Maybe you just don't understand,
I don't think you'll ever guess,
That I would rather
curl up with a book
than play on your
Nintendo DS.
There i s
beau tiful
trans-par-
e ncy in
o u r un-
s po ke n
w o r d s,
no embellished perfection, rather simple contented silence, a deriv-
ative of unhappy places where spoken words were once severing
w e a p o n s,
a n d a n y
h o p e o f
recon- cili-
a t i o n a
a c r u c i-
f i x beam
stret- ched
a c r o s s
our backs,
the weight
o f w h a t
n e a r l y
killed us.
I walk to the library
Everyday it's the same
Inside my head
I am calling your name.
Say hello to Denise,
And walk up the stairs.
And there you are,
Curled up on a chair.
Your face is pale
Reflects your DS,
And, as usual,
Your dark hair is a mess.
I see you glance up,
Look over at mw,
And then you come over
Put your hand on my knee.
We waste the day away
Just talking,
Kidding, laughing,
Joking, mocking.
It's funny but
I really don't find
You incredibly hot,
Or easy on the eyes.
And that brings me
To the most confusing bit
Is it that I don't love you?
Could that be it?
Maybe I only
Think of you as a friend,
But if that's true,
When'd my affections end?
For even though I praise
Your perfections
Thinking of you
Gives me know erection.
(Well, I mean,
of course it doesn't;
I'm not a boy,
but you get what I meant)
And that's the problem
That I see
Should I want you to
Fuck me?
I trace your outline
In my mind,
But never picture us
Behind,
A closed door,
Just us two,
Is it bad that I don't want
To kiss you?
At about
Nine o' clock
Before
The end
Of
The month
Of
My birth
I will
Not
Be
Standing here
On
this
dying
earth
Without you
My love
I will
Be
Standing somewhere
above
up
way star
your
with
In my right eye
with
the
on moon
my
neck
The scars will
Be on
the sun
and I will
still
Be on
another
planet
Watch for it
H y a s a n d S t e n o r n c h u s
L i q u i d c r y s t a l s an d S e a H o r s e s
A c e r a o r t h e W i t c h e s D a n ce
Iwillmeetyouonthefaceofthesun
Oratthebottomofthesea
I'm waiting for you to tell me.
I don't have asthma
but I can't breathe
I gasp for a breath,
but the air wont enter my chest
This just isn't fair
breathing air that isn't there
when everyone around me is fine
I thought I'd be okay
without you not being mine
But my emotions just stopped,
delayed by time.
But now they come back in a flood
and I can't balance,
standing on perfectly steady ground,
but my head is spinning around
with the thought of you
sitting behind where I stand,
when I need you next to me,
holding me hand.
d.s
Deep in the depths of the night
I feel like maybe I can love again
love one who is not you
love one who treats me right.
"I can do this" I think
And I try, and I do.
So I don't say goodnight.
But my eyes get heavy
and words feel sincere
but apparently they aren't,
because daylight is near.
But I can't say goodnight.
When I wake up the next morning
I think about you, and us
and I realize that no matter hard I try
my heart will forever be
wrapped around your finger.
I don't want to say goodbye.
And I can't love anyone,
If I'm not loving you.
But I refuse to say goodbye.
d.s
Time freezes
lists are forming
deep in this abyss
of shattered notes
and misinterpreted rhythms
the tones are all wrong
the strings being twisted
around the wrong octave
forcing you into a cave
of violent vibrations
with the beat off track
this isn’t how it’s supposed to be
this isn’t how it’s supposed to be
the lyrics are forming
the wrong rhymes
the songs aren’t being
sung on time
the individual beauty of sound
has been combined
into a mess of just noise
being produced
on the wrong records
being shipped
to the wrong record stores
when it should be here with me
it should be here with me.
d.s
I have so
much pain
that I could
write out
about how
I lost him.
But when it
comes down to it.
He may not
be mine anymore,
and that may not
have been my
decision,
but I wasn't
the one to
experience
loss.
I didn't lose him.
He lost me.
d.s
Six years old and I fell from a tree
My scrapes kness were proof
As I told the story to the kids at school
My mother bandaged them up
And kissed me on the cheek
And told me I'd feel better in the morning
Nine years old and my father hit me
My mothers tears were proof
As she screamed at him at 2am
I hid in my room that night
As the doors slammed loudly
And my mother wasn't home in the morning
Twelve years old and I hated school
And my failed report card was proof
As I changed my "Ds" to "As" with pen
My mother never noticed
And I stayed up late every night
And I could barley get up in the morning
Fourteen years old and a boy broke my heart
And my crippled self worth was proof
As I poured my thoughts into a journal
That my mother never found
And my best friend patted my shivering spine
And told me I'd forget him in the morning
Sixteen years old and I'd given up
And the slits on my wrists were proof
As the blood trickeld on the floor
My mother followed the drops on the carpet
And she screamed when she found me
And this time there was no morning
I've talked about
metaphorical scars on my heart,
that will never go away.
But I haven't spoken
about the literal ones
that my hips will
bare forever.
Little notes
of slightly discolored lines
on previously
perfectly toned skin.
They speak to me.
They talk,
they say things,
they remind me of days
and weeks and months
and events and times and people
and conversations I've had,
and feelings I've felt,
and moments where
I just thought I couldn't
do anything anymore.
"scars" pt 2.
d.s
