Age 5
There we sat, you in criss cross applesauce,
I sat on my chicken legs.
I remember your small curls didn’t come past your ears
As we slurped our apple juice and gabbed on about Harry Potter.
Our stubbornness and entitlement matched.
Age 7
I remember the day you told me that we were growing apart.
You told me that I wanted to grow up too fast for you,
I think it was my lipstick that did it.
We grew separately.
Age 13
Six years past, and we had finally matched up again.
Growth and maturity was as similar as it could be,
But now I needed to be something for you:
A specific mixture of contentment, judging, intelligence
and a spirit that we both always wanted.
15
You were blossoming before my eyes, I felt as though
I owned some part of that, we were close knit and joyous.
We belonged together again.
You didn’t like the strange boy who came into my life,
you neglected my heart he resided in,
I moved things around to make you room
but again, it wasn't enough.
16
Effort was engraved in my voice,
I wanted our mismatched souls together again.
I felt as though I was begging
on my knees for our unconventional love.
Do you remember our fight? Where I believed
we were finally expressing enough to progress to a real level.
I realized the aimlessness of trying to affect you.
17
There were still spurts of hope in us,
but finally I cut the chord, I doubt you noticed.
Even our glances I struggled to make sure were not glares.
Then the miracle moment, you stand next to me
and speak the empty words, “How are you? I haven’t talked to you in a while.”
In the same voice I sculpted to not sound desperate.
You spoke it effortlessly with no substance,
that right there
was when I truly understood we just never matched up.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 12:20 PM UTC
Rain dancing towards a puddle on my tongue
reaching for something external, an embrace that chokes us.
This beautiful black bike thats engine screams like my fringed back,
I escape on the leather seats and the smooth silver
Blooming baby blossoms on the trees
(as tall as mountain) tops fly back as I race forward
Escaping our planted roots
Picking one by one to bring along, I balance beings.
The afterrain lets on a mystifying mist that wets my hand and the blossoms leak out on the distant pavement
I break in the air.
Stuck in this sanity.
I’m soaring on my engine like a hot air balloon
A smooth transcendent layer of life I ride on.
On clouds and winds past sky scrapers
Insanity is comfort
I float on,
bearing the future of
absence.
I enter no oxygen and mouth goodbye to breath.
But the weight is waved off
in a tide of tickling tongues
desertion is destination.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
The coins we carried to Kansas trailed out of my hand,
And the ink started dissolving into dirt.
The air we shared tickled into my lungs bit by bit,
And with every reckless ransom we ached to be hurt.
The rates went up and the dares fit the outcome
I clasped the cable for trials and closed it in my car.
Your hair was coiled in light
And my teeth grit
Inch by inch we were closer to Thailand
Trying on reasonable laws
But the flare we shared was ticking,
You wore the laugh wrong
In the light pictures.
Kids clinched the nighttime,
Clicking the fringe on the layers of warmth.
The incoherent sounds pushed from the lullaby
But we understood the raw reason for rhymes.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
I give up, completely and fully.
I expel, withdraw, and drop all thoughts of him.
Belittle him from my memory as has me from his heart.
But I can't help reflect as I dissolve from his core,
Minimizing 700 days of your magnitude.
I'm the magnanimous, hopeful fool who believed that he would either evaporate or metamorphose.
Though, neither has happened.
I unwillingly must judge all present, past, and future feelings towards him.
From the alluring curls of your mouth, to the moment you presented the words that changed my heart, to every lamentable cry that soaked my pillows, to our first embrace, as our lips held each others... to every burden I felt to the depths of my stomach, to every wasted moment, so many ****** moments that could have been spent on much better than him, and I'm stuck.
As always, waiting for the fight you'd make for me.
But the only one who is fighting the possibility of me giving up is, in fact, myself.
700 days waited and wasted, I expel all further fights.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 10:47 PM UTC
Kicking at the opaque tongues
I'm settling for every lie and sound that follows the fabric.
The rhythm of what they want to hear is creeping in their ears
And in their heads.
Do I choose to hear the whimpers?
Why am I nothing to the wind?
Cracks in the night are fogging into your cuts,
and you refuse to be a part of something bigger.
Words like "let go" written gracefully across the wounded lips,
and the lies come out at night.
May 7, 2012
May 7, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
My lips kiss the heat in the air, pretending you're holding my swollen hips.
I'm hypnotized by your every move and word.
Yet you come and go like our diseases we hold.
The taste in my mouth burns back to my jaw,
so bitter and raw.
Yet when the sweet lyrics come out of your groin,
I'm back again.
So obedient, I'm disobeying my every lesson. Everything I tell myself not to do
but I'm there at every sound and every smile.
Then it turns cold in literal seconds, and my beaming drops to a hallow fall.
You gain and gain every last drop of my changing sleeves, the heart is hidden in this beast.
And I agonize over the idea that history has repeated myself.
What I swore I would do seems so child-like, that I'm tearing it away.
You're tearing me away, too. And you.
Because no matter how much I know your heart could love,
no matter how little softness you posses,
no matter how many miles separate us,
I'm still left so sharp, so bitter.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 2:58 AM UTC
It's a rather pathetic feeling to be judged,
you feel miserable, hopeless.
Magic spells relieve the judgment, and
we are crowded with words.
Walls of marijuana paint the street,
Bodies merging to one in lower grounds.
These beautiful histories are slowly falling out of our torn bags.
Wars, treaties, sciences, humans, equations, languages are
tip toeing away
Fearful of my generation.
I pull them closer to me,
they still escape, as hard as I try.
We are losing societies, flames build our own.
I'm stranded in burns,
the pressure only grows from my generation.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 5:15 PM UTC
Somedays, I hope my words mean nothing.
They are little glass figures of bunnies sniffing, and china plates my mother puts out when the better people come.
I hope me saying,
“I don’t want to get attached”
does not run about as an “I love you”,
let it be the napkin I spill my nausea into.
Don’t let it be my grandpa’s handkerchief.
These “I love you”’s are building up in my head, glasses, china plates, handkerchiefs.
These antique, vintage pieces keep stacking themselves up in my swollen breaths.
“I do not love you” runs around like the rainbows I see on acid. What a joke.
These “ifs” and “whys” and “buts” are hopping around like my glass bunny.
Poor words.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 3:18 PM UTC
My day falls heavier than your night.
I'm sinking below your heated limbs,
You kiss my breast and suckle on my lips,
But I'm craving and begging for the opportunity
of your eyes gazing at mine.
I am masked in dark lights and bright nights
Am I interesting yet?
Dec 25, 2011
Dec 25, 2011 at 11:52 AM UTC
Take a strong gaze at my wispy arms,
For you will never notice such a small bond.
You stare upon my one bloomed smile as its auburn crunch awakes you.
See I’m not stable on my own, I need help to stand as short as I can for you.
My broken bones sway away in the cold grey wind as I became chilled in your seduction.
It seems my roots are the only thing to hold me tall
For it is all I know to grow to be.
I shall never be your center stage for you know too many stronger than me to be bold.
A century sick of my slim strands scoping to be saved,
still I stand single.
My bloomed leaf is so slowly sailing off my ill arm like the known failing life.
Waiting for your end
or perhaps its freedom.
Until I am stung by neglect from this incomplete fevered world.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 6:08 PM UTC