That tree
The oak out front
The one indelibly tattooed on me
In full moon light
When everyone is quiet
Above all imposed virtue
Moreys
Those vanish
Comfortably in their dreamscapes
Meeting their lives love
Committing Crimes
They would never imagine
Appropriate
Necessary
Fair
Or in some cases
Riding on the back
Of an ice cream donkey
Into the sunset
In that quiet
I can see
With all certainty
Who that tree really is
Im looking into the eye of a scowling Bowser
Two eight-limbed horns
This is the tree
That triple dog dares me
To stop squatting
Not this front porch
Unfiltered and French inhaling
Sighing because this tree
Is shaming me with its boughs
Leave!
It dares me
And I will
I should
So I can find
Like the dreamers above
my life's love
Pea ess. I really need an ice cream donkey.
you breathed me in
on a cold november night
you showed me what its like to live
under the pale moonlight
hours of tag
played between
two sets of eyes
brought us here
well, there
and looking back
I wonder how it ever passed by
your words flowed
to the wavelength of my mind
time stopped
I am full
but now
im used to
the sequence of time
your mind is slipping further from mine
already has left here
or there
~<3
late at night
and all I do is wonder
what it would be like
and what we would do
if you claimed me as your lover.
I wonder if you would hold
me tight as you chase my monsters away
and kiss me so hard
that my lips begin to numb
I wonder if you would gaze into my eyes
with a warm smile engraved onto your face
I wonder, and I continue to wonder all night long
I wonder if you do too
my misery
doesn't particularly like company
but sometimes it likes tequila?
it makes me sleepy
at least then i can take a break
from thinking
what i want
no one can give me
though i feel like i don't ask for much
i don't need therapy
nothing is wrong with me
i need someone else to acknowledge
the reality of this construction
the reality of my situation
but that takes thought
and effort...and no one wants to think about that
i found a cure
for unrelenting
and unreturned
desire
and friendship
it is misery and hopelessness.
i used to be self-righteous and holy
until i knew better
i listened and heard silence
i'm on my own
where i was hesitant
i want to be bold
self-conscious
i want to be free
but i'm hot
my ankle is chained
i'm rejected
i'm miserable
and i just want to lay on the floor
for a year or two
with a thimbleful of tequila
and straighten things out.
I want to be the first person you think of when you wake from a long nap after a hard day of work. The one you just can’t get enough of. I want you to love me like you will never see me again, knowing you will see me within the next couple of days. I want you to love me for who I am which includes my flaws and the parts of me that I wish I could change. I want you to kiss me like I am the only girl you have ever kissed. I want you to love me enough to tell me when I am wrong, but also to support me when I am right. Even if it is only us standing. I want you to feel confident when I am around, knowing that I won’t be going anywhere fast. I want you to love me enough to bring out the laughter that I love sharing with you. I want you to hold my hand in front of everyone, just so they know how happy we are together. Most of all though, I just want you to love me. <3
4 corners in the peak
of the room, the
choleric teacher has finally
let his guards down over
the wild hysterics, throwing
paper airplanes over heads,
over the pretty-perfect bleach
blonde girls only caring
about that new band,
over the tight glasses hunching
over their spick and span notebooks
over the video-game playing
boys punching keyboards
over the introverted hoody-hiding
kids, over the cynic stoned eye
blooded kids, over the goody-two shoes
filling calculations in the pockets
of their minds.
and i am in between air lines,
drifting like the wind, like they are clouds
curled together whilst boards and
screens shine over them,
and i am sighing, writing poetry,
wishing i was in another place,
wishing i was in a room full of
pages pressing against my soul
and poets lurking eyes of
prose and stanza.
contracting breaths
between the sentences
of those faceless giants
that surround me
without a comprehensible sound
lost
and not quite yet
found
you'll come around,
but only once I've given in
sin, skin, and cigarettes
fleeting hope
and looming regrets
in overcast limbo
fool me once
shame for life
you said you'd never hurt me
but the pain came twice
tell her that she's alone
that she deserved it
she's on her own
well I won't let you take
her voice away
she likes to fuck
but you like to pray
kiss and makeup
because there is plenty else to hate
and your ignorance is out of date
your loneliness is just a phase
but hakuna matata is just a phrase
and happily ever after
is just a ghost in the wall
high, tripping, and falling
into ink
into dreams
into distant fucked up haze
of your forgiveness
which I am expected to accept
even when you took away
until there was nothing I had left
an intolerable possibility
that I should be so willing to receive
your gold paved poor intentions
pour them
into my poor eroded throat
just to be evoked
from a bottomless pit
where my insides should be
no clear beginning or end
to myself, or identity
like a blurry negative
or a softly fallen tree
keep the change
the empty promises
the debt and the punishment
but I'm breaking the mirror
and not the habits I loathe
dissociation
a celebration and emancipation
from the tunnels of my mind
winding and finding
yourself
so undone
this is a war that can't be won
without losing
One: never listen to Bon Iver
when making important decisions
Two: appreciate sleepy grey cities
and their buttery suburbs because
you will miss them like hell
once you have to leave for good
Three: when in a car on the first
snowy night in December with that
boy you like, kiss him hard on the mouth
even though your mother's watching
Four: regret can make you ill
Five: indulge several minutes each day
to patch yourself up--rub your heels,
clean your fingernails, squeeze
the fat on your hips tenderly
Six: you'll find your way back home
somehow, but in the meantime
continue to press on
I think
my father was born a giant
but somewhere along the line
he shrunk
to the size of a man.
Once,
like a pea,
he could hold me
in a single hand.
Rough,
and calloused.
They felt like sand.
Warm, and welcoming.
My father’s laugh
like the ocean
would roar and boom
and grow soft.
My father’s roar
like the storm
would rise and fall
with the fall of his hand.
I once was a pea.
I once was a seed.
I grew.
I grew and grew
and grew
until the tears
weren’t quite so ready
and my hands were rough
like sand
paper.
If only I could
smooth
out my life.
Every surface tread
with steady steps.
Every surface
would be even.
My thoughts
I could fit
in a neat, tidy
box.
File them away.
File him
away.
Though I imagine he would
Hate
the tight, muddy space
beneath the ground.
I imagine he would
hate
me more.
For now
the only sounds I hear,
blows I fear
are the ones that won’t fit in the file cabinet.
i remember when i first tried to
tell him about what happened
to me.
i remember going up to him,
like any normal day,
and saying "hi."
he smiled,
asked whats up and
instead of being all cute
like i usually am,
my smile faded and i
couldn't speak.
he knew something was wrong and
he asked, "is it boy problems?"
i laughed a bit,
told him "kind of" and
then i backed away and
said "maybe next time."
i should've told you then.
maybe this hell i'm living in
wouldn't have been so hot with
you here to
cool me
off.
