I was your friend
and I don’t even
I’m rummaging through the sounder parts
Of my brain trying to find
The important parts of
Where I touched you and where I felt you
How I touched you and how I felt you
Like old photos
I’m trying to configure every speck
Of color in your eyes that I saw when you looked
Into the sunset through the window –
There were blues and greens
And everything in between
When I roll over
To lie face down in bed
My sheets smell like the warm parts of your neck
So I reach down to grab your hand
And lace our fingers together
Like grape vines
But all I end up with
Is a fistful of duvet
This morning I woke up with the echoing
Of your voice calling me “honey”
Tonight I will fall asleep with the echoing
Of your voice saying my name
In the morning I will warm up
With a cup of coffee
And with the image in my head
Of how bright your eyes become
And wide your smile gets
When you talk about the ocean
And how the barnacles would get stuck to your feet
And how beautiful
The colors of the sunset
Looked against the evening sea
Because of that moment, you were led here,
If that had not happened, this wouldn't be
Everything happens, making other things clear
Just never woulda guessed that you'd be so important to me
Simple little actions, fingertip movements, linked us into conversation
An open bridge was built that night for our souls to travel across freely
Emotionally jumped into each others' soulful arms, without hesitation
Each message read was like a piece of our heart that we were inadvertently stealing
Every time your face popped up on my screen,
My heart would nearly skip a beat
Right now, many miles lay inbetween
But in roughly two weeks our bodies will finally meet.
Already in you I've let myself be vulnerable, comfortably
The pictures we paint with words depict something I can really see
I feel each slightest touch as if you were here enveloped in me, effortlessly
We've already raised each others' spirits and expanded frequencies
I think about you being here, or me there, frequently.
Thinking of hugging you instills a kind of peace in me,
Call it tranquility...simple pleasantries..call it anything..
~So long as it involves love~
You say I've done so much for you
But words are never enough.
Just symbols, to represent, stuff
Independent to the perspective
I just hope I symbolized meaning that was effective
How much I care.. I really meant it
Because if I didn't mean the content, I wouldn't have sent it
Hearts on the sleeves with arms extended
For any wound in your soul I wanna mend it.
Anything on your mind you can come to me and vent it.
I at least have a little bit of time left, I wanna come to you and spend it.
We're gonna have to take advantage of time spent, so to not regret it
Already deep within me you are embedded,
Talked so much in a short period, just know everything was true when I said it
Just as it is in the current, riding waves of light that'll promise us at least one night.
Frigid, snowy weather,
yet warm together~
It's our endeavor to better ourselves,
And I'll always be there for you when you need help.
I tend to move in stealth, but I make myself known.
My daydreams, embraced by you feels so at home.
If you're ever down, feeling alone
I'm here, pick up the phone, no matter the time zone
I'll send my electrified vibes flying through the air faster than a drone
some say it's tossed around too much,
But I say too little
They put rules and complications on it,
trying to find an answer to the riddle
I told you I could say it to strangers
But it's hard, romantically speaking,
as if there's impending danger.
But if the feeling's true we shouldn't waiver
For there's no guaranteeing there'll be a later
Even though right now I'm feeling blue,
I have nothing but love for you,
You make me think of brighter colors
Meshing energies like long lost lovers