I'm still stony from the storm.

Sitting cross-legged in the grass. Half of me is underwater.
Half of me sings praises to the sky.

Staring at empty hands:
all I need is air, world, here is my cup.
Offer my tears to the ground,
all I have is flesh and I'm sorry.

The familiar is translating into a shifted perspective,
mapped through my hazy half-watered views.
Questions bubble to the surface, they always do.
What is you? What is me?
Who are my companions, here?
Hands shrivel to a close, I am empty somewhere

so many of you: hiding your sorrows in the drink,
in the non-speak and waters-flowing-greening-the-path
of self-discovery-through-phase-denial;
pain for later,
pancakes for now.


I am so old,
my wrinkles are bared in the sun-exposed rock,
heart beating beside me, cup full of storm-water
and storm-blown watery eyes
dripping softly into the scenery
behind me

the world is infinity

next to that I am a pinprick that never fully bled nor healed

Her heart was made of beating wings
Of tides and winds and churning things

So much she'd take, but give nothing back
If you fall for her, you are surely trapped

She yearns for love, an unknown thirst
But to have none, this girl is cursed

A heart of gold could not hers win
For something's missing from within

She sees them all, through and through
Men and knights, boys and fools

A single glance is all it took
Seduced by her with just one look

They pine for her, heart and hand
And fleetingly, she felt something grand

But in such short time, it's all gone
Left in one-way love while she looks on

Unsatisfied, she wants that feeling too
And so one by one, he suitors she slew

And every one, she swallowed their heart
When feelings of love didn't last past dark

Trying to hold what they felt for her
Instead it became a lover's slaughter

She waits and waits for the one to come
The one to set this spell undone

She's ever patient, waiting for such a day
That true love will keep dark magic at bay

And finally she can come to know
The spark of love, and watch it grow

But time is the longest road to walk
She fears death before her hearts unlocked

Yet still she keeps that promise alive
Through it all, her hope survives

For one to appear, noble and true
To whom she can honestly say, I love you

Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.

As sure as day changes to night,
I understand.

We will soon forget the love shared
the midnight conversations
the 'good mornings'
the 'good nights'
the wasted 'I love you's'

And I will forget your crooked smile
And you will forget my lame attempts to get through a joke without laughing

Sure is what I am.

ER.

Try? I'd rather do.
Then make it all seem like it's less for you.
Perhaps we'd have got along better,
If all those mishaps were "probably not".
Stop
I'd have rather,
But who's still listening?
We let these things go,
Though still know,
That the extroverted world is listening.

She knows that I now
It's all still part of fantasy.

For her lack in interest of anything of mine,
Her subtle peace of knowing why,
Makes my bones quiver.

She's something I'd never realized I'd ignored,
Her curls, her peace,
Her shy, her eyes,

Maybe I was wrong.

Ocean's
flowing currents
wash over me
with blue noise.
Burning waves
tangle my hair.
Salt *****
my skin,
making my nerves
raw and singing.
The dark sea
saddens me
with it's
cold caress.

Stained sand, we
saved for grey days
that never arrived.
Rivers greeted
prying thumbnails,
which remained
ready, but unclean.
Romance clucked
through the crook
of an armed shadow,
where she melted.
Sherbet floated
like ***** on
her shuddering
upper lip.

It must have taken courage
to fight the way she had;
the problem with fighting yourself
is that you’ll always end up losing
broken glass littered the floor
of the hotel balcony
crunching underfoot and
leaving specks of blood
on the railing where she leapt

And she did leap, that was certain
there was no one else around
and that was the issue
there wasn’t a note to be found
the front door left open a crack
so that a curious soul might
put two and two together and
realize that the body which had
plummeted eleven stories
was the one that belonged to
this room of things
her story eternally tied to
a ratty armchair and a kitchen
full of unsolved problems

Upon closer inspection,
the only thing out of place
in the whole situation was
her face, covered in paint
not the kind you’d redo
your living room in but
rather the apache kind
designed to strike fear
into the enemy in war
broad white and red bars
emblazoned across her
cheeks and forehead
a simple reminder of
her ferocity in life