The day I lost myself was
the day you found your love.
Someday I will be revived
like a night with new stars,
and you'll be laying
on your homemade quilt
staring up at me to
make a wish.
But stars hold grudges too.
And I have a feeling
your wish will fly
right past the light
and into darkness.
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 5:17 AM UTC
I know you don't know this
but that's why I'm writing it.
When you called me baby girl last night,
everything inside me that's felt dead
came back to life.
It was like you breathed life into me,
like god did to Adam.
Even if you didn't mean to
you just created a whole new world.
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 6:50 AM UTC
The air is too clean,
not a trace of whispered lies
not a cloud of late night smoke.
Air that is not my own,
air that does not belong to anyone
within a three mile radius of my brainwaves.
The linens are too crisp
as if there hasn't been a single wounded soul
to lay and shed blood,
as if not a single voice has
ripped through its threads.
This is not my home.
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 3:22 AM UTC
With every step I take
the ground ***** an ounce
of energy
right from the soles of my feet.
It charges a fee
for every second I stand
still.
It’s taken everything I have.
I have no energy left and
I’m begging you to carry me.
Feb 10, 2011
Feb 10, 2011 at 4:04 PM UTC
The leaves piled all around
are like me.
My guts on the sidewalk.
Red and green,
every color you can think of
changing with every blow of the wind.
Make it stop.
Stop the wind.
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 5:06 PM UTC
Watch me fall like
a baby from its Mama’s arms -
not knowing or feeling.
But I’m scared.
I’m scared for my Mama
watching me fall.
And I’m scared for
my bed
that holds me and loves me.
I’m scared for me.
Can you be scared for me?
Can you be scared
with me?
Please.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 6:56 AM UTC
I can feel the trees breathing.
I can see them
inhale our blemished truths,
pulling them deeper and deeper
until their souls are filled with fantasies.
I can see them
exhale all their dry, dark worries,
trying to force them out,
but the power embeds
in their lungs,
deeper than the fantasies can reach.
When I watch them
I can feel them breathing their worries
right down my spine
just as I've breathed my blemished truths
into their souls.
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 8:05 AM UTC
I am from garbage trucks invading the streets,
bringing young ones to the window.
I am from the hum of the washer
bleeding into layered daydreams.
I am from charcoal painted on eyelids.
I am from opinions stronger than the smell of coffee.
I am from bones deep in closets,
buried by golden memories.
I am from the honey sweet songs
mama whispers.
I am from the deadly faces of strangers
and the suffocation of opinions
spewed as facts.
I am from the smoothest jazz
to the heaviest rock.
I am from
books with plastic casings
stacked high in the grass
on a sunny day.
I am from
every word or statement I have ever heard
to ever word or statement I will ever say.
I am from
late night fires
with sweet tea, the song of the night, and the light of the stars.
I am from
the soft smell
of a baby's head
to the feeling of thick smoke
filling tired lungs.
I am from the denial of death
to the hesitation of life.
I am from
smooth rocks under bare feet
to cold, harsh rain stinging sun-dried skin.
I am from strength
and weakness.
I am from me to you.
That
is where I am from.
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 6:02 AM UTC
Your words hum in my bones.
Not the honey sweet hum of jazz
as you watch rain smooth over golden leaves,
not the haunting hum of strangers
grinding their opinions with coffee beans
and serving it with high hopes of persuasion,
but the guilty hum of a little girl who is shutting herself
in a room with a thin plastic lock,
a room with garbage waist high
that let's off thick, charcoal black pollution
that poisons her pink lungs,
as the external hum of her favorite song
slips into the hearts of her loved ones
and seals like a jar filled with warm strawberry jam,
until it's all yanked away...
The hum of a miscarriage in the hearts of her loved ones
as she bursts.
Your words hum in my bones.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 2:21 PM UTC
The closest I can
get to you is
the farthest I can
get from here -
the farthest I can get from
these dreadful Columbus clouds
that protect me from
the unknown,
the lonely cornfields that grow
and grow, but
only grow lonelier.
But I like the clouds that
blanket me at night, keeping me
warmer than you ever could.
And I love the way the sun
rains orange and pink on the lonely
cornfield, and the way the cornfield
soaks it up and saves it
for another day.
I could love you if
you could love Ohio's cornfields
and cloudy days.
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 7:06 AM UTC