i guess that after the rainfall
of september
i reached through october
to clear it all away, blue skies
and lies fading from my tongue
and yet, all through november
the headache persisted
and i listed the failure to forget
among my insecurites
left there to dangle from my fingers
and as i pressed my hand into your waist
i could feel them bleeding
bit by bit
into the fabric of your jacket
and i feel better now
and the headache?
well, suffice to say
that in december, i noticed
while kissing you
that you tasted faintly
of ibuprofen

it's funny, because
i found myself surprised
at the nervousness
with which i faced the coming day
strength fading, i pressed on
ashamed of each weak footstep, wondering
what i could have done
to deserve this
and your smile was imprinted
on the inside of my eyelids
and i realized, too late
that this ink was seeping into my bloodstream
and it was you all along
that was weakening me
shattering my resolve
to open the door
and say hello

after moving
shifting bodies, from here
to there
and back again
after seeing the time zones
float past my tired eyes
out the window of an airplane
new year's just isn't the same
january arrives in the future
and i am stuck, held back
in the past
waiting another three hours
for the clock to tick past twelve
so i can feel in time
with the rest of the world
i guess it's just a young cynic's view
on the big picture
but just the same, i give in
and every year i make my list
although lately, it's been in my head
and the lineup of wishes
gets shorter every time
and i arrived at the end of this december
with only three resolutions in mind

one
to find myself
to look past all those outward words
and blurred reflections
and improbable emotions
and find my inner demons
identify their faces
line them up like dominoes
shake their hands
and become friends

two
to know myself
to listen to my lines
as they trail off into cold air
to see through the bones in my body
and find the skeleton in my closet
so i can finally put him to rest
beneath my feet
to understand my own thoughts
and to read my own writing
and to listen harder
when i try and speak up

three
to love myself
as crafted as that sounds
this goal resounds within me
every time i catch my own eyes
and look away

it's just a young cynic's view
i know that, yes
but i like to think
that the simplest, oldest dreams
to find myself
to know myself
to love myself
are the ones i should hope to achieve
and as the clock bends time and space
and i am pulled forward
by my beating heart
i swear
to take that very first step
and finally know its weight

in my mind, it was always
a perfect ten
below zero, just cold enough
for me to shiver
and for your nose to turn a rosy pink
and for me to hide a dark thought
behind warm words, excused
by the curtain of soft snow
falling around us

i guess i overplayed this scene
i guess i cut and stripped it
set music to our footsteps
and played it up, all romantic angles
and close-up frames
hovering too long
over your awkward, shifting smile

i guess it wasn't really musical
no artsy, black-and-white short film
not even worth the imagery
that i gave it in each long piece of poetry
just worth enough
for me to hum along
when i hear the song
that i put to the scene, hoping
you'd recognize the tune

here in the cutting-room of my heart
i gave up
sat down on the floor, scattered images
floating down
and i grabbed my scissors
cutting each one into a snowflake
before it hit the ground
trying to recreate that scene
the way i remembered it
and in the darkness, i could ignore
the desperate feeling
of an imagination run too wild

i guess i overplayed this tune
but sometimes
when the words don't come easily
to my real-time writing, i am forced
to look backwards in time and space
across mountains of disgraced, forgotten things
back to a time
when all i could write about was you

i inspected the sidewalk
for cracks, no backs broken
today, i told myself
everything will be perfect
and smooth
in comic-book square scenes
and everything will be grey
i collected that lack of colour
round my shoulders
and i stepped forward
onto the cement, feet planted
on that cold new ground
and the lesser shades
of black and white
curled themselves around my ankles
lending weight to my step
and i felt safe
i saw your face
in comic-strip polka-dots
of pink and green
and you were simply coloured in
all thick black lines
and strong hand gestures
and warm support around my waist
pages turning at a steady pace
and the racing of my heart
felt right
and i thought to myself
in comic-book lettering
in thought bubbles above my head
in a confident narration
in a whispered, private thought
that
i can see myself using you
as an excuse
for a little while

i looked across and down
and the man's feet tapped
out a rhythm into the dark floor
of the speeding, jostling bus
and the rhythm matched the music
that occupied my ears
and my fingers pressed the tune
into the depths of my pocket
and i looked outside

the trees, aligned along the road
filed past the window
one by one
and the speed at which they passed my vision
matched the even beating of my heart
and the drumming of the cracks
in the cement that hammered
through the wheels and into
the soles of my feet
and i closed my eyes

the words that echoed there
in that dark expanse of thought
were spoken evenly, echoing
into the cavern
in strong, reliant waves
and the beauty of their timing
matched the rhyming of their meaning
and the march of my feet upon the sidewalk
matched the space between the lyrics
marking every single breath
and hanging on each letter
and i opened my eyes

it's funny, because today
the skies were open wide
and the passing of time
was aligned
with every inch of my five senses
one rhythm underlining each word said
one rhythm defining the weight of it all
one rhythm combining the moments together
and as i went to bed
heartbeat thumping in my head
i said
today just felt to me
like a song

wet shoes
sit by the fireplace
drying, socks too
sweet smoke travels upwards
trying to find the stars, but
it's still got a while to go

i'd laugh more often
if life was funnier
wouldn't you?
but it's not, is it?

more likely to make you cry than anything
so it's nice to get away
from the furnace of regular life
isn't it?

that, i can laugh at
my own hilarity
seems stale when i'm alone

can you help me out?
make me laugh?
make me cry?
make me want to breathe deeper?
i need that need, you know
just like you do

and you do, there's no denying
the shadows and spiderwebs creeping
over your face
you can't replace
the smell of oxygen
with the smell of car exhaust
and expect it not to show
can you?

no, you can't
it's not even a question
make me laugh, will you?
i'm feeling tired