I've written pages upon pages of
Poetry
About the ways you find
To know me

But these attempts will always
Falter
And eventually fail-
Maybe this wasn't supposed to be.

You ask me what that means
And I don't have an answer.
Maybe you'll find one in the lap
Of last weekend's dancer.


When I no longer have the words to write
I hope you trace my freckles with
Cracking hands-
Sand me down with selfish demands.

There is a lot to discover
But you were never interested in
The Braille of my squirming skin.

When the carnivorous sun
Comes
I will sink to the bottom
Of a sunny sea
Turned desert

You might be the antidote
To a calloused misery

But in reality...
Our interactions were just short
Of dreary.

You were never quite what
I dreamed you up
To be.

Try not to take it too personally,
This rehearsal of simple dexterity
And our perplexing lack
Of similarities.

What are you doing with me?
I don't have a place here-

I will always awake first,

Bleary eyed and swimming against
The tides of a wordless agreement
That I've tried to please

I know when I leave you don't-

No, You won't

Grieve.  

Should I just leave?


C.e.M 12.9.14

Like tiny deer ticks
Insecurities bleed us dry.

I am tired of dreaming you next to me.

Caught between the couch cushions
of earth and the abyss
what a sick twisted tryst.

whens the last time you really kissed
you know, pressed lips with a mister or a miss

Caught  in situations that have
persuaded a pulsating
aggravation

caught between the oppressive and the suggestive
childhood fades out in succession
because you are still hooked on
your old house

you are the deja vu
of what I
already do.

Excuse me to say that I am already done
I don't like to run
my knees sting from the pressure
but a lecture  
of run on sentences is longer than
a list on
some prison percentages

Caught between deranged and wanting to change
sputtering out the plague

my eyes are on fire
If I close them nothing will transpire
is that required?


Caught.
On an idea of something you are not
and I forgot.

C.e.M. 11.26.2014

You're picking at me
like scabs of my mistakes

Disappointing you
is easy;
and admittedly-
pleasing.

We're careening down the mountain
and you've cut the brakes.

Your medication give you the shakes
and I twitch in my sleep

Your love is cheap
and the wine is sweet
and I awake the next morning
with a migraine from both.

What a gracious host.


I'll try to make ends meet and
you'll half-heartedly sing me to sleep.

We'll do the whole **** thing
again on repeat
week after week.

We all have our moments,
here's a recipe I've been compiling
to help me grow, and heal, and learn:

softly whispered prayers
daydreams in the grass
naps in the sunshine
a hug from your best friend
squeezing poetry out of your wounds
driving, windows down
lifting heavier, running faster
warm plate of food
seeing the end in the beginning
long mathematical formulas
raindrops
deep, resonating breaths

I'm wearing armor
These wounds still bleed
I painted on my "Don't ask" face
Just so you wouldn't see
The pain that lies beneath
My emotions are my dedication
I take your's into consideration
Not expecting reciprocation
Rarely surprised but if you do
Try to see it from my view
I do not take sympathy with comfortable ease
I ask you kindly, pretty please
Know that I'm grateful if my words fall short
I may do a little talking but I'm more the writing sort

I found god at the bottom of a jelly jar
His name was gonzo

Slate skies lay still
Cool against my smile on bus stop corners
Already missing the bright caress of sun
Your letters arrive less and less
Further apart than the one before
I breathe you in on each envelope
Curled black ink telling more secrets than truths with each line

In my bedside drawer
rest letters sealed and stamped.
piles upon piles of potential
regret.
I may not shine, but I choose
not to rain.
silence is at times
closer to a yes in my language than in yours.
here, attached to the leg
of a white dove;
my heart. blank paper is
still paper. men suffer
from limbs lost
without words.

Tracing the edges of many a time read pages
I hear between the lines
More loudly than what is written
Dear John on the tip of my fingers
A heart that will not give up
Shadows lace this back and forth
Waiting for the light to break

My heart and I are not
always on speaking terms.
sometimes I want to
tell it I'm sorry, but it alway
beats me to it.
keep my blood flowing, I
beg of it, and I will think
for us both.
later. later. later.
then we'll rest in love's
nest of sweet childlike
restlessness.
later.
I have heavens for us, after
the rain.
suns with your name
on them.
blue is the color of sorrow
and cloudless
skies.

I will be seeing you in starlight
Behind the echo of my midnight sighs

Gray dust of frost
Tips green with sharp edges
Warm puffs of breath dissipate quickly
I am silent. Still.
The whisper of wind through bare tree tops
Squirrels bark at Blue Jays that steal
My heartbeat quickens as I catch the snapping of twigs
Rustling of leaves is music to my ears
Soon a smudge of brown
Different from the rainbow of neutrals this forest reflects
Moves steadily towards me
My tree stand height is perfect
The kick from my shot gun will be welcomed
An extension of myself wielded
To fill my freezer for these coming months
Of darkness