rustle my leaves. you are
one of few i trust
to push me
without knocking me
over. be the wind
that sways my branches.
shift beneath my
toes. uncertainty
is all that can be
counted on, i’ve
learned. be the grains
of sand that stand
solid
but relaxed
and carry me across
the surface.
wash over me.
i know you
and i am weightless
despite the stones
i carry. be the sea
that salts my skin
and drifts my body
into oblivion.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
i am
a romantic
cliché.
my eyes close
and yours
are there, shimmering
under beams of
dusty sunlight, blue
waves shushing
your lashes.
i want
moments
with you.
my heart calls out
for sunrises
sat on the hoods
of our cars
and sepia-tinted afternoons
on your bedroom
floor and
goosebumped midnights
beneath velvet skies.
i want your sleepy
grin, your hair
between my fingers. i
want your
lips on my skin.
i want your shuddering breath
in my lungs.
i would compose symphonies to
the beat of your pulse, if
you asked it of me.
the question is:
will you?
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
(i’ve a habit
of hiding
inside parentheses.)
it’s two o’clock in the morning
and all i can think about
is the way
your eyelashes
fluttered
after you winked at me.
photographs feed my urgency
as i drown myself
in thrashing, foamy
rivers that
glisten with memories.
we held hands
with linked fingers.
(we both acknowledged it.
i
wasn’t joking.)
with broken hearts, we were
magnetized. only
brute force
and the physical presence
of sixteen pairs of eyes
pulled us apart.
a logical explanation
was given
for the tipi. you must know
by now
that i take rationale
at face value.
if you’re a book, you’re
wide open
but your pages are written
in invisible ink.
i need to know
what you
know.
(as of now, the
you&me;
i dream of
exists only
in hypotheticals.)
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
i.
i wake up
and i miss you.
ii.
the space just
below
my throat aches as my heart
tries to inch
up and out my mouth to get to
where you are.
iii.
i think about you too much - more so
than would be expected of me
and my position - but there is no one
i can imagine
who would
iv.
blame me.
v.
your smell lingers on my rags
and your tears stained my cheek and
vi.
i really can’t
tell
if you know.
the idea of you
follows behind me
a pace and a half; far
enough that i can step
forward without trouble
and close enough
that i can’t shake
the goosebumps from
my skin.
vii.
my natural response is
no response
viii.
and my lungs burn
with the effort of
screaming for you.
ix.
i’m falling up and over
and my sense of
direction
has never been
reliable.
x.
my fingernails are bloodied
from scratching at walls
and dented
with bite marks.
i never meant
to think of your
teeth
or your lips, yet
xi.
my nerve endings hum
when your fingers brush
mine. my chest
creaks as
velvety wings try
to force their way out.
xii.
i searched
and you
were there - clawed
your way under
my scales and
armor
without shifting
even one
of your
dusty cells.
xiii.
your eyes danced
with a light
reflected in the
fire.
xiv.
i looked and
i saw you.
xv.
i blinked
and i loved you.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
if you dig deep enough
into the sand
i promise you will find yourself
uncovering
cosmos, beneath
half-formed palaces of earth
and ocean, lost for centuries
or perhaps
seconds
(who’s to say, really)
you will find, scattered
among the burning grains of
“i was a crystal
in another life”, a glittering
dust - remainders not of
life denatured, but
stars whose deaths
cannot yet be mourned
ours is a universe
that cannot be defined
(it’s no matter, of course, for
words
only ever tell
part
of the story)
i wonder what i would see
if i waded until my feet
were as much afloat
as the rest of me
and the sea
swallowed me whole - what
multitudes
are contained under the
surface (blue only to our
lackluster outsider’s
perspective), what
planetary infinite
lies with its arms around salt, grimy
only to those of us
who return to airy shores
at the end of the day
(if there are galaxies
behind your eyes, only
time
will tell)
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
you told your heart, “listen
to logic.”
you hated the storm clouds
that thundered over your head
and loosed rain
on your dusty windows.
you had it all wrong.
the sun is bright
but it burns - inch your way
out of the atmosphere
and you’re scalded
through and through
the moment you get in its way.
night settles because
it’s only in darkness that
stars get their chance
to shine.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
(if) when i
turn to stone, take my
heart and bury it
beneath a garden.
let vines embrace my
frozen form
and a forest grow
above my useless body.
find the grave of the cosmos
that convinced the stars
we were right
and salt the earth.
(eye contact is
inevitable).
put me to rest as my own
grave marker
surrounded by soil
crawling with the things
she’ll never give me. let
it seep into my
pores and manifest
as the dirt
under my fingernails.
(who’s to say
i wasn’t made of stone
to begin with?)
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
i have a warped vision of love.
my heart is too heavy
to carry
inside my chest
and so i break bits off
as i would pieces of a
sugar cookie to share
with those who might
appreciate it.
i get lost inside myself, the marrow
that twist through my bones, the
vessels that
redden my cheeks.
i’m slick with guilt over
the things i can’t control
and today’s tears
feel like falling back in time
because their explanation is ugly
and therefore doesn’t exist.
(i hope it’s true
that linear time
is just
an illusion.)
feeling whole
was never something
i could keep a grip on.
(i can’t help it.)
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
the things you look for
cannot be found
in my shadowy lips.
my secrets are not hidden in
the crevices of my
skin.
my breath quakes
as it tries to force itself
down my throat
and i do not have the lung capacity
to whisper platitudes
into your neck.
the link between creativity and
pain
is one that i tried
so fervently to sever.
no one had to tell me
that there would be
no fruition.
(if knowledge were strength
i would have carried
you all
on my back.)
my depth perception varies
day to day
and the idea that
everything extends
endlessly
inwards and out
reminds me that we were
never meant to
understand.
(all things are true
if enough people
believe in them.)
i was never the real thing.
but then
neither were you.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
i.
i’m stuffing my ears with cotton
because there will never
be enough pores in my body
to absorb her voice.
too many people talking at once
and i can catch every
other word that she
never meant.
ii.
but her eyes remind me
of the way
freshly ground coffee smells
and she knows
i could never give her a solid
iii.
no.
she feels like the
real thing
but the nerves in my fingertips
have become calloused and senseless
so there’s really
no way to tell.
iv.
(she told me
that my voice
gives her butterflies
and i still can’t
really believe her
despite this dragon
breathing fire into my gut.)
v.
i’ll sit on that brick
as long as it takes
waiting for her to blow that smoke
back in my face and say
“taboo”
vi.
because i was never
the one she dreamed about.
i will not
close my eyes.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC