am
American
Hi. I'm Allistair. I write sometimes. / Please keep in mind that most of my works are unedited and posted in the spur of the moment. They are bound to be rough, but life doesn't let you edit your words on the go, so I let them fall and land wherever seems best. / Thank you.
summer is nearing its end and I find myself mourning its loss
never have I considered myself one suited for the heat--
the sharp flames of raging arguments are enough to burn me to a crisp
but I smell the heady scent of smoke, thick with ash and cooking food
and I hear the birds sing to each other as if it were their last time
and the sky is blue and clear and it stretches onwards to the sun, which is setting in shades of coral and ocean brine
I feel the loss keenly in my chest, a bittersweet longing for the summers in which I lit up the sky with how brightly I shone
scorched and forged, my heart of hearts was unyielding and flooded my body with luminosity that rivaled the stars themselves
invulnerable and filled with a relentless energy that could not be stopped
until it burned out alone
I miss those days where I felt as if I were controlling the sea itself,
pulling and pushing like a brand new moon
the days where I flew so high on swings and sand dunes I thought I may never come down
where everything fit in the center of my palm and I held on tightly because no one could shatter my world
but these days, I sit and watch as the real star settles down to sleep beneath the ocean waves
and feel my skin become painted by the swathes of color in the sky
the sounds of motors and sirens remind me that I am no longer floating above it all
my brief flash long since faded, just as any other firework lit at dusk
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
you can write about love
you can write about hate
but when you write about pain
no one listens.
it's an eerie calm
as the bodies continue to move around you
chatting and socializing
as you stand still in the midst of this darkened room
where purple and blue accents line the tiles
and are reflected on the ceiling.
you may shout and the people nearest you may glance over their shoulders
wondering what the fuss is about
but then they see you and immediately dismiss it.
you no longer want to be dismissed.
you let yourself disappear and finally you can move
your limbs feel light as air and you pass right through the crowd
and the people keep chatting
and the people keep socializing
and no one ever realizes you left
because they hardly noticed you in the first place.
their glasses will clink and their laughter will fill the room
but you will be gone
so that you can express your pain in a place where someone will listen
where someone will understand
and sit by you in the night
while both of you are getting soaked slowly by the damp earth
as you gaze out at a river, or a forest, or a wide-open plain.
this person does not have cotton-filled ears
and isn't laden down by heavy layers of cloth and jewels and metals
and they help you remove the golden shackles from around your neck
so you can speak freely at last.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
my skin is prickling harshly around my neck
i can't touch or the prickling will turn to flames,
red streaks that highlight my skin like burn marks.
my chest is tight like my heart is the puppeteer of my ribs,
yanking the strings closer and closer until my lungs are being crushed
and suddenly i cannot breathe.
i'm being swallowed by a phantom pain and oh,
how it aches--
how it aches.
my muscles tense, ready to run
but i'm frozen as that disgusting churning swirling grabbing sensation
takes hold of my equilibrium and twists--
suddenly i cannot hear.
all that exists is a still portrait of the room i sit in,
cluttered but otherwise peaceful.
my arms tingle like something invisible is crawling up them
and the air feels like trying to breathe rocks.
my heart pulls harder on the strings,
tying a knot on the right side of my chest to keep everything pulled tight.
it aches.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
all of me aches
and I cannot tell
if it is aching for you
or because you are gone.
my eyes sting, my throat burns,
my hands stretch out for a body that is longer there.
I crave you even more now
for I know I cannot have you.
I briefly wonder if you were ever mine,
but the memory of your tears and shuddering breath tell me otherwise.
you wanted this no more than I did
and I do not blame you
nor do I blame myself.
I wish there was a way to feel the warmth of your palms on my cheeks again
and I wish that those who wronged you had never done so
and I wish to hold you in my arms and remember that you are real and that you weren't just a dream.
every inch of me is aching and raw
but the only salves are you
and time.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 5:18 AM UTC
it's another cliche but i think i found god in your face.
i found god in your hands and your arms and every inch of your skin.
selfless to a fault and gentle despite each ounce of pain inflicted upon you,
you remained sweet to those that mattered and cordial to those who didn't.
from your blunt nails to closely cropped hair to the curve of your back and all the way to your soft, soft beard,
i found god and i found love and i found parts of me i didn't realize had faded to embers.
you cupped your palms and breathed gently.
i began to remember.
the drag of careful fingertips and the gentle firmness of each kiss,
from the first touch to the last,
each carefully calculated risk and reward i was glad to participate in,
i found humanity.
i found the deepest and darkest aches a soul can bear
and i found crevices i didn't know could exist
without undermining the very foundation of one's being.
i found your love and i found your sorrow
just as you found mine,
from the first time i was unable to verbalize my emotions to the last,
from the first time you sheltered darkness from my eyes to the last droplet that spilled out.
i found more than i could have first imagined
and i do not regret a moment of my search.
my fingers will continue to find yours in the dark
and i can only hope my hands will be enough to guide you home.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 5:13 AM UTC
i gravitate towards you
like a dusky desolate deposit of dirt
to its glimmering counterpart
of lapis lazuli, ridden with veins of gold
i reach and reach
to no avail
and i watch as you spin quickly away
stumbling and straightening before slipping into another stagnant spiral
how do i catch up to one
so quickly moving amongst the stars?
celestial bodies they may be
but i am a mere moon, reflecting light for your gaze
i can feel my muscles expanding and stretching
tendons taut with tension and
heart pounding and pounding away at the pavement
as i move forward and grasp outwards to you
but a mere millimeter of air becomes solid
and my knuckles crash against nothingness
instead of the warmth of your palm
which i'm not truly sure was even there to begin with
the darkness of this dying universe
is colder and more derelict than i have the capacity
to understand; and so i curl inwards
alone amongst pebbles and freely floating matter
because a moon without a planet
is simply an orb named vesta
or a goddess called hestia:
frequently forgotten and oft omitted
by those who claim to be scholars of myth, keepers of lore
and by extension, the very children she presided over
overseer of life and hearth nevermore.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC
i feel a rumble in my chest
and a jitter in my leg;
my hackles are raised
and my bared teeth aren't just a jest.
you think i'm a *****
you haven't seen anything yet;
your words bit too much so revel in that cold sweat
'cause this rising whine is just the right pitch
to make you crumble, to make you humble.
don't think about coming near my makeshift pack, coalesced.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
your bones are traveling your heart is unraveling
and I don't know how to catch your fall
my lips are trembling my fingers are are assembling
and your tears drip down into my palms
I don't know how to fix this 'cause I don't know what went wrong
we're melting down and I think it's time to skip town
but you can't move and I've been subdued
so goodbye my darling
our paths are finally parting
be sure to bring your bones home with you
when you go
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
we were spoonfed cliches about parties and wild nights and kisses under flashing lights but no one ever told us about the other possibilities
that maybe people wouldn't like us enough to invite us
or life would throw us chemical hurdles to surpass
or maybe we followed those lights just a little too closely and found ourselves standing in front of headlights and broken glass,
having tried too hard to find our storybook lives and instead wrote the beginning to a somber tale of loss
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
stained glass with sunlight streaming,
a single rivulet, a single tear,
slips silently down the bridge of a nose
to fall silently to the tip of another.
eyes meet while hands continue to cradle
the face of the accused, the prosecuted, the expatriate of vagrants:
three words, blooming like delicate flowers from deep emerald vines that grow freely and climb the trunks of trees with more nimbleness than the lost boys themselves,
three words, gliding like the lone droplet from the lips of the holder,
descending to the ears of the held,
and they rang out as much as a whisper could, among dancing dust and gentle breath,
"you
are
forgiven."
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC