The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.

The liquor hits heavy
As Saturday night usually does
One lone soldier on the far end of the table
Mocking me in his bright red shirt
A single bullet dripping in my hand
The deafening blare of the underground
enhances the effects of intoxication
Blinking and Breathing,
Struggling and failing to break its grip.
A noise to my right causes me to turn
And notice the face beside me staring back at mine.
A reach into a backyard fire
countless rides and cigarettes, one particular
through the worst kind of blizzard
A spring time confession
A day under a bridge, spent letting go
A winter pact, the broken glass of a rolling rock bottle
Alone, far from home, a letter and a picture
Proudly hung from my locker wall
My hand upon it every morning, hope, somehow
A lyrics rings clear from the clammer
"Nobody wants to here another story about how you couldnt write, right?"
recognition, my partner in crime
Turning back to the cup,
Exhale.
The ball released fluidly-- sinks into the cup with a sound of satisfaction
How many "tables" have we stood at together?
I made that cup.
And I'll keep on making it, just as you've done so many times for me.

I grapple with my insides.
I'm pretty sure my brain is turning inside out.
I lean over the bathroom sink,
Breathing with my eyes closed.
Her legs like splinters,
All those memories flash behind my eyes.
She's seeping into me.
She is.
She is filling all those cracks with HERSELF
And pushing
Pushing my thoughts out
Herself in

And all of a sudden,
I fold.
Laying on the cold tile,
I feel it.
My skin flashes green,
To matching my eyes.
Black spikes erupt from my spine,
Down my arms and
My nails turn black.
Fangs sprout from my green
Gums.
I scream,
No longer myself.

I am the green monster.
I am jealous.

As far as I know, we only really live once.
Even if we live more lives, this one,
RIGHT NOW!
Is the one you're living.
So, by all means,
dye your hair blue.
You should pick up that violin
and play the crap out of it.
Hell, get a tattoo.
But if that's not you,
don't go there.
Buy a sweater and
cut it up, and
wear that fancy number
to the supermarket.
Pick up that paintbrush
and paint me a mural.
Paint yourself a mural, ******!
But if that's just not you,
don't go there.
But please, please,
pUUUHleaaaseeeee remember
that YOU are not a
stereotype!
You don't fit into a
category!
You are you AND
FOR CRYING OUT LOUD
DON'T LOSE YOURSELF.
It is difficult to not get caught
in the stream.
Swimming upstream...
It's risky.
It's hard.
But if you stand out,
you won't be blending in.
If you're not blending in,
then you're clearly not the
same color.
Who want's to be beige
when you could be aqua?
But if that's not you...
Be beige!
BE BEIGE IN A SEA OF
PINK AND PURPLE
AND RED AND
GREEN AND BLUE!

A woman drew herself up from wrecked wood at the bottom of the ocean;
whispered sea-songs into the wistful ear of a long lost love;
shook her locks 'til his heart beat faster;
looked longer than she should into the deep pools of his pleading eyes.

"I will call you when I want to;
I will call you when I want."

Cooled his temples;
breathed her watery breath
as silvered beads streamed down his shocked skin.

                                       .......

Rumors rock an empty drifting boat;
a glazed shell faced with priceless pearl
broken from its moorings,
strangled by a knotted rope.

"You have not chosen me, but I have chosen you"

Hold fast the bestowed gift,
your Quinquireme of stowed treasure.
Protect its precious structure.
"Who are you, the one who stripped my soul?
Who is the third who stole yours?"  

                                          .........

B­roken from netting I lie
a beached starfish on burning sand,
wishing the waves to wash me
back through Time's receding current
to find the silence that once was;
to turn away before the sacrifice,
before the Eye of the storm.



copyright © Caroline Grace 2010