Eulalie

Eulalie Oct 2013

My nails dig
into the skin on my arms
when I let myself think over what you've become to me:
your eyes are the needles I stick everywhere into my veins,
viciously, selfishly, fiendishly,
begging you look me over, once, twice, thousands of times in all the unused, neglected spaces.
I yearn to inject everything, anything you have the grace and generosity to grant unto me--
to shoot up and float away--
so that as your love pulses through my bloodstream and dilates my pupils I can revel in the explosion of sensation and sentiment that has too long lain dormant in the chambers of my heart.
Your voice puts shivers down my spinal column, drawing with the softest touch a line from its base
to the baby hairs at my neck,
It churns the contents of my abdomen slowly,
the intense heat
creeping
in a motion like the currents within the core of the Earth:
liquid heat rising,
cooling, falling, heating,
rising again--
a cycle by which ignites a white-hot fire from the depth of my being by which no other soul has managed to awaken before yours.
I'm so
terribly, helplessly, uncontrollably
addicted to you, my Darling.
You've become quite the drug to my ever-craving palate of desires,
and to go too long a time without that appeasement, the undeniably luxurious romantic gratification by which you so masterfully exude
for me
is to refuse the dregs their drugs
and I cannot fall into withdrawal again.
My nails dig
into the skin 'round my head
tearing out hair
because I've gone mad over you.

This one wrote itself, really. I went into this with an idea that has somehow transformed of its own accord. Unexpected. Serendipitous? Precipitous for sure.

Eulalie Oct 2013

To Forget: A Haiku

I've tried to forget
That I love you (I can't)
Ah, these crimes of the heart!

This was me, going nuts. I have reached a block.

Eulalie Oct 2013

2

You were the enterprise of my frontier,
expanding wide, new sliding glass doors in front of my eyes like the grand opening to the gates of an
uncharted section of heaven,
Our friendship affected me more than
I have ever managed to convey,
I felt like after groping around in a dark clutter of disorientation, I touched your hand and you held mine in yours for a most enriching, painfully fleeting while,
And every slicing moment dissolved ever-faster the present into the past; time was not the lingering pleasant man with face nose-deep into that rosebush
but he was that scurrying monkey suit hurdling brashly through conceptual space as if always in a rush.
Like clockwork the moment your hand gave mine that enticing squeeze--that little implied promise of adorational reciprocity and affirmation--it just as suddenly loosed its grip altogether and dropped away.
You were the most profound "What If" I'll never gain the self-preservation and willpower to forget, and in my most dire moments of no sense of direction,
my weak coddling infant of an ego will cling to that most desirous notion of romantic ambiguity,
And for that, I shan't ever truly let go of my idea of what could have been,
under alternative circumstances and more suitable factors on both parties' parts,
because I still trust that the girl I was at sixteen new
what it was she was feeling
when she basked in the wealth produced in her admiration of you.
You were the first real name scribbled on the metaphysical list of my fancies,
And I can't manage to forget so.

This is the first time in a while I've written of you. Two years and three boys later, I can still let you conquer my head.

Eulalie Oct 2013

Pulpy Probz

My biggest fear is that everyone will eventually discover how positively unremarkable the soul beneath this husk of a person always was,
To shy away from the cringing passersby as they gawp mercilessly at the offending blemish of my existence.
I'm trying to learn how to like myself, but it's a pathological, preexisting condition to be able to identify all of the things wrong with me simultaneously as an individual and as (un)contributing member to society.
I don't mean to be so cruel, for I know in my heart that self-love is paramount to intelligent, peaceful, pleasant enlightenment,
It's merely that I sense some ubiquitously negative energy whenever I make the attempt to muster up some sort of internal kindness.
No, it gets wasted on all the strangers and non-strangers in my socially habituating dwelling.
I'll share with them the stars from the sky and the very constellations from their hearts and make them feel positively dynamic and optimistic and they'll walk away from me with a cushy spot for hope in their pockets.
And I'll retreat to the shelter on my back, drained as if the flow of my mind were poured out in a colander, leaving the pulpy, distastefully rude thoughts that remained to wreak havoc on my crippled self-esteem.
I'm so sorry that my kindliness is some lewd pantomime of genuine altruism.
I'm sorry if I destroyed the ethereal, impossible image of who you fashioned me into.
I was always afraid that this would happen.

I decided to try some alternate honesty with myself. I don't know how I feel.

Eulalie Oct 2013

Stupid Girl

I’m quite disappointed in myself,
because all I ever have to show for my supposed beloved writings can be chalked up to a pile of sugar-coated, overly-analyzed, exaggerated, (quite pathetically so!) melodramatic infatuation from a stupid girl who casts a boy as her sun in her ever-revolving solar system of sentiments.
It really is quite pathetic,
because I am a deep, competent, sentient human being with opinions and revelations and insights on volumes of topics because I always seek out knowledge and I always attempt to dig deeper into the story than a mere brush against the surface.
And all you ever get to know of this deep, competent, sentient human being with opinions and revelations and insights is that she wants to feel the love from someone other than her platonic fistful of friendships at every measurable instant of her existence.
I contemplate the pursuit of happiness. Life after death. The reasons people must always justify themselves for doing what they want. Aliens. Occular dominance. The breeding rituals of sea slugs.
And all that I actually get down onto the pages is how the curve of his smirk sends me swooning seven years into the future.
But ******, I have something to say
Yet would you know that by peering into my journals? Read up on one of my latest poems—go on ahead.
It’s still about a boy.
They all are.

I'm going to make edits on this guy. He's just more of my venting with intent on passing as actual poetry. I don't care.

Eulalie Oct 2013

Late Nights

Floating beneath the brilliance of the full moon, I'm shooing away the wispy dark tendrils of sleep, swatting at the lazy tired gnats who are as directionless as I am.
I scrub away the hints of sand from the corners of my eyes and yawn wide enough so to dispel the collection of retiring bats who've claimed sanctuary in the cavern of my ribs.
I've without a purpose other than to carry on with my meager, passive existence in this dark limbo of twilight.
"Go to sleep silly"
As if you sensed from five thousand miles my nocturnal habituation of lethargic solitude,
As if it pierced the air like the dull green blinking at the end of the dock over on East Egg, calling out to you like a tiny beacon of distant opportunity--a lighthouse in the tremulous sea nights of--yes--your own affections and desires emanating back to you.
And all at once, I feel an eternity of connection tethering me back to my plot of soil, somehow not as empty and cold as it felt before.
Because you somehow knew, and that somehow makes my meanderings less of a thing to dwell with, for somehow someone somewhere cares if my soul is restless.
So I'll probably end up going to sleep.
After all, I'll find you again in my dreams.

It's a bit shapeless, but I'm in the throes of sleep as I type, so we're going to just deal with it.

Eulalie Oct 2013

Fall(ing): A Haiku

I'm too romantic?
because all I needed was
something from your heart

It's enough to take to bed with me for the night, and for that, I thank you