decorated, concealed
whitewashed, peeled
years of little earthquakes
will shake you

she is framed art hung, unsung
unknown to anyone
jilted, wilted
a still life flower
hanging ever crooked
upon the wall

If I choose to be awake
during the early hours of dawn
it is only so
I can stand before the morning sun
feel the warmth and light run through my veins
awaking me internally
and to remind me
how wonderful it is
to be alive

I tried running.
Pressed my feet against those hopes I’ve always wanted.
But slipped right onto the crackled pavement
I used to call my dreams.

One day, I bought some Nikes.
The store told me that their shoes could
grip onto you tighter. That I could sprint across
your tired body and not forget to clean you
with my footsteps. I adored you.

The funny thing I soon found out was
buy and try all I want -
there is no such rise and recovery
from blindly face-planting on your familiar path
splattering your body
like sunday morning jelly on toast.

All I wanted was to hold you. Follow your road
that refused to latch onto me like a dead leach.
Feed off of you like an infant on a mother’s breast.
Bloom like daffodils in your needed sunlight.

But there was no traction. My Nikes broke their promises
so I tore them off and tried walking
barefeet.
I stumbled.
Laid there.
Curling my fingers onto your fractured chest, I tried
holding on.
Sliding under my very fingertips, you refused me.

Or I refused you. Whatever it was
It doesn’t matter now.
There is just no traction.
So I let go. Maybe swimming is a safer bet.
No point in holding on anymore.

Thursday January 23, 2014  3:46 AM