Asch Veal: Favorites

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

wah

And there were battles in our eyes
And they fell down our faces
Like little waterfalls
And by the time the battle had ended,
We were fast asleep
And dreaming of times we could not
Consciously remember
We dreamt of loud music
And blue eyes with black pupils
We dreamt of the sun;
High, hot, heavy, and mighty
Suspending in the sky
We dreamt of loose clothes
Falling off of our bony bodies
We dreamt of ecstasy –
In our spirits
And our mouths
And the way the bitter raindrops taste
When the little battles landed
On our tongues
We dreamt of shotguns and empty bottles
Cornhusk ropes and broken lighters
So when I wake up tomorrow
I will not think of you
Because a dream well-spent
Is a dream well-kept

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

Boxes & Breathing

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

wah

Boxes & Breathing

I don’t want to feel like I can’t breathe anymore
I don’t want to feel like the wind feels
When it tries to pass over a vent in the sidewalk

I don’t want to smell like other people anymore
I don’t want to wake up with the scent
Of thirteen-dollar cologne and sweat
Sticking to my skin like starfish to the bottom of the sea

I don’t want to be reminded of my empirical downfall
When I haven’t any sleeves to cover myself
And I can look down and see the canal of flesh
That was left behind after trying to rot it away

I don’t want my mouth to taste like coffee,
Smoke, *****, and bad wishes anymore
My eyes are burning and my throat is sore
And now glass is bursting in the small of my back

I am living inside of an invisible box
And the walls are closing in quickly
And I’m starting to forget how to breathe again

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

On Being an Artist

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

wah

On Being an Artist

I think the hardest thing
About being an artist
Is all about inspiration.

It doesn’t matter how determined
Or desperate
An artist is.

She sits and she tries to come up
With something worthwhile to say,
Or to draw or to paint.

But all she sees in her head
Is a ticking clock, ***** snow,
An oak tree, and a brick building.

One of the issues
Of the common artist
Is as follows:

Nothing she says or thinks is important,
Or valued,
Or necessary.

She knows this.
But yet something
Pulls her to the keyboard or to the easel.

She could apologize for pretending like
She knows what or why or how to
Say dreamboat words.

But for now she’s content with
Pretending like she knows
What she’s doing.

And right now everyone else
Is content
With playing along.

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

With A Different Style

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

M M M

With A Different Style

You
eat
your omelette
like it
will be
your
last
one

You
remove it from
your
fork
with only your
teeth
(loud, metal
clashing
bone)
into your
mouth
much
like a
barbarian, ******
off at
the
world

You eat as
if to
send that
protein
right
where it
needs to be
in order
for you to be
strong
enough
to leave a
mark
on
your next victim

But
alas!,
you are just
a young
girl
and no
amount of
forceful,
angsty eating
will
change
that

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

And Then What?

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

M M M

And Then What?

I
have this
friend,

she will
tell you
nothing
but
the
truth
(which
is too
truthful,
most of the time)

she is
the
type
to know
the code to
the printer,
and will
print off
75
pages
just
because
she can

she is
the
type
who can
make up a
story to
get out
of
anything,
and she
will,
too

and scarily
enough,
I feel
safe
when I'm
around her

and I
find myself
wishing
sometimes
I was
more like
her

and
when she
is not
around,
I'm wondering
who she
is
tantalizing
now

it's probably
some old
*****
who is
just as
uninterested
as she is,
but
he wears
expensive
glasses
and a
fancy necktie
and
this fills
her
void

and yet,
somewhere
in my mind
I know
my friend
will
not
get away
with living
her whole
life
this
way

someday it ends
and
then
what

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

And She Was Called Society:

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

RILEY

And She Was Called Society:

I met a girl who couldn’t keep eye contact for more than three seconds;
She puts her palms in front of her face
A bit higher than her nose
So she could see you through her fingers,
So that
Her voice
A bit dim,
Can bounce on the walls she now builds
And reflects back to her,
Giving her time to rethink her words
Over and over and over and over
Until she makes sure that
Every type of person surrounding her
Would not blow bombs under her white sheets
Destroy her heart,
And shatter her soul,
Till she has no strength to carry her hands
And hold her palms as barriers for her protection.
I met a girl with red brown hair,
She had two thin lines of blue under her eyes
Because oceans could draw attention
To their beauty,
And under beauty
Lies her mess,
The doors could open a gate way to the fire that’s inside
While she only reveals sparkles
In the split seconds between every word
That she rambles on,
Because if she stopped talking
It would be silent enough
For her to listen to her inner voice,
And her inner voice is never pleased.
I met a girl with a wide smile and a sense of humor,
But she apologizes after every joke
And freezes after every laughter,
Thinking of how many mistakes she might have made
Thinking of how to fix them
Thinking if anybody noticed
No one ever did.
I met a girl with a silent giggle,
Her bangs strategically lie over her eyes
To cover the curvature of her emotions,
The lines she creates on her forehead
And inside her mind,
The shy lyrics that she sings alone
Swaying her body to a jimmy Hendrix
That broke her security systems
And unchained her
Till it was possible to move.
I met a girl,
Who knows a lot more than she needs to
Who works a lot more than she has to
Who loves a lot more than possible;
She lifts up the world around her
So she can forget how far down she lies,
She runs away from herself
To hide under buses and trains
Making sure everything was okay;
Everything is not okay.
I met a girl,
And she was called confidence
I met a girl,
And she was called insecurity
I met a girl,
Who was called social consciousness;
I met a girl
Who was called society
And that girl was a killer.

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

Hands

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

Elise

Hands

Your hands were your first language
and all formalities and expectations aside
I want you to whisper into my skin
spell words into my flesh
just like I spelled my name over and over
inside my chest when I first learned
how to make letters out of my fingers
at summer camp in 5th grade
last night you reminded me of that week
more than I'll ever tell you
you are running through thick forrest
you are sunlight through the trees
you are blue skies
and you are also thunderstorms
I have seen both in your eyes
don't ever be afraid to rain
I wanted to tell you
Both storms were on a Wednesday night
the water never touched me either time
yet seemed to soak my soul
arms around my knees
whispered words
I think you were too upset to notice
that you reverted back to the voice that projects from your fingers
sometimes I forget English is your second language
you speak it so eloquently
hands
around your face
as if speaking in perfect verse
fluttering

"what are you saying"

fluttering

"you're so pretty"
"you're so pretty"
"you're so pretty"
you whispered

"pretty"
"pretty"
"pretty"
I repeated
using nothing
but my hands

American Sign Language is beautiful //E-- two taps to the right cheek

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

3 am

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

Natalia Volkova

3 am

His eyes are coffee,
digging deep into my chest and pulling
out my heartstrings...

No wonder I can never sleep.

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

Epilogue

Jan 2014 Asch Veal

Natalia Volkova

Epilogue

The problem is that we made
love and now I don't know which bed
will help me undo it.