Pieces of Grace all scattered around,
much like confetti all over the ground.
So hard to pick up, yet easy to see,
I wonder why she chooses to stay here with me.
I cannot understand why she sings so off key,
or why her laugh often sounds like a hive full of bees.
She dances in the rain in nothing but shoes,
and I smile relentlessly as though it was a ruse.
Grace is so muted in such a powerful way,
and I want to be with her all night and all day.
"Please tell me your secrets and I will never tell,
I want to be just like you, so bold and so swell."
Pieces of Grace are what make her so grand,
but she is not alone so please understand,
We all are like Grace underneath our soft skin,
because loving ourselves is never a sin.
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 12:55 PM UTC
A scarf rests upon the old rocking chair my mother would sit in, while she sang me to sleep as a child.
The water colour scarf smells of acrylic paint and dusty cigars.
An old cloudy ash tray hangs off the side of a water-stained coffee table, just waiting to be emptied.
I don't want to move anything, because everything is where it is supposed to be.
I cannot tell you how I've longed for this moment. Where I can hear without listening, and taste without using my tongue.
These memories are the kind that become washed up and used repeatedly, until all that is left is laughter without volume.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
Body is pensive, eyes are cold.
He opens his arms wide with great intent, but I callously greet him.
I drift to sleep where I dream of me, lost in the woods with no one in sight.
I like it here, where the birds don't sing, and the sun doesn't shine, and you are nowhere to be found.
When I wake, I hope for an empty embrace and an intangible smile.
But there you are, warm and sleepy, only a kiss away.
Body is pensive, eyes are cold.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 9:42 PM UTC
Daisies grow under my bed every time you kiss me goodnight.
I can smell their floral scent as they creep around my bed, trying to wrap me up in their dark green stems.
The petals, they fall, all around the outline of your fragile, milky body.
I cannot touch you, for your skin burns of lust and passion, and you make me feel as though you are too good to be true.
I doubted your existence until the daisies blossomed, because I feared you walked out of my sleeping mind, to fall right into my arms.
The daisies remind me that you were my dream,
and you came true.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
I wish for flowers that bloom every season in the backyard of my mind.
I wish to find happiness in the corners of my own smile.
I wish to feel the sun on the nebula of freckles that spreads across my rosy cheeks.
I wish to create unforgettable paintings with the words I write, and the laughter ensued from late night games of heartbreak.
I wish to make my own memories in the fields of impudence, where you cannot find me.
I wish to be a new, untameable me.
I wish, therefore, I will.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
Deep oceans cannot hold what is hiding within my heart, the waves cannot squander my thoughts, oh so dark--
The coral cannot cover my sad hopeful zeal, because I am full of unrealistic ideals--
I drift with the fishes and pretend to be free, but your arms, oh so tight, are wrapped around me--
I plea to the Gods to send me on my way, but I fear that once I go, I will cry out "please let me stay!"--
I am bigger than the ocean, and greater than any God, because I've felt a Tsunami rise up from the sod--
Your eyes are greener than the wild algae below, the gaze that I feel will drag me undertow--
I have yet to discover the treasure I seek, but it must be closer to that mountainous peak!--
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC
If I could be anything, I would be the cavernous moon that hangs above your head as you sleep. From dusk until dawn I would keep you safe, enrobed in the glow of my cold milky light.
If I could be anything, I would be yours.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Water colour china shines from the sun, melting the white walls into a rainbow of light. He sits with his mouth twisted into a concentrated thought, and his eyes focused on what used to be me. Only a picture..a tearless memory. My hand translucent against the wood grain table, my heart no longer ticking in time with the aging grandfather clock. No longer cold, no longer warm. No longer full of over joy and life, and no longer filled with sadness or contempt. I cannot smell the wilting daises, I cannot taste the week old cigar smoke likely stale in the air. Nothing is the same, but it is rather comforting.
Water colour china shines from the sun..
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
Something was missing the moment I stepped out the door. I wondered frantically at the sight of my bare hands and empty pockets at what that something could be. I walked back inside the dreary blackness of the empty house and searched all over for something that would release this feeling of exile from my chest. I searched the kitchen, the bathroom, my shadowy bedroom, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I finally checked the heart of the house, the living room and, there! My keys were laid out on the coffee table. I picked them up grasping the cold sharpness from the idoling keys, only feeling a moment of relief to find that, no. That wasn't what I was looking for.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC
And because a broken heart takes time to heal, I need you to trust that one day I will love you as much as you love me.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC