standingstiill: Favorites

Nov 2013 standingstiill

wounded

i am an assemblage of broken promises and abandoned dreams, of bruised tissues and faulty organs, of poisoned blood. i am part sky and two parts ocean, the moon clings to me and i to it.

i am concealed by a sheath of milky skin, a sad and slow smile and fading eyes. i wear my clothes like a suit of armor, hiding behind cotton and polyester as if they make me invisible. i am not strong, nor am i wise. the years have taught me this time and time again.

i fall for cheap escapes and bright lights even though i know i will soon hold them accountable for my impenetrable sadness. i have built walls, brick by brick, until my body became an enchanted fortress. there is a moat around the circumference of my heart and be warned the alligators are trained to ward off trespassers.

i am the past that i cling to and the future that i fear with every ounce of my being. i am fleeing every place i ever step foot upon. see me now.

now i am gone.

Nov 2013 standingstiill

Save her.

Nov 2013 standingstiill

whitepalelips

Save her.

She came into this world
By accident.
Never planned,
But her parents
Didn’t regret a thing.

She grew up with
Her hands stretched out,
Hungry for knowledge
And taking in
Everything she
Could reach.

She was only 9 years old,
When she saw both her parents
Screaming at each other.
She didn’t understand,
“Why are mummy and
Daddy fighting?”
She asked as tears
Started to fall from
Her eyes to her
Delicate skin.
Her parents sighed as
They knew it wasn’t
Working out.
Things were crashing down.

She was only 10 years old
When her daddy left her.
As he carried his bags
Out the door,
She cried,
“Where are you going, daddy?”
He left, without a word.

She grew up,
Without love.
She grew up,
Believing that
Love is the problem.

She never trusted love.
She never wanted love.
She never needed love.

She was only 13
When she took
Her first puff
Of cigarette.
She was hoping
That her misery
Would fade away,
Just like the smoke.

She was only 15
When she was suicidal.
Nobody knew about
Her struggles.
Nobody knew
She cried herself
To sleep, wishing everything
Was different and simple.
Her wrist was like
Her own canvas,
Covered with scars,
New and old.

She was drowning,
In her miseries.
All she wanted
Was someone to save her,
Or least teach her
How to swim,
But no one did.

She was drowning,
As she watched
People around her
Minding their own lives.

Till this day,
She’s still
Drowning,
Still
Struggling.

And no one
Cares enough
To save her.

Nov 2013 standingstiill

Contrapuntal Poetry

Nov 2013 standingstiill

Nat Lipstadt

Contrapuntal Poetry

Contrapuntal
— adjective, Music.

- pertaining to counterpoint.
- composed of two or more relatively independent melodies sounded together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If we set this site poetic to music,
there would be two
contrapuntal melodies.

A harmony of disharmony,
met and matched by a
single refrain,
a harmonizing voice
meeting the needs
of the sopranos, the altos.
the low of the lowest basso.

I am in love,
life painting me beautiful.
The dawn is cracking,
opening my heart with love.

I am a heartbroken shell,
in a living hell of neverending.
There is no light
in my bed at night, bulb broken.

Let's write of joy,
celebrate reunification, singularity,
of our place,
our happy collision,
our universal location.
For where you are,
I exist,
no where else.

Less than nothing,
gave and given in,
found a lost plateau
where there is no substance, only
pieces of broke,
pieces of ache,
pieces of brown glass

I live you.
I die you.

There is but one color, and it is the color of us.
There is but one color, and it is colorless.

There is one vow for two,
the vow is one!
Keeping it,
natural, easy,
time is unrecorded,
forever is immeasurable.

There are no vows ever kept,
only lies,
passing promises of vanity.
Never is the only time
that can be recorded.

A new world symphony
that never ends.

What then
the unifying
refrain
uniting joy and pain?

Write it down.
Write it up.
Write it and believe.

We will listen,
and care,
having been there,
both ways,
both sides now
we are
write
alongside you.

"I was very very goodly broke,
and contrapuntal insanity was a
partial cure."

"A Perfect Day (in the city)"
7:22AM

Somehow in my mind these two poems are linked.

Place your ****** hands upon thy chest.
Let them melt thru and come to rest,
Inside, the battle ongoing, under thy breast.
Watch, eyes open, knowing, fearful.
Swiftly, with no hesitation, from within,
Rip open your body, exhaling the best,
And the worst of what you got.

The cool air rushes in,
Stirring the inside stew of:
Infected grime, shameful desires,
Secrets that should not have been exposed,
The ***** stuff that you alone know exists.

Contact with the atmosphere makes
Self-pity dies, blue blood turn red,
The TNT tightness explodes,
Ashamed, you have only one escape hatch.

Now, you are ready to write.
June 18th

#lipstadt #contrapuntal #poetry

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