merce-bri - Hello Poetry

The waitress says I cannot sit here anymore I reply that I can not, will not move I am waiting on a friend The ice has melted in my whiskey The whiskey has evaporated from my whiskey My eyelids are stuck to my forehead I can see my face in the shiny countertop It looks like half a rotten lemon and a pillar of salt “Give it to me straight miss, Is he coming back?” I ask to no one in particular , the waitress is scowling and crawling away While she is on all fours I ask aloud, again with bitterness “You can be the other woman without trying, I only take what is left of him after he has given his all to her. Have you ever seen eyes that can no longer see you?” She stops and nods :I pick up leftovers for a living miss” I fall back into bed sheets too soft for my skin and blankets that are too thick i sweat and they stick to my fingertips weigh me pin me down He is beside me and his waist is mine to claim Trepidatiously , I snake my arm around him he does not move into me but neither does he move away “Too polite” The waitress has refilled my glass and is ******* on a lemon on the stool next to me “Men should say good bye when they want you to leave” I take a drink “He all but slammed the door in my face. There is nothing worse than a dog that won’t leave even after it has been shot.” Once he held onto my wrist and buried his face into my neck , unfortunately he carved a spot in it that only he can fill Now he calls out for her when he lies in my bed and I smile awkwardly Now he leaves me in diners so long i become a part of the decoration The waitress is spraying me with citrus cleaner and wiping me with a rag “to get the black off” she claims I make him food and he moans that it tastes like her He touches places not meant for him but i dare not do the same he says be careful and I run into streets blindfolded my feet trip over themselves to get to where he is the waitress says “he ain't playing chase with you, he is running to someone” I hug the bits of flesh he let fall in his haste to get to her and sip my whiskey till it spills back out my mouth. The waitress refuses to clean it up.

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Apr 3, 2013

Apr 3, 2013 at 10:20 AM UTC

Closing Time

The waitress says I cannot sit here anymore I reply that I can not, will not move I am waiting on a friend The ice has melted in my whiskey The whiskey has evaporated from my whiskey My eyelids are stuck to my forehead I can see my face in the shiny countertop It looks like half a rotten lemon and a pillar of salt “Give it to me straight miss, Is he coming back?” I ask to no one in particular , the waitress is scowling and crawling away While she is on all fours I ask aloud, again with bitterness “You can be the other woman without trying, I only take what is left of him after he has given his all to her. Have you ever seen eyes that can no longer see you?” She stops and nods :I pick up leftovers for a living miss” I fall back into bed sheets too soft for my skin and blankets that are too thick i sweat and they stick to my fingertips weigh me pin me down He is beside me and his waist is mine to claim Trepidatiously , I snake my arm around him he does not move into me but neither does he move away “Too polite” The waitress has refilled my glass and is ******* on a lemon on the stool next to me “Men should say good bye when they want you to leave” I take a drink “He all but slammed the door in my face. There is nothing worse than a dog that won’t leave even after it has been shot.” Once he held onto my wrist and buried his face into my neck , unfortunately he carved a spot in it that only he can fill Now he calls out for her when he lies in my bed and I smile awkwardly Now he leaves me in diners so long i become a part of the decoration The waitress is spraying me with citrus cleaner and wiping me with a rag “to get the black off” she claims I make him food and he moans that it tastes like her He touches places not meant for him but i dare not do the same he says be careful and I run into streets blindfolded my feet trip over themselves to get to where he is the waitress says “he ain't playing chase with you, he is running to someone” I hug the bits of flesh he let fall in his haste to get to her and sip my whiskey till it spills back out my mouth. The waitress refuses to clean it up.

34

like to lay on chests You say that yours is not wide like seas or tall like mountains. But, my head, fits right above your heart. and my arms can reach across to the other side. All that matters is that I can check that you are breathing.

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Nov 28, 2012

Nov 28, 2012 at 12:47 AM UTC

What is Important

like to lay on chests You say that yours is not wide like seas or tall like mountains. But, my head, fits right above your heart. and my arms can reach across to the other side. All that matters is that I can check that you are breathing.

8

I am just an invisible fool. Falling, alone, Through a hole I dug. Deep, deep, deeper. With bare ****** broken hands that cant hold you or hurt you or make you feel or see. They are clasped underneath this table, as your eyes say love but your mouth says friend. Shaking wildly they ache to touch to caress to cup your face and... What are hands made for? You ask me, like I can answer I can't. Not with Out revealing my skin, my cracked skin I broke when I upturned the earth beneath my feet

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Nov 28, 2012

Nov 28, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC

Dinner with friend

I am just an invisible fool. Falling, alone, Through a hole I dug. Deep, deep, deeper. With bare ****** broken hands that cant hold you or hurt you or make you feel or see. They are clasped underneath this table, as your eyes say love but your mouth says friend. Shaking wildly they ache to touch to caress to cup your face and... What are hands made for? You ask me, like I can answer I can't. Not with Out revealing my skin, my cracked skin I broke when I upturned the earth beneath my feet

9

That our two girls have my eyes (my mother's eyes) heavens skin A laugh like bubbling brooks and butter flies for smiles Hands small enough to hold Tears of bluebirds but big enough to hold our dreams The boy, however Always has your eyes Gold and Wide, like fields of wheat blowing and your hair, like a thunderstorm and your laugh ,that catches raindrops and your smile that one day will capture a half beating heart like his mother's

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Nov 28, 2012

Nov 28, 2012 at 12:32 AM UTC

Well, I Imagine

That our two girls have my eyes (my mother's eyes) heavens skin A laugh like bubbling brooks and butter flies for smiles Hands small enough to hold Tears of bluebirds but big enough to hold our dreams The boy, however Always has your eyes Gold and Wide, like fields of wheat blowing and your hair, like a thunderstorm and your laugh ,that catches raindrops and your smile that one day will capture a half beating heart like his mother's

17

I have been knocking for a while my knuckles are bleeding ,I broke a nail and the neighbors are staring i am confused once you held me close to your chest and we smiled into each other once you touched my hand and let my fingertips rub your arm once i knew your scars and they did not matter but today, today i am standing outside in the rain and it is cold today you pretend you are not home

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Nov 19, 2012

Nov 19, 2012 at 10:48 AM UTC

Doors

I have been knocking for a while my knuckles are bleeding ,I broke a nail and the neighbors are staring i am confused once you held me close to your chest and we smiled into each other once you touched my hand and let my fingertips rub your arm once i knew your scars and they did not matter but today, today i am standing outside in the rain and it is cold today you pretend you are not home

10

What is between fingertips when they refuse to touch? air? Electricity? Unspoken words and promises? Feelings better left denied or not felt at all? All the things I want from you but that I will never get? And the reasons I wont ever have them? I watch your fingers play with a ball of paper, kneading it between your digits like fresh baked bread. Mine do the same with my key. I pretend not to notice your hands, you most likely really don't see mine. I wonder if you imagine my skin, instead. I know I imagine yours. This simultaneous obliviousness this awkward use of fingers meant to caress and touch and interact. This silent agreement to ignore our desires. This goes against every instinct I've ever felt. I want to reach out for your nimble fingertips, to feel the roughness of them. I don't. I look down at my lonely hands. They will never be strong enough to break the unbreakable.

0

Nov 11, 2012

Nov 11, 2012 at 8:41 PM UTC

Spaces

What is between fingertips when they refuse to touch? air? Electricity? Unspoken words and promises? Feelings better left denied or not felt at all? All the things I want from you but that I will never get? And the reasons I wont ever have them? I watch your fingers play with a ball of paper, kneading it between your digits like fresh baked bread. Mine do the same with my key. I pretend not to notice your hands, you most likely really don't see mine. I wonder if you imagine my skin, instead. I know I imagine yours. This simultaneous obliviousness this awkward use of fingers meant to caress and touch and interact. This silent agreement to ignore our desires. This goes against every instinct I've ever felt. I want to reach out for your nimble fingertips, to feel the roughness of them. I don't. I look down at my lonely hands. They will never be strong enough to break the unbreakable.

10

If only it was just one staircase two hallways and five doors keeping us from each other...

0

Nov 11, 2012

Nov 11, 2012 at 3:03 AM UTC

Distance

If only it was just one staircase two hallways and five doors keeping us from each other...

5