Beckon

Beckon Apr 2017

Battered teeth on a broken beach,
I hear the longing for spring.

The sighs are so saccharine I ache.

If I could bring back the breeze
Or return the rising tides,
If I could pull apart the ticking hands
Or ease the throbbing in my sides,
Then spring would bloom only for you.

Each breath is a nail and our body the coffin,
Further from seasons we drift;
With empty eyes and sand in our lungs,
Each breath, you claim, is a gift.

but the sighs are sweet.
and my teeth ache.

There is nothing for me to do
but beg spring to bloom for you.

I would give her the world but she won't ask it of me.
A reflection on time.

Beckon Apr 2017

Please

My lips are still moving though I've run out of breath.
A plea, fervent and desperate.
An encore, it echoes again.
I cannot express how deeply I feel, yet
How ashamed I am of the oceans inside.
Let my skin boil and my eyes freeze,
I am ashamed.

Beckon Apr 2017

Regardless

I can find no beauty in my face;
There is no sun in my eyes
Nor morning song in my cheeks,
The swell of my lips is lacking.
There is no autumn with which I am comparable
Nor spring bloom that resembles the limp stalks I call my body.
Yet I do not resent the sparkling founts of summer or the youthful blushes of earth;
For though I am a frozen excess
My mind revels in gardens.

Beckon Apr 2017

The D Word

A detail
Of the dusty deep,
The dingy and desolate,
Dreary and dark.
It deliberates
Does Death's damp dread dress dawn yet?
Do the bells ding declaring destitution?
Does a dance a dash off determine a dads despair?
A damning design desires decision
But deficient development is doomed for destruction.
Do dripping days dally?
Do disposable distresses dominate?
Do We disappear in depthless diction?

Beckon Apr 2017

A Privileged Apology

"I am sorry, I'm sorry"
The words drip off my lips
A sticky sweet apology
For the ways that I exist

Today I exist,
A Fool
When often I am left
As my mouth has run away
To deal with the grief
Of what I stupidly say,
I espouse the only phrase
I can remember these days,
"I am sorry."

Today I exist,
A woman
Ashamed of my heavy voice
And the things I can not see
I am unable to conform
As I implore to be free
I whisper the single epithet
Acceptable for my regret
"I am sorry."

Today I exist,
White
Disgusted by my privelege
And bound by my skin
I will not equal the pain
That I see you are in
And so desperately I plead,
Keep me from complacency,
"I am sorry!"

For the things I rashly say
And the roles that I do not fit,
For the time that I don't take
And the injustices that I permit
Please,
Forgive me,
For today I exist.

Beckon Apr 2017

An Addict's Admission

In desperation I cling to thee
Thy warm winters grasp,
And in return you whisper free
To take another pass;

To spread and squeeze and shift once more,
To wallow in the red;
To lay thyself stretched on the floor,
To remember how to beg.

I follow footsteps deep and worn
With ears that strain for breath
And amongst the earth that I have torn
I hear the whisper, "Death."

Beckon Apr 2017

Rhythmic

Empty words and empty lips
Glass thoughts and long sips,
There are some things I'll never know.

Some of us aren't meant to grow,
While others bloom like the sun
Their songs sweet when they've begun,
I am left in the shade.

This is the bed I've made,
With sharp drops and dead ends
With fiery stillness and no friends,
With insistent screaming and guilt
These are the tall walls I've built.

Glass words and empty thoughts,
The pale flowers not yet bought,
Some things I'll only see from above,
For some of us aren't meant to love.