Sorry, I was 9 notes behind. The other 8 will be posted today/tomorrow.
A "poem" every day
i hate that our parents taught us to muffle our emotions
and i hate the need for a cigarette that i feel in your car i hate that when i was younger i told myself to stop writing songs i hate the need for loving that i feel when i'm alone but it is going to be alright sometime it is going to be alright sometime i feel this soft you don't know what to do when you're cold and lonely your sit on my bed and watch tv the seasons are changing your hands are frigid and you are messaging your girlfriend telling her existential things, bringing her into your crisis now you're remembering when you were thirteen and in love with ingrown ivy and your best friend... who told you she could never love you and said so in the cryptic bubbles she drew in your poetry book. you're feeling kind of restless and you know you can't contest that there's no way to get out of this highhandedly- so you turn away and you make up words to fill the pages of your soft leather book and you think of sweet summer, somewhere special and you crawl into your bed where you can be warm and blend in -
Next to you
I slow my breathing To memorize the rhythm of yours, Which calms me from the memory Of nightmares I was always The first person awake at the sleepover; Maybe one or two girls awoke But everyone returned to rest with ease Except me - I've long been looking for things to fill those spaces Between sleep and wakefulness ; I had never considered Writing to you
Yours was the arrival
I did not know I was anticipating
Unleash your depths
And let me drown, I Want to learn how long I will submerge Before my lungs burn up And my eyes bulge out Until I can no longer feel the pressure
When I am with you,
My smile can blaze And my muscles Contort themselves into positions I never imagined possible
I brim with compassion.
My strength comes from encountering fear And gazing into the eyes Of whatever form it takes. It lies in my acceptance Of vulnerability as great as the trees Whose aged, gentle leaves Shade my fragile skin And restore me as I slumber. This confidence is a new development, And I do not always bear it with grace; But I trust in my abilities And love for living, (A rare thing! A new thing! A grand thing!), Which I defend fiercely And with great care. Shame upon whomever seeks to shatter The tranquility of another! May the yellow eye of terror Fixate on them And inspire redirection.
64. Insp. By Emily Dickinson.
On Taking Up Space,
the ripples of the skin of my gentle lover- Diligently recorded In smudging black ink
And the stale odor of Marlboro Golds Remind you of a slower time When you broke into abandoned barns and sang sermons to the rooftops Unaware of who might listen
You've gone home now,
Departed on your bike in your baseball cap And I can still feel The echo of you on my skin