WHAT WAS SHE LIKE?

Well, she was like a lady
who had been changed

by a magic spell
into an extremely elegant

cat
or a cat

who had been enchanted
into an extremely elegant

lady

or how a silence
would listen to you

without saying a sound

or a piece of music
that had been made visible

and run before you
laughing: "Catch me...catch me!"

Yeah, yeah
more like that!

A year ago, I resolved to write,
Everyday, no matter what.
Noble in my intention, to let
These words Blossom
But impractical in my imprisonment

Papers and parchment became walls
Which grew hungry and full off anxiety
True to the nature of my failure
I felt every bit of imagination die
The magic engine chocked out, rusted
With failed expectations.

However, this creative vigor, this
Impossibly strong passion, sparked
Life once again, as it tends to do.

So I resolve once again, to write
But only as the wind blows

As the extraordinary rushes,
So will I, to the pages.

You make love taste rotten, like something that has been sitting out on the sidewalk underneath the afternoon sun. People like you only know how to love yourself and take more than you give. People like you love storms, ravaging the homes others have constructed, leaving nothing behind. You turn something wonderful into something I wish I never had. To you, love must mean Winning, must mean always being right, must mean crushing the person that I am just so you can build your ego a little higher. To you, I must look like a fight, a competitor, a challenge to defeat. You use your words and threats to make me forget that I am a vital part of the relationship, your kisses fall like duct tape on my lips, you don't let me be anything but yours. Yours to love, hurt, twist, break, yours to keep, own, manipulate. I know it is wrong to love someone like you. But that is why things like this are hard- you fall in love with oceans before you realize how easy it is for them to drown you, you fall in love with people before you see how even seemingly best of them can abuse you.

change is not the problem
the problem is the change
we've drawn a solid line between
the sacred and the strange

i don't mind if you connect
with something in your mind
we always build a bridge between
the things we leave behind

time is not a currency
yet current is the time
the things we rescue in-between
the stark and the sublime

change is not the problem
the problem needs to change
we need to build those bridges in-between
what we arrange

and, dig this:
nothing is so secret that requires it to hurt
nothing is so sacred that remands it to the dirt
nothing is so tired, so miniscule, so intricate
strange problem indeed