You called me golden
Like, perhaps, I could be a California river.
But I, with my hooded eyes, never thought
I was soaked in sunlight or shimmering in wealth
Until I found you sifting through me
Marveling at a beauty I cannot see:
Telling how the sun makes me sparkle,
Bragging about the curve of my body through the hills.
The more you boasted, the more came to see
And now I know I am that swollen western stream,
A run of water muddied by your boots,
Scattered with pebbles of treasure
Winding south with the current down to the sea.
I am that western vein because I know
I give more than I take, and I know
I could never stick around for long.
You're like the others
Who held me in a pan and
Walked away with all I could give them.

Innuendos conjure concepts of
untruths that only the sensible
let not belittle there perceptions

But there are those like sheep are
herded unto the whispers that
blossom on wanting thoughts.

Within each wave of wording changing
upon each beach of thought they wash upon,
now phrased different from once before.

Always listen to the source never the echo
of where it never came forth. A wave only
gets bigger the more splashing is done.

Please close your eyes, close your eyes
I can't bare to be looked at in the light

If you can't see beyond the silhouette of a personality then you can't judge the soul
Who could I be that you would love me
Who could I be that  I  would love me
All I can control is the pose and the poise being lent to my silhouette

Whisper songs in a broken tune
From him to me, from me to you
From us to them the cycle goes
None if it is mutual, or so I'm told

Colors don't matter when you're in the dark
Lipstick stains are scattered, leaving waxy marks
You laugh and I wince praying you can't see
Don't notice the anxiety sweating off of me

As long as the lights are dim I can play this foolish game
But turn them on and I shall melt and fall again

i drive past twenty-seven churches before i realize
that i am looking for someone
to save me. you will not want to know this,
but i think about telling you anyway,

think about calling
you up on the phone and saying, “hey, do you
remember me? i’m the girl who sat in your
passenger seat like it was stitched to fit the curve of her waist.
you loved my broken poetry. you loved the stain
of my teeth against your collarbone.
you looked into my eyes and thought about oceans and blackberries.
you thought about what it would be like to love me,
to carry me over the fire and deliver me from the floods.
but tonight

i am not your cross to bear.
you are miles away and i am still here, rubbing
over old scars that still ache when it rains and writing
poetry in the same stupid stilted stanzas you used to love.
i guess i haven’t gotten the hang of letting go yet.
i was kind of hoping you could give me some pointers.

i know it sounds crazy,
but sometimes when i get too distant, i imagine
all the cities you have been to since the last time we kissed.
i hope they have loved you kinder and more gently than
i ever did. i am sorry about the wreckage and the wine
and the cigarettes and the sins. i just—

i just need you to know that i think about you often,
okay, and nothing has been the same since you left,
but i would never forgive you if you came back. please,
keep your feet towards the horizon. please forget
my name. please do not call back.”

This is for that cold whistle and its tempestuous ring.
Come to greet me in your hardened sheen? O, You crystal empress--
blind as the night, and clear as the day can see.