Yellow ribbon
in her hair
how would I forget about you
reaching
keeping the strangeness quiet
holding together
sanity
you would do well to remember
her voice
the texture of the strands you hold
you cannot keep them
but you can remember
maybe that will be enough
Enough.
ENOUGH!
what a stupid looking word
Yellow ribbon
I remember a time
when you were green
before I pulled all the blue out
and put it into my pen
to scrawl her name on my insides
like a cast in white plaster
for all my broken parts
but they’re mended now
it’s time to peel it off
one strip
one letter
at a time
it’s time
for my insides to be soft again
I’m scared to death
that the pale
long hidden skin
and scars
will frighten off anyone
who might warm me again
my hands are only this cold
because I haven’t had anyone to hold
fending off frostbite
just my hands folded together
as in prayer
but without the hope of an answer
without yes
no
or maybe
life is just living
just
‘here I am
there you are
goodnight’
and I can’t help but miss her
so Yellow ribbon
when I grow my hair long
and become someone new
I will tie it back with you
try to remember who I was before
and maybe then be true
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 12:30 PM UTC
all I wanted
was to cover
my stains
and now I’m painting my whole house
red
help me
my closest friends
are 200 miles away
I can’t write this poem right now
not like this
I am in the trees
they are still mostly green
but leaves fall when the wind blows
I am not getting colder
I just have a lot going on right now
and I’m trying to shed
some of this fall fabric
and let my forest floor
weave it into a carpet
but you can’t pull all the dead leaves off
it’s better to just let them drop
in the heart of winter
there will still be
stragglers
holding on through autumn winds
and January snows
to crumble in the spring
my lips touch the soft
clean soles of your feet
and my fears dissolve
like fog in the morning
I can’t write this poem right now
no
not like this
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
when I was younger
I got into staring contests
with the sunset
despite dire warnings
I challenged him
I thought I would live forever back then
or maybe I just wanted him
to blink
out
before I did
I fear death
I grew up a Christian
reading about Narnia
and there was one man
after escaping ten years of living
in a nightmare
as relief from his waking horror
he was given the gift of sleep
without dreams
forever
now
as well as then
I struggle to comprehend
how this was a reward
to fall asleep
and never dream
and never wake
this is death as far as we can tell
in my childhood
this was the only exposure I had
to the idea of VOID
and now it yawns wide open
at the feet of this newly formed atheist
and I am afraid
‘I never asked to be born in the first place’
-Last words of Adolf ******
(per Kilgore trout
(per Kurt Vonnegut Jr.))
the sunset is deep deep orange
and summer is fading
from green
to red and yellow
then to brown
then to white
I’m thinking of Christmas
watching a hawk fly
silhouetted against
the now hot pink clouds
to the sound of cicadas
and a whisper
of moist and cooling air
winter is hard to get through
then again
so is summer
the sky above me is the shade of lavender
I fell in love with
when I couldn’t find anyone
who loved me back
I was taking a bus trip from December
to late spring
everyone else was asleep
and I watched the sun rise
through palm trees and ferns
if the afterlife is composed
of floating through my time in this life
Tralfamadorian Heaven
I will be content
I am living now
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
the sun does not illuminate the wind
yet he warms her
the mountains fade from green
to blue
to purple
to sky
grey
my hand is reaching for the wind
I’ve stopped looking for things
to hold on to
I love the sound of strings
vibrating to the beat
of someone else’s heart
syncing up with mine
carry me on those wings
keep me in those feathers
I want to fly with you
your warmth is that of the sun
but you are not his
you hold me tightly in the clouds
but you are not mine
when you are gone
I miss you
but I promise you
I’m fine
I promise
I promise
the wind is growing colder
we all will die alone
soon
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
French girl
I never met you
how would I have met you?
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
echoes in my mind
like aches
but merely echoes
I am getting better at being
alive
but that is only because
I am so full of dead things
to remind me of what I now
have the option
not to be
to be
is my decision
yes
I am locking it in
to be
that is my final answer
until my choice is taken from me
stardust is the basic component
of all the parts and pieces
I am so full
of dead things
I was born with fourteen ghosts
excluding the stars that we rise
from the ashes of
like phoenixes
excluding the animals
that gave rise to us
excluding names
and faces
and friendships
and homes
fourteen ghosts
and they say we are born innocent
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 9:54 PM UTC
a dead cat
on the dead end street
between where our homes used to be
when our homes were each other
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
if I had my way
I would never consent
to being the hero of my own story
we humans have far too much practice
turning heroes
into villains
I would much rather be a member
of the supporting cast
and exceed everyone’s expectations
for growth
but all dynamic characters
hero or not
have to carry their share of burdens
and flaws
and if I am not my own hero
how am I supposed to know
whose story I’m in?
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
rip out my heart
feed it to the wolves
and tell me that I am OK
strike me down, you gladiator
you torch bearer
and wrap me in feathers till I sleep
my words are not mine
I do not make them
my mistress sinks them into my well
and I merely pour out the bucket
this strangling weight
pressing on my sternum
(it is not a weight)
I cannot find myself
to push air into the lungs
unless I can succeed
in forgetting them
I cannot
burn me
burn me
burn me
I am on fire and still I battle the cold
your voiceless throat is split
red choking your clothes
and my vision
and you say
‘do not remember me now
remember the chocolate
on my forehead
at lunchtime
remember my head
on your chest
(breathe in/let go)
do not remember me now’
I don’t want to ask you where your story dies
I just want to see your face and smile
I wish life would tear me to ribbons
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 3:11 PM UTC
the nights are growing cold
I sat outside to finish reading a book
about love and cancer
extremities growing numb
falling foolishly in love
with the pretty girl whose face
gave me the courage
to sit down beside her
on a bench
in the sun
five minutes before my next class started
I found out her favorite author
but neglected to discover her name
in the sunlight
YOLO only says to live
and it’s easy to forget
that I’d like to have
a future
my night sky consists
of millions of tiny, ferociously burning
pin ******
and one heroically loyal mirror
reflecting more brightly than ten thousand
500 million year old projections
of dead stars
I am doomed to fall in love
with a girl who can honestly tell me
that fear of death
and love of life
don’t really feel any different
I wish I could choose
the type of fool I will be
but I know that the moon
has never been in love with the sun
that she has only ever revolved around us
as we revolved around him
waiting eight minutes for his light to reach us
until night falls and we finally notice
her cold, bright eye
slowly blinking at us
doing all she can to be like the light
that we love
her,
reflecting the old, distant light at us
seconds after it touches her surface
she is the closest thing we have to a companion
to a light source
yet we still spend our lives reaching for the stars
I have no belief in a God
I know the sun
is a ball of burning gas
expelling particles and waves of energy
into blank, full space
and that the moon
is a dense space cloud
with a reflective surface covered
in craters
and darkness
and brightness
and a few human footprints and I know
that the night sky
is full of things that can **** me
and everyone I know
with no warning
but such a fool as I am
I can do nothing but love
the cold, lonely face
that looks down on me as a reflection
of my source of life
she will only ever be my beautiful mistress
of untouchable hurt
and so I am doomed
to love that which will break me
if I ever get close enough to touch it
I can’t tell you whether my heart is dying
or if I’ve finally found a way to live with myself
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC