eliana
American
"Words aren't overwhelming me, they're just going into my brain and I contemplate them and then I decide I don't need them so I throw them away." - Esther Earl / / I think I'll just leave some of the contents of my brain here. Feel free to poke around, but fair warning: they tend to be sharp. Handle with care, and at your own risk.
I chose to deny I was running
in a circle - around now
I'll start ignoring the ground
under my feet is red and
still damp enough to preserve
my lone footprints over the many
I brought with me before -
under my feet is full of
bones and broken shields and
furrows like scars in the earth
where my fingers fit perfectly -
under my feet is a number
and it's one, and so am I staring
across too many skulls for one
body.
I walk straightened, slowly and
forward, and I know.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
I'm just a book
that's been sitting out
too long, now
the shelf's filled up with
unfamiliar hardbacks,
where do I fit?
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
darling, i'm
digging eggshells out
of my soles
with a knife
(it's not as sharp)
and shopping for hobnailed boots
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
Two mosquitoes fly buzzingly
around my head with
perpetually aggravating grace.
One of them is you.
The other is an errant
thought, an unwanted
distraction, a piece
of myself.
A mistake in the pattern.
I crush one of them
under my hand.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
No thank you,
I don't have time for an existential crisis
today. I recommend trying
tomorrow, perhaps
I may be more amenable, less
upright, more lonely,
less alive,
whatever you find convenient, I am
sure you will have it some
day, but for
now, goodbye.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
Occasionally I manage
to glimpse someone
I can never know
in the odd tilt of
one word or
the reflections on your glasses
and I wonder.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
feeling broken is
looking at everything
you wish you could want
to do and realizing
you are not good
enough
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
And then you
start to
wish the distance was
physical.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
You complain of the softer
world's lack
of the definitions you
have become accustomed to
in your field of clear lines,
where notation is not
an abstraction and knowledge
may be clearly told.
I suppress a smile, knowing that
you have taught me
the lion's share of those
things that can never be said.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
I have worn
you as my livery, you
as my prison jumpsuit, as
my cloak of darkness wrapped
around me when light
meant burning and I
preferred to stab myself
into my hiding place.
I have worn
you for so long I have
forgotten what it means
for you to creep
up on me, for you
to ambush me as I bask
in the light, to
be suddenly present
when I did not
expect you.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC