As the periods of school-going were tossed away like paperplanes
Remind me of the dazzling eyes of the panes and ladies across
Which are too far back now to touch
And the memories are much like a lover's argument
Sad songs make me beautiful
I listen to you and you hear it when you speak
Some moments are about breaking the body
So the spirit can soar
It's about how we discipline ourselves
In order to be free
In this gilded frame we live in
The picture is not yet totally finished
God continues to paint
Everyday is a color
Are you listening?
It's feeling that shouldn't go away
It's a moment that will pass away
This life is temporary as the clouds in the sky
My life has nothing
I am complete
Run though the alleys in my mind, running from these distorted thoughts. Should be careful to what you might find, for I am a misleading bright red gleaming apple. Polished on the outside, but slowly decaying on the inside. Never be too certain when you bite a gleaming gilded fruit
Between the shadows of our minds comes the answers to all of our questions
The girl I saw today was not broken
Was not gilded
No, she was solid gold
Maybe worn down a little
The girl I saw today
Was a soft precious metal
That’s what happens when you’re soft
But flickering lights gently caress the orbs where light has not yet washed the tears away
The girl I saw today felt not necessarily calculated
But ready to put up a fight
And avoid an argument
Because the girl I saw today is too soft for arguments and too good for people
Who won’t fight for her
Who won’t even look at her
Who won’t even rearrange sounds or characters of the English language and blow frequent vibrations through the air
Hell the only thing they can do is sing
The girl I saw today would want someone to sing to her
Not just text her back
Gold is not cheap, the girl I saw today said
Gold is not new, gold is ancient
The girl I saw today said that
Gold has secrets and beauty because it is malleable
It is evolving, from shiny to dull to hammered
The girl I saw today is soft and allows light to wash over her gently, she knows the vocal cords vibrate carefully with charming tones,
And she knows
I woke up in the middle of the night,
and realized that I am more free than I have ever been in my life.
All I want to do
is show up on your doorstep--
perhaps in one of those rainstorms you love so much better than me--
and beg you to strip the gold leaf from the bars,
because this cage I’ve built of one-way fantasies
is still better than sleeping alone,
and the gilding is all I have to offer
that could possibly compare with the brilliance of her sun.
August 24, 2015
I just finished reading the book of poetry Mouthful of Forevers, by Clementine Von Radics. Her work always makes me feel some sort of way, cutting through all the flowery little thoughts to the unpretty-ness of it all, that which is actually beautiful for being nothing but the truth.
emergence is an act of rebellion.
our eyelids peaking open like rusty curtains
as we steadily count backwards
5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1
climbing from our morning covers in one swift movement
like the bold musketeer ready to pierce his opponent.
allowing the cold to wash over our body
towards the to do lists and outdoor morning mist.
legs miraculously sprung to life from our dreams
seconds ago resting in a field of sunlit streams.
allowing forced smiles to emerge in the mirror
if the natural ones forgot to attend our morning ritual.
allowing our own smiles to send butterflies down our spines
if our lovers forgot to play their part.
our routines steadying us on the road
outside the house
into the yard
outside the fence
into the deli
out of your mind
into the grind
all forming like some rapid fire kiss of motion
where emerging and departing
become inseparable lovers.
and we cherish this sort of alchemy
where our paints emerge as paintings,
where our words turn into poems
that string along
the pulsing of life echoes within
from the gilded cage
we are meant to burst open
The guilt is so great
it's gilt in gold.
It shouldn't be.
But my gilded guilt
was gilt in gold by me.
— The End —