Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Steven Hutchison Apr 2013
1.
Because you are lonely too. And you know what it's like to spend hours waiting for a notification that someone values what you say. Verification that some of the people in your box of friends still walk through your forests waiting for trees to fall.

2.
Because you didn't understand the metaphor and so it must be deeper than your reach. Because people who appreciate poets are more approachable than poets themselves, and are far less likely to spend Saturday nights alone.

3.
Because the words look like family. Because when they pass your teeth it's as if your heart joins in chorus, and their syntax wraps cozy round your shivering bones. Because their eyes look like yours and because they know how to cut you, but don't.

4.
Because you are in love. And if a raccoon tore a hole in your garbage bag, ate last week's green chocolate cake, and returned it to your porch shortly after, you would see poetry in it. Because poems look like pies through rose colored glasses and it's really hard to find a bad pie.

5.
Because you hate this poem but won't tell me. Because our relationship hangs on your approval, and you know I'll expect you to make me feel ok about writing this. To tell me people don't appreciate real art anymore, and that's why no one else has responded.

6.
Because it doesn't rhyme, and there are numbers separating the stanzas that force you to read the last line slowly. Because it references Facebook and so it's something you can relate to. Because it's cliché enough to be memorable, and a little out of the box but still inside mine.

7.
Because you know why I wrote it. And you know that seeing your name beside it will be all the consolation I need. Because their is loyalty in a signature that even our forefathers acknowledged, and because it's the best way you know to take sides.

8.
Because the last thing you liked was McDonald's French Fries and you're looking to diversify your portfolio.

9.
Because you want me to remember you. Because we haven't spoken in years outside of birthday wishes and silence is a hard habit to break. Because neither of us is sure who the apology belongs to but because you're willing to take a step on faith.

10.
Because you know the impact an echo can have on its target. Because we all scream from stages built with fearful hands. We carry microphones in our pockets on nights too quiet to sleep and purge our lungs of their angst. Because this cave can not be empty. Because words are not like family unless they are spoken by someone we love. Because some nights all I need is a name to believe I still have my own.
Steven Hutchison Apr 2013
Most of all,
I hope I always wonder.

That I will always feel small
in the presence of nature.

That I will always find ideas
that frustrate me.

That I will never let my confidence
overreach its bounds.

That I will love a little deeper
each day that I breathe.

That I will always remember
where I come from.

That I will never know exactly
where I'm going.
Steven Hutchison Apr 2013
There is honor in this death
I know many who have left on hooks
lesser things for their lesser looks
somewhere I'm sure their music is canned

and what had I planned to do anyway
another season of the same old spawning
taking pride in my dorsals
and endlessly running from teeth

but this is Jiro
and I am tired of running
the last taste of salt passes through my gills
I have lost my fear of teeth

I only hope I can fill him
and his insatiable craving
for perfection


*Jiro, famous sushi chef in Japan
Steven Hutchison Apr 2013
There is dust on the shelves
and more shadows than light to allow them.
The floors are awake with a moaning
that crawls down hallways my feet avoid.

Why have You brought me here?
to this place of introspection,
to my untouched furniture and silverware,
this place where scarcely a mat is welcome.
Why have You brought me here?
There were lists of reasons I hid the key
behind the smiles I wore as diseases.
This museum of wounds and clever bandages,
of wars and fears and organs broken.
My face looks foreign in the picture frames.

These are doors that scare me;
That stare back boldly with eyes like nights
when you find yourself without a moon.
I am embarrassed to say I will need a guide.
I could not tell You the bedroom from the pantry;
it has simply been too long.
The walls have shifted and carpets moved on
to cover some fresher stain.

What You mean for me to find in these piles of relics
is beyond my understanding.
But if I am to go on, then my knees will need convincing.
Speak to my infant soul, Dear Friend.
Convince it to sit down with me for dinner
and let some light in through the drapes.
Open the doors that divide me from You,
and make me a place worth living.
Steven Hutchison Apr 2013
Suffer the stories to come unto me
and I will rewrite their endings,
heal them from their self-reliance,
and teach them new words to sing.
the melody will find itself
wherever their tongues may take them.
tell me a story, child,
of the roads your feet have seen,
and the tears your pillow collected,
because I'll bet they match my own.
I have built a you a home,
with stairwells that turn
and chandeliers and wind chimes,
where your smile paints the walls
a different color each day.
come and I will live in you,
and you will live in me.
Steven Hutchison Apr 2013
weighing options like avocados
firm in the palm of my hand
is the moment just ripe?
or does it belong under the cupboard
another day to breathe

I pull the present into my nose
and search it for signs of future
pull it over my tongue
wrap tonight in a paper bag
another day to breathe
Steven Hutchison Apr 2013
come
lover,
tell
stories.
break
evening
quick.

tell
evening
brea­k
stories.
come,
lover,
quick.

break
lover.
come,
stories,
tell
­evening
quick.
Next page