Dec 2016
Everyday seems condensed into a couple pages of pages of notes and that one muscles that I can'tquite seem to stretch out properly
All of the emotion is laced through the doodles in the margins that I didn't have time to draw
I'm just hoping that I'm happy enough to get out of bed in the morning
My nightstand is littered with half finished cups of tea where I made the decision to get up and live for the day
I'm just tired,
But tired is so much more complex than three consonants and a vowel
Tired is somehow supposed to explain why I haven't eaten in two days or why I keep picking the scars off my knuckles
But it doesn't
We don't address things
These are the sidelines that we have fallen to
I asked you about the weather yesterday
We didn't talk about your car crash or my dead dog
I ran five empty miles
The ground was just dry enough to sound hollow
All I knew right then was my body
We try not to talk about until it's silent and our clothes rustle together
I was thinking about the meaning of life and suddenly we were talking about Vincent Van Gogh and you cried
A sort of broad abruptness and then just grey again
We run away from parts of ourselves and each other
We build glass buildings so that men in suits can look out and see more glass buildings
And we don't throw stones
I miss the river that flowed across the street
Nobody has taken me there since I was a child and I barely remember
I barely remember doing my worklast night, but it's there on my desk, finished
I forget what flowers look like during the winter and I seriously wonder if life keeps trying while I'm asleep
I poured all of myself into your hands because I think you understand me better than I do
I don't need any of myself left over to grow up and get a job in a cubicle
They tattooed a bar code on my arm and assigned it a number
They beat the **** out of us but they never laid a hand on me
You don't blow glass to break it
Our hearts were beating so fast in your driveway
I doubt you remember the steps to that but it doesn't matter
Your hand on my vertebra is the only feeling I'll never forget
I was shivering
And our cold feet left blood on the asphalt where we were standing
All of the emotion is laced through the doodles in the margins that I didn't have time to draw
I'm just hoping that I'm happy enough to get out of bed in the morning
My nightstand is littered with half finished cups of tea where I made the decision to get up and live for the day
I'm just tired,
But tired is so much more complex than three consonants and a vowel
Tired is somehow supposed to explain why I haven't eaten in two days or why I keep picking the scars off my knuckles
But it doesn't
We don't address things
These are the sidelines that we have fallen to
I asked you about the weather yesterday
We didn't talk about your car crash or my dead dog
I ran five empty miles
The ground was just dry enough to sound hollow
All I knew right then was my body
We try not to talk about until it's silent and our clothes rustle together
I was thinking about the meaning of life and suddenly we were talking about Vincent Van Gogh and you cried
A sort of broad abruptness and then just grey again
We run away from parts of ourselves and each other
We build glass buildings so that men in suits can look out and see more glass buildings
And we don't throw stones
I miss the river that flowed across the street
Nobody has taken me there since I was a child and I barely remember
I barely remember doing my worklast night, but it's there on my desk, finished
I forget what flowers look like during the winter and I seriously wonder if life keeps trying while I'm asleep
I poured all of myself into your hands because I think you understand me better than I do
I don't need any of myself left over to grow up and get a job in a cubicle
They tattooed a bar code on my arm and assigned it a number
They beat the **** out of us but they never laid a hand on me
You don't blow glass to break it
Our hearts were beating so fast in your driveway
I doubt you remember the steps to that but it doesn't matter
Your hand on my vertebra is the only feeling I'll never forget
I was shivering
And our cold feet left blood on the asphalt where we were standing
This is a new style for me to play around with. I was trying to string together quick stories that conveyed a sense of grey until the last one, which was meant to convey a sense of liveliness and hope through a symbol usually associated with the opposite. This poem was also written for slam, but I thought I'd post it anyway. I hope you liked it. As always, feedback is appreciated :)
