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Jen Ayala Apr 2012
The veins in our face
Supply the white blood to our eyes
Making them blue,
And acting as kaleidoscopes
Warping the images into a shattering collage
Where out of every book ever written
Only one single word made sense at all.
Ringing through the buzz
Penetrating the layer of sense within.
The first heart ever made
Was filled with a ghost,
And a single nail held it in place.
I could feel the dust settle
In the creases that radiate from the corners
Of my eyes that see what I see.
And here we go
Running away from one another
To the exact same place
Like a meadow in bloom
For the first time.
The colors soaking up the heat
Inside of a tear
That made it all the way
Down to the belly.
Nothing made more of an influence
On my reasonings for what was about to
Bite me in the ***.
The longest joke ever told.
I sat in the orange plush chair
And sipped on my overpriced concoction
And they used my legs to hold up their janky table.
A dog barked from the corner of hell,
****, I can’t believe I'm going
To slip into this **** robe again
So you might think twice about me.
For once.
From the dark of the room
Came a noise unmistakable,
What happened to the cat and mouse mentality
Tip toeing to the edge
Of a bird’s wing and peering over
The glimmer of the chandelier
Hung too low for the average person to pass under.
My baby doll caught a fire
That began where the sun first shined.
Casting down my gaze to the coin
That fell from the hole in my pocket,
The one that paid for my old
Dusty memories and a yellow rose.
Sometimes my moments last too long.
I wish I brought that lens with me
To see the dreams that bleed
Straight back into the day,
Crashing behind my eyelids.
This, here, is my favorite song.
Lets put it on repeat and bob
our heads all night
like we were in water
made out of black stars
I once told you
Not to dream in silence.
Talk in your sleep.
Jen Ayala Apr 2011
This is me trying to convince myself that I’ve fallen out of love with you
because that’s better than the inability to
(for fear of facing the giant it would become)
This pain is from the gradual decay of something once radiant
turning into something now devoid
Not the cringe of the fingernails-on-a-chalkboard sound
coming from the out-of-tune strings of my heart
Death is a slow process and
suicide is a quick relief
(but both leave an empty space)
Maybe I just need to fall into something less destructive
Or less insubstantial
Or more enchanting
Or maybe even myself?
I haven’t been myself for a while
and that frustration makes me want to scream
I feel like a rat in the sewer
Except for I’m not a rat, I just thought I was
What I am is a liar
Because I’ve either fallen out of sight,
or have never even existed in this place
But either way it’s too much for my chest, for my nights, for my fingers, for my eyelids, for my paint and my ink, for the air that I breathe, and for you to take.

This is me saying goodbye, for one reason or another.
Jen Ayala Apr 2011
Cross-legged in tall grass writing songs about blues and trains and leaving
Tap-dancing on stone where below is the place they turn to dust
Capturing cringes and laughter and shadows and highlights
Hugging and fitting like comfort

It’s a cruel cruel tear,
I am deliriously happy for your wings to spread
And sorrowed at the anticipation of distance

You see, I love you more than I can explain
Which means that even I don’t know how much that is
So I could never use words or colors or music to tell
But there are some things I can explain, and I will

Here:

You are more beautiful than watching flowers fold to sleep when the sun sets
You are more contagious than green is to yellow and blue
And you act as a magnet to all the things I want to be within myself

It’s a prized prized life,
I share my blood with one so unique
While others can only scrape the foam off your loyalties

You are my companion and my friend and my white rabbit and my glass cased rose
And my sister
Jen Ayala Feb 2011
i could spot him in any crowd even though he blends into the walls

i want his warm hands and the way his fingers lace around mine
i want his soft lips and hard kiss
and how he would take violence and passion
and mix the most pleasurable serum i’ve ever tasted
i want his eyelashes to play my heart again like his fingers play guitar
                                                          ­                                                                 ­ beautiful

he told me he wouldn’t forget how our lips locked
                     i wont forget that either
and that if we lived in the same universe
we would be lovers like something rarely seen
                     i wont forget that either

did you know that when i see you my heart dilates
so to take in as much of your light as it can
and when i hear you i develop a fear of going deaf
because if i don’t get your notes, i'll be alone                                         
              ­                                                                 ­                         ******
                                 ­                                                                 ­      not high.
  
i’m not sure anyone can hold my interest the way he does
i wish i never let him go
every day

there’s something i’ve been wanting to tell you:
i couldn’t say goodbye to you and that’s why i didnt answer the phone
Jen Ayala Jan 2011
You’re going into that dark place again
I haven’t seen you in a few days, but I can still feel it
That’s what I get for attaching my heart to yours
The risk I took is a weight tied to my ankles
And treading the deep is no use when you’re so **** heavy
Lighten up
Life is not as hard as it seems to be
Not with two hands to make yours four

I’ve been feeling rather driftful lately
Walls and ceilings have lost their use and appeal
It’s curious that my heart has just as hard a time focusing as my mind does…
But back to the matter

Love.Heart.Lost.Found.Onward.Boundless.Alive.
Jen Ayala Jan 2011
My eyes changed color since you saw me last
I can tell because I see different
My skin is softer since you touched me last
I can tell because I feel different

My prints are still the same though.
Jen Ayala Dec 2010
You don’t remind me of anything
because we don’t have any memories
But newly grown grass
and open skies remind me of you.
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