gabrielle boltz

gabrielle boltz Jun 2013

do you ever ask yourself
if something is
too perfect?
like when the
sun filters through
the leaves of a maple tree
just right,
and you can see
flecks of shadow
spilling onto yourself?

or when you see
a certain flower
for the first time,
and somehow note to yourself
that the petals make
such flawless circles
you wish you could
take a mental picture
of them
to keep in
your pocket
to remind you to smile?

or when you're sitting
next to me,
and remember that we don't
fight,
or argue,
or insult,
or disagree,
or disrespect -
don't have to fix
how we react to each other,
because how we see
one another
isn't broken.

or are those
perfect things
empty,
boring,
lacking -
simply uninteresting
to you?
because in those
perfect things,
there is nothing
to improve.

the point is to
exist,
and enjoy existing.
so just... be.

gabrielle boltz Jun 2013

our rain

i told you
the rain drops were
bouncy,
because they made a
very satisfying
plop
when they hit
the pavement in front of me.

each one made its own
small shower of
tiny droplets
fly into the air
around the spot the
raindrop hit,
so they were bouncy.

you softly said
i love you
with a little laugh
like im the only one
who compared the rain
to bouncy ***** -
like im the only one
who noticed that quirk
God created -
like God created
a quirk in those raindrops
so that i would
point it out to you,
in that moment,
right then,
and you would
say those words.

so that bouncy rain
was just for me
just for you
just for us.

so i think it's safe to say
that the bouncy kind,
is definitely the best.

gabrielle boltz Jun 2013

to toe circles around the moon

it is two o clock in the morning
and you are shaking in my arms
taking those shuddery butterfly breaths
that only accompany sobs -
my frame trembles with yours
because you are so much
heavier,
stronger than i,
and i cannot hold you still,
so i hold you gently instead
and hope you do not miss the
steadiness that i'll never have.

and when the earthquakes are over
we breathe with your head in my lap
and my feet on the dash,
fogging the windows with
silent understanding,
or a lack thereof.
running my fingers through your hair
i raise my foot to the windshield,
and draw tiny circles around the moon
with my big toe -
somehow it seems melancholy,
that moon.
big,
silver,
and emanating a sadness that i
altogether comprehend for a moment
with my fingers in your hair
and my toe on the chilled glass pane -

and with that shared sadness
came the realization as to why
the moon stays so far from the earth -
the moon has watched from the sky
as countless loves ended
from the beginning of time,
and so she knows better than
to get too close to anything
that might make her fall.

i giggle at the thought
of how even the moon
knows better than i do.
but regardless
i'll just sit here,
toeing circles around that moon,
taking guesses at what you are dreaming.

gabrielle boltz Jun 2013

just like the rest of us.

what happened to the
     innocence -
          she doesn't wonder
               why the sky is blue anymore.

now she looks at the sky
and sees red chemical clouds,
  and asks why we're all so
   concerned with ourselves.

what happened to the
innocence -
  she doesn't have those
   bright shining eyes anymore

now she tries to pass me
a joint in the corner,
  muttering something about
   lies and broken promises.

what happened to the
innocence -
  i think we showed her
   too much that was broken.
    too much that was tattered
     and torn
          and misshapen
               and wrong -
she doesn't see the rainbows -
     there are clouds in the way.
she doesn't hear bluebirds sing -
     there's a car on the street.

so i guess now
innocence is
jaded,
and we've
     nothing

          left

to lose.

gabrielle boltz Jun 2013

as it seems

we went for a walk,
and there was this tree.
i pointed it out to you,
because it looked like something
someone painted in a
famous picture
somewhere in an
incredible museum
with it's fully leafed out branches
with green that seemed to never end;
the perfect story book tree,
from every fairytale you've ever read.

we walked towards this tree,
and when we got up to it,
i looked closer.
you innocently said
"you know,
this thing is a lot uglier
up close"
it had gnarled knots
on it's mishappen trunk,
torn and tattered wind-worn bark.
the back of this tree was gone.
once you got to the other side of it,
all you saw was the uneven angry
stub of a branch
that used to be there.

i stopped for a second,
to look at what i had thought
was so perfect, so picturesque.

there was a little part of me that
cried in that moment -
a little part of me that mourned
for that broken, gnarled half of
something beautiful.
and when i turned back around,
i held your hand a little tighter,
walked a little closer,
because even the trees can fool me.

if even the trees can put on a mask...
then nothing is as it seems.

gabrielle boltz Jun 2013

i already did

i saw a shooting star tonight.

it wasn't anything spectacular,
just a small flash against an otherwise
motionless sky.
you looked at me,
smiling,
and said
make a wish
but i knew any wish i could think of
would never come true,
so i sufficed to lay my head back on
your chest, saying
i already did
and dream all the wishes i could
ever wish
to life,
under those
motionless stars.

gabrielle boltz Jun 2013

handle with care

pulling me towards
you seems to be something
you were made to do
-so close , comfortable-
you enveloppe me in
your everything, to remind me
that you're not pretend.

you cradle my head
to your chest with your
big, strong hands
-so warm , safe-
i breathe in the
thump of your heart
with closed eyes.

its beautiful,
how you hold me
like a baby bird,
-so carefully , gently-
though you're the only
one who doesn't mind how
delicate i really am.