what is this feeling inside me right now? It comes and it goes.
it feels like a anvil on top of my chest, but it comes and it goes.
i try to avoid it, and keep living with it as it comes and it goes.
when i dwell on it longer it grows and it grows, while it comes and it goes.
it takes my smile and turns it around, and it comes and it goes.
i do not remember the cause of it now, for it comes much more than it goes.
how long has it been that I've laid here and thought, When, oh when, will it go?
a minute, an hour, a week, now a year.
come to think, its been here all of my life, and
i do not believe it will ever go.
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 3:47 AM UTC
My heart is too broken
To reminisce on the past.
I cannot continue
With what will not last.
One day you love,
The next day you hate.
Emotions are fleeting
But mostly they're fake.
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 3:31 AM UTC
You ask me to start feeling
And I trust you,
So I do.
Then you ask me
To stop feeling,
And now I love you
So I do.
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 3:23 AM UTC
I stare at the ice. My cheeks are burning, my hands are trembling. She looks at me staring at it. I look away quickly but look back at the ice when I see her head turn. She knows I need it. I see it melting in the cups she is setting out. Water. I need water.
Beside me is the wing, and a propeller is thrumming so loud it's making my head ache. I can imagine it spinning so fast the separate prongs are a blur, but I cannot see them move. There are windows in front of and behind my seat, but just far enough away to where I cannot easily see out of them. Just the red of the wing at a glance. A glimpse of white, and the red.
She steps towards me... but stops at the row in front of me. Water? She taps another woman's knee. Would you like some water? Oh! No. Was her response. What? I think. But it's free. She's giving it to you for free. I'm next. But then she turns away. Heads back towards the front. Noooo... she will offer me some?
Beside me the engine keeps thrumming and humming and drumming into my ears, into my head. The whole cabin shutters and squeaks and groans. A bolt is spinning loudly somewhere behind me. Maybe turning looser and looser until it falls off completely. This entire tin can is a ******** I am stuck inside the biggest *** toy ever created. We are vibrating up in the clouds, but who are we bringing pleasure? We are just the ones unlucky enough to get stuck inside.
Finally she turns to me. She is holding a tray full of tiny water bottles and small cups of ice. Water? She asks. Ice? Umm... both? I test her. She barely nods and hands me a plastic cup and a bottle. As I take them from her the coolness from the ice cup caresses my hand. Ice. Slowly I pour half of the tiny bottle into the tiny cup, watching the liquid. I take a sip and savor the taste. Water.
After a few sips, I dip my finger into the cup. Just the very tip. I take the droplet and smear it across my cheek. Then the other cheek. Cool, and refreshing on my flushed and burning face. Then it's gone. She comes back later and asks. More water? More ice? Yes. Both. This time I am not as careful; I pour as much of the bottle into the cup as I can. I'm holding the lid with one hand and the bottle with the other. The small plastic cup is clenched between my thighs. I try to set the bottle down after ******** the lid on but it falls the the floor. I lean across to pick it up and feel the cold. My water is spilling into my crotch, soaking my pants. My ****** feels cold and it's nice. Very nice. It is sad that all the water will be evaporated by the time we land.
After so much water I need to *** I look around then stand slowly. Two steps forward. She steps aside. I grasp the door handle and step in, closing it after me. My hip touches the door and the other side. My elbows hit the walls. I turn around and *** No sink to wash my hands. The room is stuffy, worse than the cabin. The smell of my own ***** is so strong I stifle a cough. When I flush, blue liquid seeps down from the top to the hole that opened for my waste. That's normal. But it keeps going. And going. Stop! I think. There's been enough water already wasted. As soon as I start to manually stop it, it shuts off. Good. I grab a sanitized napkin, rub it between my hands then go back to my seat.
The funny thing about this all, is that I am sitting in 3A. That is in the second row. This... this is first class.
Ironic. This is. Flying up so high and free... but still needing water. No matter where you go you need it. But even more ironic, is that when I crane my head back to look out the widow, I catch a glimpse of the ocean beneath us. So much water that we can't drink.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 1:15 AM UTC
My plant is siting
on top of my desk
and silently growing
without evidence.
It never tells me it needs to be fed
so it sits there and grows
until it is dead.
My lover is sitting
on top of my bed
and talking of loving,
but my thoughts remain unsaid.
I know our relationship will not survive
he has no chance,
all that I touch dies.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 9:04 PM UTC
We stand in the rain
on the last day I will see him
for months and months.
His eyes are fixed on me,
and a tear seeps down his cheek.
He reaches out a calloused hand
and takes mine.
Kids skip past us
up and down the stairs.
They slide down the ramp beside the stairs.
The adults stand inside, behind the glass church doors,
talking, singing, laughing…
But I cry, and my tears spill down my cheeks
and no one can see them,
except for him
standing across from me
in the early September rain.
The flowers are still blooming
amongst the rock décor
beside the concrete stairs.
But I cry,
And the tears roll down my cheeks.
His hair is light blonde and drenched
as it is, I can see his scalp.
His red polo is now maroon,
his jeans are dark already and I cannot tell
that they are soaked.
His wet hand is gripping mine,
“Don’t forget me.”
The single tall oak tree beside the church
sways in the wind.
Its dead brown leaves
break off the branches and twist away
with the gusts of wind.
“Don’t forget me.”
The parking lot has accumulated
puddles of water, a sheen
that reflects the thick grey clouds overhead.
He is staring at me, so I say
“I won’t.”
But somehow both of us know…
We know.
Maybe it’s the wind,
maybe the clouds.
And I cry, and my tears are hidden
by the early September rain.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 9:02 PM UTC
The tall, white building on M-80
fills with people each Sunday morning.
Cars line up in the parking lot
on the white striped asphalt.
The people file into the building
and seat themselves on red cushioned pews.
The ***** and piano play “Onward Christian Soldiers”
dimly from the front corners.
Women’s dresses tangle around their knees
and high heels blister their toes.
Men’s ties choke them
while they sing, but hymnals are held high.
When the children start to fall asleep
parents pinch them.
The highly-starched congregation stares straight ahead,
and the words of the minister
bounce off their heads.
“But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only,
deceiving your own selves.”
Outside that building
the regal white steeple
reaches up to the sky.
And only the steeple
worships God.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
Gardenwindow, looking over the backyard,
Spring and Summer and Fall are lovely
But Winter is hard.
Going outside and
Wandering through my garden,
Down past it to the stream,
Walking along, as if in a dream.
It’s Spring time right now,
The air seems excited.
And there’s buzzing and sniffing,
The male species is fighting.
Continuing to wander out over
This garden, there are
Wonders in Summer,
That the Winter will harden.
Even now the flowers are ebbing away
The trees are all changing,
Things start to decay.
Drifting, tilting, fluttering leaves
Are falling, are falling,
Are falling from tress.
The ending of Fall brings with it this fear
The Winter is coming
So keep all those you hold dear.
The icicles form
And with the snow comes a cost—
My gardenwindow is covered
With layers of frost.
I can no longer see
outside to my garden,
But I can see my reflection,
And it gives me no pardon.
The gardenwindow looks deeper,
Looks into my soul…
It sees parts of me
That were never whole.
It sees all my motives
And it cries out in shame.
The only thing I’ve ever worked for
Is personal gain.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 4:38 PM UTC