I
I remember when I wore pigtails and strap on sneakers
because I didn't know how to tie a bow.
My grandmother knit me up in pastel sunshine
and nothing really seemed to bother me.
Time cracks like stale nail polish.
And I still can't seem to get it off-
I'm thinking about white
I'm thinking about
tying knots - tying ties - tying everything
together so it doesn't unravel
again like coffee drenched yarn.
And it occurs to me somedays,
That what I love, I really don't like at all.
And I keep chasing after a sweater that will never fit
me right in the arms
II
I used to be studious
I used to be hungry
I would pick at my fingers - pick at my split ends - and focus -
on the tasks at hand.
Now all I pick is you. And it
makes me green - and it makes me shiver
that I have Priorities -
and Grappling Dreams - and Melancholy Wishes that are...
a hopeless potential.
But. If.
Only I kept up with the drudgery
I wouldn't have gotten so fixed on the blue in your eyes.
III
The warmth in your coat, love, isn't something I'd like to steal.
But, if it's alright with you,
I would like to cram my hands in the pockets.
And I think -
If only -
I could feel the way your fingers feel
when they delicately tuck in the buttons
as if each were a newborn sun,
I would understand what it's like
to live with you
in these moments
that are barren with cause.
Your arms are too short to wrap around my circle
and I am too grey to feel light.
It's a hopeless cause
But -
I do know,
when your head is over my shoulder
and your hair breezes over my mouth
I feel again like you fit with me.
It's always,
red bows of heart -
tied in the middle -
but all in all -
completely undone.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
I
I remember when I wore pigtails and strap on sneakers
because I didn't know how to tie a bow.
My grandmother knit me up in pastel sunshine
and nothing really seemed to bother me.
Time cracks like stale nail polish.
And I still can't seem to get it off-
I'm thinking about white
I'm thinking about
tying knots - tying ties - tying everything
together so it doesn't unravel
again like coffee drenched yarn.
And it occurs to me somedays,
That what I love, I really don't like at all.
And I keep chasing after a sweater that will never fit
me right in the arms
II
I used to be studious
I used to be hungry
I would pick at my fingers - pick at my split ends - and focus -
on the tasks at hand.
Now all I pick is you. And it
makes me green - and it makes me shiver
that I have Priorities -
and Grappling Dreams - and Melancholy Wishes that are...
a hopeless potential.
But. If.
Only I kept up with the drudgery
I wouldn't have gotten so fixed on the blue in your eyes.
III
The warmth in your coat, love, isn't something I'd like to steal.
But, if it's alright with you,
I would like to cram my hands in the pockets.
And I think -
If only -
I could feel the way your fingers feel
when they delicately tuck in the buttons
as if each were a newborn sun,
I would understand what it's like
to live with you
in these moments
that are barren with cause.
Your arms are too short to wrap around my circle
and I am too grey to feel light.
It's a hopeless cause
But -
I do know,
when your head is over my shoulder
and your hair breezes over my mouth
I feel again like you fit with me.
It's always,
red bows of heart -
tied in the middle -
but all in all -
completely undone.
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