I keep thinking about a white
house in a garden
with drooping dahlias
lining the crooked
stone path

a stone path that leads to
an awning- spilling shadows from its
canopy
down to cover
a degrading wooden
step

I keep thinking about the door
single panel window and
unwashed, dusty curtains,
lace, sunlight bursting through
the
window fogged with
grime and age

I keep thinking of places
that do not exist
and are puzzles of
things I have
seen
before

where even the bees are lazily buzzing symphonies and
the tallest trees I've ever seen sway in their drunken lull,
it's August in southern Oregon and
I keep thinking about a
white house in
a garden

It's funny now,
looking back to
November
September,
back to August when
I was so unsure and
put my faith in
idols

I keep looking back to
Vienna,
to Istanbul,
to charcoal eye-liner and hanging lamps,
Morocco

and here I am:
where I never thought
we'd be
where I have no idea
where I'm going and
there's a cloudy, veil of haze
protecting and
desisting me

I didn't know my worries wouldn't
redesign my days

so here I sit:
the coffee's hot
and I've started Ballet,
again

and I know that after the longest Winter
under trees,
spent on my own
that even though the next stop is
the desert
that you'll be there
and I won't be
alone.

books are the only escape
from the world around me

Lights dim, tears brim, arms tight, just cry
Lights bright, curious eyes, cry more, destroy your shore
A bruise on the wrist, a busted lip, a lack of love, a damaged hip
A call for help, a personal hell, do you know what I tell?



The best part of life is always the pain
And how people react is your knowledge to gain



A feeling of doom that died too soon
You stirred that flame and set fire to my skin
And with this pen I write your name
Over and over and over again



Oranges, pinks, greens, blues
Bright light yellows
Nature's noose

Plump, skinny, short, tall
I'm surrounded by beautiful, talented people
They shine bright
Gifted
Short blonde hair
Plump *******
Long brown hair
Long waist
Tall and thin as a stick
Don't get me started on their eyes or face
I'm surrounded by beautiful people
All of them shine brighter than me

I fear your laugh but love your smile
Things I haven't seen since you were a child
I fear your hands but hold them close
I love you
They'll never know

I wish his heart made up for mine
My lack of courage and constant whine
I wish my love existed there
It did once, but now nowhere

“Once you lose someone it is never exactly the same person who comes back.”
Sharon Olds, Satan Says (via wnq-anonymous)