mikaila - Hello Poetry

I think of you A collapsing star Your pain like the day the world began So powerful Your mind like The day it will end Scalding pure. My heart is like a furnace tonight Blue white And my bones are full of rainwater Cold now But heating up Shame For all my shrieking I am whole Like an egg Uncracked I do not think anything Grows In here But the shell Is smooth And that seems to count for something. Still I am buried And the soil above me Churns— The skitterings of beetles Something with wings that whir. I grip the door frame That dark mouth And wonder if I am coming to life Or leaving it I am iron A tea kettle starting to boil It sings and screams And hisses out a thread of steam. The burns slide up my arms like little snakes. And yet you are here Still Here like a sun Calling the blood in my veins And it answers Pounding— It would rather be with you than me.

0

Feb 17, 2019

Feb 17, 2019 at 3:13 AM UTC

Untitled

I think of you A collapsing star Your pain like the day the world began So powerful Your mind like The day it will end Scalding pure. My heart is like a furnace tonight Blue white And my bones are full of rainwater Cold now But heating up Shame For all my shrieking I am whole Like an egg Uncracked I do not think anything Grows In here But the shell Is smooth And that seems to count for something. Still I am buried And the soil above me Churns— The skitterings of beetles Something with wings that whir. I grip the door frame That dark mouth And wonder if I am coming to life Or leaving it I am iron A tea kettle starting to boil It sings and screams And hisses out a thread of steam. The burns slide up my arms like little snakes. And yet you are here Still Here like a sun Calling the blood in my veins And it answers Pounding— It would rather be with you than me.

45

I read somewhere that names Fix things in place like pins And that to be nameless is to be Free. There are some things in this world which can’t be spoken Can’t be captured Can’t be named. As artists, As human beings, They call us An unstoppable force An indefinable drive Onward- That deep tug in the center of your chest The gnawing need to create. They are things we chase Things we aspire to Things we even worship sometimes Writing long into the night Carving wood and clay and bone On our knees in the dark Smearing paint, desperate to understand Desperate to make something Half as beautiful as what we Feel. Since we awoke as a race We have created In service of only that drive Only that obsession Half awe and half hubris Half joy and half shame Half triumph and half Defeat- The expression of something Inexpressible The naming of something Too sacred for language. We know we can never arrive We can only Search And the search is the reason For our cities and our novels and our symphonies An aching search A humble search A sweet journey whose end- No matter how much we pretend otherwise- Is only Death. You are like that. I’ve tried for hundreds of pages To explain myself To express my love and longing but You Are like a thousand of those unnameable things. I think you might be Made of them Somehow. I think they live in your skin and your bones and the timbre of your voice. I can write all day About the magnetic beauty I see in you About the way you make me feel And list the things I love about you But it always feels Insufficient Always as if I am writing around something Bigger Something with no words to describe it- None that even Come close. As if I can only write about what you do Not what you are Because what you are is too vast For thought. I write as though I have pressed my hands to glass Trying to sing to you through it But you are on The other side- Even the most beautiful art Even the sweetest music Even the most tender poetry Could not pierce deeply enough Would be a disservice and a reduction Would fall hopelessly short Of what you really are And how you really move me. I try to tell you why I love you I try to tell you How. I know you wonder sometimes I know you wonder if I only love Things about you Things I could find in others. I try to explain but it’s like My thoughts catch in my throat And fall like shadows on the floor- So hopelessly inadequate. I search and search I sit up nights Trying to find the words Trying to make the words But there are none Not because you are ordinary but because you are Unnameable. What I love in you is deeper than reason Deeper than touch Deeper than ideas or memories or the little moments when I stop and gaze at you Transfixed. I love you in a way that reminds me That we are not just flesh and blood Because if we were there would be a word for what in me Falls to its knees at your feet And what in you Makes me want to build things with my hands And never stop And that is Maddeningly All I can say Because although I think by now I may have truly tried Them all, There’s not.

0

Jan 2, 2019

Jan 2, 2019 at 4:58 PM UTC

Untitled

I read somewhere that names Fix things in place like pins And that to be nameless is to be Free. There are some things in this world which can’t be spoken Can’t be captured Can’t be named. As artists, As human beings, They call us An unstoppable force An indefinable drive Onward- That deep tug in the center of your chest The gnawing need to create. They are things we chase Things we aspire to Things we even worship sometimes Writing long into the night Carving wood and clay and bone On our knees in the dark Smearing paint, desperate to understand Desperate to make something Half as beautiful as what we Feel. Since we awoke as a race We have created In service of only that drive Only that obsession Half awe and half hubris Half joy and half shame Half triumph and half Defeat- The expression of something Inexpressible The naming of something Too sacred for language. We know we can never arrive We can only Search And the search is the reason For our cities and our novels and our symphonies An aching search A humble search A sweet journey whose end- No matter how much we pretend otherwise- Is only Death. You are like that. I’ve tried for hundreds of pages To explain myself To express my love and longing but You Are like a thousand of those unnameable things. I think you might be Made of them Somehow. I think they live in your skin and your bones and the timbre of your voice. I can write all day About the magnetic beauty I see in you About the way you make me feel And list the things I love about you But it always feels Insufficient Always as if I am writing around something Bigger Something with no words to describe it- None that even Come close. As if I can only write about what you do Not what you are Because what you are is too vast For thought. I write as though I have pressed my hands to glass Trying to sing to you through it But you are on The other side- Even the most beautiful art Even the sweetest music Even the most tender poetry Could not pierce deeply enough Would be a disservice and a reduction Would fall hopelessly short Of what you really are And how you really move me. I try to tell you why I love you I try to tell you How. I know you wonder sometimes I know you wonder if I only love Things about you Things I could find in others. I try to explain but it’s like My thoughts catch in my throat And fall like shadows on the floor- So hopelessly inadequate. I search and search I sit up nights Trying to find the words Trying to make the words But there are none Not because you are ordinary but because you are Unnameable. What I love in you is deeper than reason Deeper than touch Deeper than ideas or memories or the little moments when I stop and gaze at you Transfixed. I love you in a way that reminds me That we are not just flesh and blood Because if we were there would be a word for what in me Falls to its knees at your feet And what in you Makes me want to build things with my hands And never stop And that is Maddeningly All I can say Because although I think by now I may have truly tried Them all, There’s not.

120

I know weariness. I can see it at the edges of me, always Waiting to seep back in like Chloroform for the soul. I’m young And passionate But I am not stupid. I know it will return. I know my days are numbered And that when my time here is up I will have to make the exhausting choice again To go on Purposelessly To continue In a gray, flat world And blindly wait for something to spark interest in me once more. It is not faith that keeps me alive in those times. It is not love. It is not a feeling, at all- It is a dull, stolid persistence, An instinct from an older time That I am simply too tired to fight against. I crawl forward, Blank. I am A machine which has run this long And continues on with no driver and no destination And will Until such time as the fuel runs out. It is not a youthful thing to know So intimately. That gray quiet has touched me in places no lover ever will. It has permeated my very flesh. It lives in me like smoke, Always, And it will, Always- The knowledge that the one thing to which I will constantly return Is that bland, cold, mechanical existence. I tend myself During those times And I feel like a farmer who has planted Stones in the ground Foolishly watering and weeding, But I Do it anyway A habit that won’t break. I survive And I am too weary even to search for a reason And that, I suppose, is a blessing Because I would not find one if I did. I go on, always, And in the mirror during those times I see the blue-white blindness of the eyes of an old dog Who has felt the steel tipped toes of too many boots To care if one more swings at his ribs- He is too tired to move from his spot on the porch And would rather endure the pain than endure the Fear. I am like him, and I remain like him Even when I am full of joy (I am full of joy in that surprised, flinching way In the way of something that has been around too long Not to know that eventually Something has to give.) You call me young. Everybody does, here. And I suppose they should- They have never seen that in me. I hide it well, even when it swallows me And anyhow they’ve only seen me in love, The full and complete opposite. They see my thankfulness For a reprieve And mistake it for energy, Mistake it, even, for innocence When really it is the stark, clear memory Of months and years of colorlessness Of waiting around for something inside to grow When there are never any seeds nor any sunlight Of deciding every day to go on, Even when there is no reason. It is far away now, that feeling That awful cold emptiness. It has rushed from me like the tide receding And while it’s gone, I’m not wasting a second Not me. I’ll look stupid, I’ll look naive, I’ll look reckless, But I’ll swallow my pride And open myself to every feeling that comes my way: To be anything less than as passionate as I can would be the deepest blasphemy When I have known hell Not as torment but as blankness And will Again.

0

Nov 22, 2018

Nov 22, 2018 at 5:23 AM UTC

Twenty Three

I know weariness. I can see it at the edges of me, always Waiting to seep back in like Chloroform for the soul. I’m young And passionate But I am not stupid. I know it will return. I know my days are numbered And that when my time here is up I will have to make the exhausting choice again To go on Purposelessly To continue In a gray, flat world And blindly wait for something to spark interest in me once more. It is not faith that keeps me alive in those times. It is not love. It is not a feeling, at all- It is a dull, stolid persistence, An instinct from an older time That I am simply too tired to fight against. I crawl forward, Blank. I am A machine which has run this long And continues on with no driver and no destination And will Until such time as the fuel runs out. It is not a youthful thing to know So intimately. That gray quiet has touched me in places no lover ever will. It has permeated my very flesh. It lives in me like smoke, Always, And it will, Always- The knowledge that the one thing to which I will constantly return Is that bland, cold, mechanical existence. I tend myself During those times And I feel like a farmer who has planted Stones in the ground Foolishly watering and weeding, But I Do it anyway A habit that won’t break. I survive And I am too weary even to search for a reason And that, I suppose, is a blessing Because I would not find one if I did. I go on, always, And in the mirror during those times I see the blue-white blindness of the eyes of an old dog Who has felt the steel tipped toes of too many boots To care if one more swings at his ribs- He is too tired to move from his spot on the porch And would rather endure the pain than endure the Fear. I am like him, and I remain like him Even when I am full of joy (I am full of joy in that surprised, flinching way In the way of something that has been around too long Not to know that eventually Something has to give.) You call me young. Everybody does, here. And I suppose they should- They have never seen that in me. I hide it well, even when it swallows me And anyhow they’ve only seen me in love, The full and complete opposite. They see my thankfulness For a reprieve And mistake it for energy, Mistake it, even, for innocence When really it is the stark, clear memory Of months and years of colorlessness Of waiting around for something inside to grow When there are never any seeds nor any sunlight Of deciding every day to go on, Even when there is no reason. It is far away now, that feeling That awful cold emptiness. It has rushed from me like the tide receding And while it’s gone, I’m not wasting a second Not me. I’ll look stupid, I’ll look naive, I’ll look reckless, But I’ll swallow my pride And open myself to every feeling that comes my way: To be anything less than as passionate as I can would be the deepest blasphemy When I have known hell Not as torment but as blankness And will Again.

98

I want you to crash into me Like the ocean. Tonight when you kissed me I thought I’d drown in you And I was Happy to be lost at sea. No wonder the ocean loves you You are kin You are the same: You both need someone Unafraid to be pulled under.

0

Nov 13, 2018

Nov 13, 2018 at 6:37 AM UTC

Sailor

I want you to crash into me Like the ocean. Tonight when you kissed me I thought I’d drown in you And I was Happy to be lost at sea. No wonder the ocean loves you You are kin You are the same: You both need someone Unafraid to be pulled under.

11

There is no cure for my self. I will sit up nights And read poetry aloud And cry harsh tears as my words fall away into the darkness. It is my nature. A voice of sorrow lives in me And it speaks, always. It murmurs beneath everything like a brook. It sweetens my days And swallows my nights. It is not without its merits But it is Painful. I am a sad person Always have been. I ache, and always will. Love soothes and frightens me But beneath it grief runs steady The only thing That is always there Heedless of any other turmoil. It presses into me- A small trickle, less than rainwater- But it has carved me deep over years Deep, deep, It has cut caves into me. It is the heart of me, the softness of the stone It is my weakness and the source of my life And I have hated it for as long as I have known it was there But it Doesn’t care: It only knows how to continue Not how to feel. It doesn’t stop for love Or for anger Or for joy. It gouges a path through all of them, A deep, steady drumbeat A persistent crawl And I am witness to its slow erosion of me. I watch with apprehension An unwilling subject A reluctant vessel- For I know that as gentle as it seems It has stripped away all this so far And will go on Until nothing remains.

0

Nov 13, 2018

Nov 13, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC

This Big Hush

There is no cure for my self. I will sit up nights And read poetry aloud And cry harsh tears as my words fall away into the darkness. It is my nature. A voice of sorrow lives in me And it speaks, always. It murmurs beneath everything like a brook. It sweetens my days And swallows my nights. It is not without its merits But it is Painful. I am a sad person Always have been. I ache, and always will. Love soothes and frightens me But beneath it grief runs steady The only thing That is always there Heedless of any other turmoil. It presses into me- A small trickle, less than rainwater- But it has carved me deep over years Deep, deep, It has cut caves into me. It is the heart of me, the softness of the stone It is my weakness and the source of my life And I have hated it for as long as I have known it was there But it Doesn’t care: It only knows how to continue Not how to feel. It doesn’t stop for love Or for anger Or for joy. It gouges a path through all of them, A deep, steady drumbeat A persistent crawl And I am witness to its slow erosion of me. I watch with apprehension An unwilling subject A reluctant vessel- For I know that as gentle as it seems It has stripped away all this so far And will go on Until nothing remains.

47

I think it’s hardwired into us To wonder what our purpose is, To search for meaning and for comfort, To feel Lost. I’ve wandered a lot in my life. More than my share, perhaps, For the years I’ve spent on earth. This feeling Takes hold of me And pulls me after it. Like a string around my heart Thin but insistent It has led me So many places. I’ve boarded planes With little plan And crossed oceans following it. I’ve emerged from sleep Onto shadowy country lanes Chasing the silver the moon left on the ground. I’ve walked out in rain On dull, slick cobblestones and watched Unafraid The underworld of London Surge topside In the dead of night And swirl around me like the mist that clung to my heels. I have walked and walked Through fields shrouded in early morning dew Met the eyes of animals in the dark And held them in a moment of Understanding: We both of us are lost Both hunted Both free, but uncertain. I have followed this feeling wherever it has led me And it has always led me somewhere I could love But never somewhere I could rest Until now. My heart pulled me to you And I thought I would be out at night again Scouring the streets Searching for meaning, Searching for Sustenance. I was ready to live that again, Ready to embrace that odd agony of feeling, The secrecy, the doubt, Ready to leave a trail of blood behind me As I staggered through the night and into dawn. But you Surprised me. You saw me. You Loved me. These nights, I find peace in my heart And for once I do not wander. I savor the warmth of my own skin Content that soon your hands will bless it, Will travel it like a map of the world, Will bring Light. I don’t know what my purpose is But I can guess. When I look at you I suspect my purpose is to be right here, To love and love until I run dry And simply fall to dust. And maybe that scares you But it doesn’t Scare me: Sitting here, Curled up with tea Writing poetry for you Dreaming of your smile I think of all the other callings I could have had- A call to arms A call for blood A call to action or revenge or martyrdom. I could have been called To serve To teach To sacrifice, To survive or to Destroy- And I look at this love, This love that I would gladly let Fade me Like a step worn down by the shoes of someone familiar and welcome Like a favorite shirt gone pale with washes Like an old newspaper clipping in a frame in sunlight Cherished but worn Crumbling with time Known as the back of your hand Known as your fragile heartbeat, And I think To love is not such a bad purpose After all.

0

Nov 13, 2018

Nov 13, 2018 at 5:50 AM UTC

After All

I think it’s hardwired into us To wonder what our purpose is, To search for meaning and for comfort, To feel Lost. I’ve wandered a lot in my life. More than my share, perhaps, For the years I’ve spent on earth. This feeling Takes hold of me And pulls me after it. Like a string around my heart Thin but insistent It has led me So many places. I’ve boarded planes With little plan And crossed oceans following it. I’ve emerged from sleep Onto shadowy country lanes Chasing the silver the moon left on the ground. I’ve walked out in rain On dull, slick cobblestones and watched Unafraid The underworld of London Surge topside In the dead of night And swirl around me like the mist that clung to my heels. I have walked and walked Through fields shrouded in early morning dew Met the eyes of animals in the dark And held them in a moment of Understanding: We both of us are lost Both hunted Both free, but uncertain. I have followed this feeling wherever it has led me And it has always led me somewhere I could love But never somewhere I could rest Until now. My heart pulled me to you And I thought I would be out at night again Scouring the streets Searching for meaning, Searching for Sustenance. I was ready to live that again, Ready to embrace that odd agony of feeling, The secrecy, the doubt, Ready to leave a trail of blood behind me As I staggered through the night and into dawn. But you Surprised me. You saw me. You Loved me. These nights, I find peace in my heart And for once I do not wander. I savor the warmth of my own skin Content that soon your hands will bless it, Will travel it like a map of the world, Will bring Light. I don’t know what my purpose is But I can guess. When I look at you I suspect my purpose is to be right here, To love and love until I run dry And simply fall to dust. And maybe that scares you But it doesn’t Scare me: Sitting here, Curled up with tea Writing poetry for you Dreaming of your smile I think of all the other callings I could have had- A call to arms A call for blood A call to action or revenge or martyrdom. I could have been called To serve To teach To sacrifice, To survive or to Destroy- And I look at this love, This love that I would gladly let Fade me Like a step worn down by the shoes of someone familiar and welcome Like a favorite shirt gone pale with washes Like an old newspaper clipping in a frame in sunlight Cherished but worn Crumbling with time Known as the back of your hand Known as your fragile heartbeat, And I think To love is not such a bad purpose After all.

99

Even though it’s cold here It feels like summer When you laugh.

0

Nov 9, 2018

Nov 9, 2018 at 4:14 PM UTC

Untitled

Even though it’s cold here It feels like summer When you laugh.

3

I want you to know That when you cry it rains somewhere. The sky opens And a drought is ended. Something that had been parched Grows again. The ocean lives in you Vast and brutal and Exquisite And I hope you are never ashamed of the storms that come, Of your power or of your Surrender- Grief is just as sacred as joy And one cannot exist without the other. Nothing grows without both And you are Wrong When you say you must be half dead. You are Vividly Wonderfully Sharply alive- You cut the world with your pain And it bleeds beauty: Where your tears fall Things Grow.

0

Nov 7, 2018

Nov 7, 2018 at 5:52 AM UTC

Untitled

I want you to know That when you cry it rains somewhere. The sky opens And a drought is ended. Something that had been parched Grows again. The ocean lives in you Vast and brutal and Exquisite And I hope you are never ashamed of the storms that come, Of your power or of your Surrender- Grief is just as sacred as joy And one cannot exist without the other. Nothing grows without both And you are Wrong When you say you must be half dead. You are Vividly Wonderfully Sharply alive- You cut the world with your pain And it bleeds beauty: Where your tears fall Things Grow.

27

I think sunlight must be running through my veins I feel like honey and wine I feel the way I used to feel In the mountains In the bright warmth Air so pure it made you dizzy And the sky like a blue blanket Soft and inviting. Being with you Laughing with you Feels like sitting on the porch during a heavy rainstorm Watching the chaos And breathing in the scent of damp wood and stone Safe from the cold and the wet Clutching a cup of hot chocolate. Being with you feels like Lying on a foreign beach Under a cloudless sky And fearlessly letting the sun kiss my skin Mind hazy with heat and contentment Hair made wild by the water and sand. I haven’t felt safe much In my life I haven’t felt whole But I feel it with you. I feel like I belong here when I’m with you. So often I am an observer, a bystander, someone who records Beautifully The world But cannot be in it And cannot be touched by it. When you touch me I remember all the times I’ve ever felt real All the times I’ve been truly reached by anything. If there is a home for me anywhere on earth It is this feeling And it lights me up from the inside, Rolling off me in waves My joy to live My joy to be It’s back, it’s here, And while it stays, I bask in it like healing sunlight.

0

Nov 7, 2018

Nov 7, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC

Enough

I think sunlight must be running through my veins I feel like honey and wine I feel the way I used to feel In the mountains In the bright warmth Air so pure it made you dizzy And the sky like a blue blanket Soft and inviting. Being with you Laughing with you Feels like sitting on the porch during a heavy rainstorm Watching the chaos And breathing in the scent of damp wood and stone Safe from the cold and the wet Clutching a cup of hot chocolate. Being with you feels like Lying on a foreign beach Under a cloudless sky And fearlessly letting the sun kiss my skin Mind hazy with heat and contentment Hair made wild by the water and sand. I haven’t felt safe much In my life I haven’t felt whole But I feel it with you. I feel like I belong here when I’m with you. So often I am an observer, a bystander, someone who records Beautifully The world But cannot be in it And cannot be touched by it. When you touch me I remember all the times I’ve ever felt real All the times I’ve been truly reached by anything. If there is a home for me anywhere on earth It is this feeling And it lights me up from the inside, Rolling off me in waves My joy to live My joy to be It’s back, it’s here, And while it stays, I bask in it like healing sunlight.

41

I wait for you Like a tree waiting for the rain Like a seed beneath snow Like the birds wait for dawn Like the wolves wait for moonrise. I wait for you Like a breath held Like an unfinished thought Like a step almost taken Like a dissonant chord. I wait for you Like sustenance Like peace Like salvation Like an answered prayer. I wait for you Like a tree waiting for the rain.

0

Nov 6, 2018

Nov 6, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC

Stillness

I wait for you Like a tree waiting for the rain Like a seed beneath snow Like the birds wait for dawn Like the wolves wait for moonrise. I wait for you Like a breath held Like an unfinished thought Like a step almost taken Like a dissonant chord. I wait for you Like sustenance Like peace Like salvation Like an answered prayer. I wait for you Like a tree waiting for the rain.

17