sit criss crossed
the back of a station wagon you've known
for as long as you can remember
a backpack perched on your lap
because it's comforting
a shield of sorts
the radio whistles with you
and hums
the sun is at such an angle
it's only sometimes blinding
out the window are the same trees
and they remind you of the same people and things
nothing really ever changes
this used to frustrate me
but things can't change until you appreciate them
i think
taking in the sights i've already taken in
taking in the sunlight really
i've never done this before
no one has
we're taking life as it comes
and, now
my life is at such an angle
it's only blinding sometimes.
i need to open my eyes for the rest.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
smile while you're growing, child
smile as you walk
smile on the patio
your hands powdered with chalk
smile at all your friends, child
smile while they play
smile when they go back home
they'll be back someday
smile when they don't come back
smile nonetheless
smile while you miss them
no need for distress
smile when you fall in love
smile while you sing
smile when your heart breaks
repair your broken wing
smile while you age, my dear
smile at the sun
smile with your eyes as well
it's not too late for fun
smile at the end, dear friend
smile as you go
smile at the beautiful
above and down below
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
*
Her hand brushes
against my own
my mind screams
louder than even
the most horrific
of bombs to
hold it back
to close those
last few *******
feet between her
lips and mine
but all I
feel all that
shakes my entire
body and soul
is this crippling
shyness it refuses
to go it
digs its toxic
roots down to
the depths of
my stomach and
refuses to let
go and I
can't and I
won't and I
don't hold her
hand and I
wonder forever if
she could have
loved me back
*
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
the average lifespan of a butterfly is one month
but mine have been in flight for five years, now
they must be composed of some kind of magic
they skipped the cocoon
started flying the moment i heard you could
dance
i always thought
my butterflies were fluttering to escape but
maybe they just want to
dance
too.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
I knew a someone once
who walked into and out of my life at leisure
few words exchanged,
knowing glances made up our strange vocabulary
but lacking words,
our language was limited
no glance translated to goodbye.
not because goodbye wasn't important,
but because we both would rather do without
that certain finality, it wasn't how
we wished
to part ways
and in that emptiness where goodbye should have been,
was the goodbye that could have been
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
A curve of the lips
a flash of teeth
a sweet smile
that sticks
onto my eyes
for a very
very long time
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 12:37 AM UTC
I wish my tongue did curl in a way
to make my words roll simply off it.
That my extremities may move as
freely as my mind commands them
to do so.
I wish my fingers did not flinch
at the electricity inside of others.
That my heart may be steady
and not frighten me with incessant
speed. I wish it were not so
insistant.
I wish the whites of my eyes
did not surround such wide dark rounds.
That your stare could not incite
such an energy through the tips
of my fingers.
I wish this shivering were out of chill
and not admiration.
That this may be simpler.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
We fool ourselves into believing
we can see without correction.
I tried to look too far, my eyes strained,
and it worked, but in seeing ahead, in seeing distantly,
what lie in front of my squinting irises remained a blur
"If you keep your face like that it'll stick that way."
I've been looking at the same flower for years now.
It looks the same but there is some aspect
which my squint cannot determine, it seems,
that changes after every passing blink.
Having eyes locked on a flower is a funny business
it first shone by its beauty, but, a short blink later
the petals seem to fall under their weight
as if taking a periodic breath, and releasing into a calmer state.
Looking at something for long enough stops hurting after a while.
It becomes symbiotic, the flower seems to stare back, even lacking eyes.
And that's where the crack in the wall begins,
believing a flower to have eyes.
It goes wrong when the flower appears to be looking back
It seems real in thought, but reality tells a different story,
as it always does.
thought and reality are not closely linked, unfortunately
and this makes flowers somewhat fantastical.
and of course it is easy to enjoy their fragrance, or rich color,
but once you have locked eyes with a flower, once your face gets
stuck that way...
you can't look away
and it will wilt, imaginary eyes and all.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
tu es le vent.
le vent qui cherche
le vent qui me regarde
le vent qui vas quelque part.
le vent éphémère.
le vent dont je peut écouter.
Mais, pas le vent qui est visible.
pas le vent qu'on peut toucher.
Et ça, c'est d'accord
avec moi.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
I have read poems about springtime
everything they say is true
the whole season explained in rhyme
every detail uncovered,
except you.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC