"attaching" poems
I was hurting, suffering
From a pain so great,
That words, screams and tears
Were not enough.
So I did the only thing
I knew how to:
I danced,
And danced,
And danced some more.
I danced
Until my feet bled,
And my vision was blurry
From the sweat and fatigue;
Until I was breathing so hard
That it burned my lungs;
Until I could no longer feel
My legs aching;
Until my lips were so dry and chapped,
It hurt to smile or move them at all.
I let the music carry me,
And with every note,
With every beat,
I would imagine a string
Attaching to my limbs
Allowing me to lose control,
Allowing me to surrender
Until I was no longer in charge
Of my movements.
It felt good.
That pain felt comforting.
Normal. I understood it.
It let me know I was alive still.
It let me know I could still feel something.
And so I welcomed it.
For it was nothing compared
To the one that I felt inside.
The one that was invisible,
Yet suffocating me with its presence.
The one that left me numb every night.
The one that filled me up with fear
And still drained me of all emotions.
The one I tried to ignore,
But seemed to never leave.
Always stalking me,
Hiding in the shadows
Waiting for its moment.
A moment of weakness,
Of solitude
Or ultimate numbness,
A moment I was terrified
Would soon come.
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
MATCHing rings
A MATCH made in heaven
KNOCKED up
KNOCKing on the front door
WHO?
JOHNNY LAW
that’s WHO
JOHNNY the LAW abiding citizen
ATTACHing his left eye to a telescope
ATTACHed to the image of your RIGHT ******
RIGHT through your open window
NEAR to your husband’s damp face
NEARing the ground below
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 9:01 PM UTC
Humanity is at the ****** of connection
Connection is plastered to our bones
It’s on our wrists dinging reminding us to take our steps that will apparently make us one with nature, it’s latched to our arms so while we are so spent attaching ourselves to nature that we don’t have to attach our phones to our hands, it’s our sun rise, it’s our evening prayer, heck it’s the only thing reminding us to wake up in the morning and connect with these people that we can only reach through these dull technological connections. Facebook says we’re here to help you connect! The Bible app dings remindign you, “keep in check!” You’re surrounded by connection, it immerses you and embraces you with its WiFi streamed arms and blue tinted light
But shouldn’t you be embracing the connection? Shouldn’t you be the one to swallow connection? Shouldn’t you be the one to amplify connection?
Humanity is at the ****** of connection but we are disconnected.. Shouldn’t the rate of depression fall not rise with every purchase of an iPhone. We are disconnected
From ourselves from nature from the spiritual realm and from each other because we connect our souls to these arguable objects of connection. Seems like we need an intervention from connection. Shouldn’t connection flow within our bones and not simply be plastered to it? Connection is around us, but we’re not making the connection
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 9:26 PM UTC
Indecisive
Maybe misguided
I'm digging myself deeper in the rut
Don't make any decisions
But expect a new view
To eclipse my tunnel vision.
I wish that I knew
But the whole city knows
The whole stupid city knows that I don't.
I've got some friends here
Some that I hardly know
Some that I know entirely too well
And regardless of category, I wonder
As I sit here, lookin' at laughs
At smiles, at scowls
How long it's going to be before we don't know
Each other at all
How long before we barely have
Memories.
I'm ready to go
We're all starting to grow
I really know that I should go
But what happens when you don't like the skin you're growing into?
What happens
When the things keeping me together fall apart?
What happens when it's my own ******* fault?
A glorious display of regression.
I'm indecisive
Pretty misguided
Putting myself farther in the wrong
Yeah, I'll admit that I'm wrong
Like you were wrong
I guess we're just going to be wrong
About some things.
I know that I am because it could never be
It would never be
It should never be this easy.
It should never be this easy
To not care.
Make everyone happy
Put it all on ice
And hope that global warming doesn't apply here
Hope that they believe
You thought that was possible.
Hope they believe
That you didn't know
I know it's almost time to go
I know we're all going to go
I know I really should go
But I'm too ******* scared
To know much else.
Doing everything with everyone,
Attaching to no one
Yeah, I'm full of solid ideas
Ideas and ideals and appeals
Appealing for belief
That I had the best intentions
A glorious display of repression.
Why?
Well, when your diagnostics team is ******
You're safe to assume
That the problem isn't going to be resolved.
I'd run the diagnostics,
But I'm too afraid of being honest
And honestly
I know that I'm misguided
But things just don't come full circle
When you're indecisive.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 3:43 AM UTC
"What's funny is" is a ****** statement to be on the receiving end of, it nearly ever ends well.
What's funny is... Often times, most of the time, it's not funny at all. Curious, that we take humorous language and make it into lighter fluid to burn bridges.
What's funny is... The fire is usually a case of arson brought about by projection of in-the-moment feelings, that are fleeting. ******** that we allow ourselves to make them permanent; just mindless masochistic beasts wallowing in the ashes.
What's funny is... The echo chambers we've created for ourselves are actually prisons. Ironic, that we make up walls made out of bricks of unreachable goals, and feel disappointment when we don't achieve them.
What's funny is... Is that the more I interact with people the more I understand why we let ourselves indulge, and indulge, and indulge, to numb the monotony for just one ******* second. Nerve wracking, that every person is just a liability I cannot trust to not become the shackles attaching the weights that drown me.
What's funny is... As hard as I try to remain invisible, I'm forever tracked by a spotlight that blinds me. Insane, to think for one second we are anything but dirt on the ground; let me be dirt.
What's funny is... The numbness, and the pain, are like logs on the fire. Enduring, daily, the pokes and prods to keep the embers going when all they wanna do is die.
What's funny is... I like to dance in the flames but hate being on fire. Truthfully, I aim for embers.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC
As I listened to the
WORDS
spewing from your ugly
drama filled tongue(you're addicted to saying the word **** and attaching people to it)
I tried to stay happy
for as long as possible
I knew that **** would sink in
and take away my
contentment. (i was just sitting there, eating my cold lasagna
when i heard you begin
your disgusting rant)
Your words
would make statements,
make music full of hate.
not music at all, really.
more like sounds. noisy WORD
sounds
angrily
the way a crow sounds
the way a baby cries
the sound of that pathetic boy
getting picked on
near the swingset
by two older kids because of his snowflake winter boots
but
YOU don’t feel
bad for him
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 5:55 PM UTC
The rain falls softly on the sleeping city…. Cloaked in the blanket of a monsoon lull…. A few stray dogs scamper for shelter as the first storm of the season colours the dawn a deeper crimson…..
The thunder rumbles from the north east…a deep slow sonorous sound coming from the underbellies of the moisture laden atmosphere…..
The soft drizzle forms a hazy blanket of morning mist around the city…..already stirring with the first signs of life…. The resurrection of the everyday work-a-day world…….
The musical tinkling of a bell echoes around as a pushcart brimming with flowers rushes down the street, hurrying to the market…fresh, preened and ready…to be sold to the highest bidder…
The soft music of the approaching storm inspires a boatman, out on the holy river, to sing…… his voice echoes over the bass of the thunder……a plaintive pleasant humming……the nuances of the bhatiali fill up the empty cracks in the morning……
The rain deepens…………the drizzle expands into the monsoons first downpour… pitter-patter sings the rain, reverberating off a thousand tin roofs……the sky darkens……enveloping the dawn in its grey being…..
Somewhere, someone tunes a harmonium…..clears a throat…a hand draws a curtain aside…..
The peaceful reassurance of the daily azaan spreads out from the mosque…..calling the faithful to prayer…..
The flower vendor…now setting up shop, attaching an extra strip of plastic sheet to fend off the rain…. Stops a moment and bows his head as the nearby tolling of a bell and the sound of a conch shell being blown announces the beginning of a new day in god’s abode….
A woman kneels down in a pew…..praying…..the calm of the church mirrored in her peaceful face…..
The rain looks down at the city……..now, half awake…slowly stretching its limbs……..stirring from the depths of a restless rest…………awakening to the jangling of a bread earner’s faith……
The shower relents……..probably giving in to all the Monday morning groans and grumbles emanating from a city forced back into consciousness…..
Finally, all that remains is the moisture on the flower vendor’s tarpaulin and the shadow of the boatman’s song on the rippled river…….
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
I'm paying tribute to one of the finest Poets I know, Tony Hoagland. He recently passed away from Pancreatic Cancer at 64 years young. This is one my absolute favorites and I believe you'll love it also.
Romantic Moment
After the nature documentary we walk down,
into the plaza of art galleries and high end clothing stores
where the mock orange is fragrant in the summer night
and the smooth adobe walls glow fleshlike in the dark.
It is just our second date, and we sit down on a rock,
holding hands, not looking at each other,
and if I were a bull penguin right now I would lean over
and ***** softly into the mouth of my beloved
and if I were a peacock I’d flex my gluteal muscles to
***** and spread the quills of my cinemax tail.
If she were a female walkingstick bug she might
insert her hypodermic proboscis delicately into my neck
and inject me with a rich hormonal sedative
before attaching her egg sac to my thoracic undercarriage,
and if I were a young chimpanzee I would break off a nearby treelimb
and smash all the windows in the plaza jewelry stores.
And if she was a Brazilian leopardfrog she would wrap her impressive
tongue three times around my right thigh and
pummel me lightly against the surface of our pond
and I would know her feelings were sincere.
Instead we sit awhile in silence, until
she remarks that in the relative context of tortoises and iguanas,
human males seem to be actually rather expressive.
And I say that female crocodiles really don’t receive
enough credit for their gentleness.
Then she suggests that it is time for us to go
to get some ice cream cones and eat them.
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
“I know why the heart gets lonely
Every time you give your love away.” (*)
Puts me in mind
Of a man who embodied our eternal, sometimes fruitless search
And why the heart is a lonely hunter.
John Singer, you silently sang,
Of heartbreak and devotion to someone
And the eternal search for those elusive qualities
Those missing puzzle pieces we all look for
Happiness
Acceptance
Love
Always seem out of our grasp
Like a puddle of water
On the sunbaked, summertime highway of our lives
Traveling
Always looking for something
Hunting for anything
To let us know we’re human
We’re loved
But still our lonely hearts search on
“I know why the heart gets lonely
Every time you give your love away.” (*)
The heart is a lonely hunter.
Staring out the window of the bus
Thinking about the ones I love
And wondering if it is all worth it.
I wish I could’ve sat down with you, Mr. Singer,
And compared notes through pantomimes
Written words of your struggles
Maybe I could’ve understood you better than others
Deaf and mute, you
Couldn't communicate with words,
Couldn't hear what other said,
Instead you communicated with looks of compassion
Serenity,
Composure
Masking a single-minded devotion to one person
And you let others who lean on you
Attaching what meaning they may
To the nonverbal cues you say to them.
When some of it wasn’t what you really intended.
Believe me, Mr. Singer.
I know all too well the misunderstandings
That come up in the name of simple love
Or the search for it.
“I know why the heart gets lonely
Every time you give your love away.”
You think you have something special
But does the other person really understand you?
And when others need you, and vice versa,
They fail to see behind the wall masking
Your true heart
What you’re really trying to tell them
And even with the powers of speech and hearing
Would you still have made yourself understood?
Misunderstanding, it’s so easy
Words are woefully inadequate
Because people will see what they want to anyway
They attach their own meanings to the words you say
Mister Singer, I can understand why you blew a hole in your chest
Sometimes that gaping hole is more preferable
To the gaping hole left by a broken, misunderstood heart
“I know why the heart gets lonely
Every time you give your love away.
And if you think that you are only
A shadow in the wind
Blowing around but when
You let somebody in
They might fade away.” (*)
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 12:28 PM UTC
The silence of non-attachment.
Living in the satisfaction of now.
Old arrows pierce my skin,
Yet not allowing them to penetrate my mind.
Yet I’m trying to push myself to be better,
But better is relative
And I’m abiding in eternity in non-action.
I go to work, eat, sleep,
Communicate, read, and entertain myself,
Yet not attaching to a better reality:
Such as a better body, a keener mind
Or a more pure soul
I’m thanking God for my existence just the way I am
Knowing that the only place to be is now.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
so now im falling, deeper.. faster.. chased by stones made from the cruel words you hurled from your mighty perch.. so high above us all, you peer down your nose like an eagle regarding its prey. cold indifference shines in your once passionate eyes. how often those eyes persuaded me.. how easily they broke down my defenses, allowing you to burrow deep inside my mind, permanently attaching yourself to my soul.. you leeched away at my happiness, a parasitic infestation that left me a hollow shell of what i once was, far from the me i know i could be. it all seemed so worth it then.. carelessly giving you everything i could possibly spare, leaving you in control of every vital part of me.. i was strong once.. now, even i falter before the poorly concealed hatred that is woven through your words. i have all but fallen to my knees before you.. you worked so hard to tear me down that you dont seem to know what to do now that i lay broken on the floor. i have nothing left to give and still you take it all from me.. turn away from my screams, shield your eyes from my tears... dont let my blood stain your shoes.. ignore me as best you can, for you have learned the ***** truth.. even when i can no longer stand, i crawl on hands and ****** knees back to your side, where i patiently await a single kind word that will never come. so smile at my screams, smirk at my pain. it will not deter this pet from her master.
i am your prisoner..
i love you.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 12:38 PM UTC
please
don't touch me, okay?
please
stand back at least 3 feet
in a perfect circle,
missile range.
please
keep your distance, okay?
please
don't attach yourself to
my brittle bones
and aching soul.
please
don't leave me, okay?
just
don't touch me
stand back at least 3 feet
keep your distance
(missile range)
and attempt to avoid attaching
to my brittle bones
and weary soul.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
There is this girl I know
She used to be happy and carefree
She used to laugh and dance
Always seeing the good things in life
In people
Always receiving good in return
Until she stopped receiving good
She received pain
And suffering
And loss
She tried to stay happy
She really did
Then she meet him
He made her scared
He made her quiet
He made her behave
But in the worst way
He left
But she didn't fully come back
Her smiles were a little more forced
And her laughs a little less real
Then he died
She cried
He was her grandfather
They were close
She broke
Time healed her wounds
But they would never close completely
Leaving a gap
Making it easy for someone to slither in
And break her
Then he came
He made her strong
But only when she was with him
He made them one
Attaching hooks in her still open wound
She said no
He said yes
Then he left
She was now half there
But no one knew
Cause she didn't tell anyone
She still hasn't
Her smiles were now plastered on
Her laugh a little more harsh
Then she left
Without a word
Leaving her wondering
What she did wrong
Still to this day
She doesn't know
Now she's here
Pieces being held together
By cigarettes and Jack Daniels
By a pen and notebook
Leaving her smile in pieces
Her laugh in the dark
And her heart destroyed
But no one knows
Cause she hasn't told anyone
But when I look into the mirror
And see her staring at me
I know we never will
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
The scent of your cologne and incense
always linger behind,
Attaching themselves to me in a cruel reminder
Of just how much I love the smell that is you.
Deep and woody,
It brings memories of fireplaces,
Winter nights,
And spiced chai.
Ski lodges,
Knit hats,
And gloved hands two sizes bigger,
Still holding on for dear life.
Cuddling under hand-made blankets
Sharing laughs,
Secrets,
Kisses.
Even if I don't have you I will always have your scent,
And the places it takes me are better than the places I have been.
Oct 13, 2010
Oct 13, 2010 at 11:04 PM UTC
Totally like whatever, you know?
by Taylor Mali
In case you hadn’t noticed,
it has somehow become uncool
to sound like you know what you’re talking about?
Or believe strongly in what you’re saying?
Invisible question marks and parenthetical (you know?)’s
have been attaching themselves to the ends of our sentences?
Even when those sentences aren’t, like, questions? You know?
Declarative sentences—so-‐called
because they used to, like, DECLARE things to be true, okay,
as opposed to other things are, like, totally, you know, not—
have been infected by a totally hip
and tragically cool interrogative tone? You know?
Like, don’t think I’m uncool just because I’ve noticed this;
this is just like the word on the street, you know?
It’s like what I’ve heard?
I have nothing personally invested in my own opinions, okay?
I’m just inviting you to join me in my uncertainty?
What has happened to our conviction?
Where are the limbs out on which we once walked?
Have they been, like, chopped down
with the rest of the rain forest?
Or do we have, like, nothing to say?
Has society become so, like, totally . . .
I mean absolutely . . . You know?
That we’ve just gotten to the point where it’s just, like . . .
whatever!
And so actually our disarticulation . . . ness
is just a clever sort of . . . thing
to disguise the fact that we’ve become
the most aggressively inarticulate generation
to come along since . . .
you know, a long, long time ago!
I entreat you, I implore you, I exhort you,
I challenge you: To speak with conviction.
To say what you believe in a manner that bespeaks
the determination with which you believe it.
Because contrary to the wisdom of the bumper sticker,
it is not enough these days to simply QUESTION AUTHORITY.
You have to speak with it, too.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
The surgeons listened to jaunty be
bop while they cut through his cranium.
A metal plate was inserted,
dissecting memories and thoughts,
causing confusion between
his now and then.
He left hospital with a funny taste in his mouth
which he could not name
or shake.
During the period of convalescence
his children tried to cheer him up
by attaching fridge magnets to his head.
a cow, a banana, the Tower of London,
a badge reminding them to Give Blood.
One fridge magnet secured in place a drawing,
reminding him of childhood pictures which were
seventy five percent blue sky
and twenty five percent thick
bands of green grass
and all the family stood outside
where sunflowers were bigger than houses.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC
Nameless faceless bodies
Thrown this way and that
To spice up the story line
Then tossed to the back of the viewers mind
Forgotten
Because there was no anchor attaching her to the plot
Nameless faceless bodies
Kept in line
By the boxes of mother, daughter, sister, lover
Never far from the one or the other
And definitely not far from him
Unable to form independent thought
Nameless faceless bodies
Chopped into tiny parts
Just to be used as enticing props
To shock
And stir
Then pushed aside for something with more depth
Than the round shape of her *******
For we know you can’t have both in cinema
Nameless faceless bodies
Fixed as a
****** canvas
To display how much this world hurts
And wants to hurt
Thrown in the trash when deemed no longer beautiful enough
To keep the audience’s gaze
Nameless faceless bodies
Nameless faceless bodies
Nameless faceless bodies
Nameless faceless bodies
Nameless faceless bodies
-representation matters
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 2:31 PM UTC
Fear is the razors edge pushing into a vein,
Making tears fall like bitter rain.
Attaching to every thought,
Seeding doubt within every action,
Or regret with every word spoken.
Over-thinking, and contemplating
That the worst is forever inevitable.
Inescapable, a hellish prison indeed.
Insecurities come flooding through,
Rushing like a wild river rapid.
It shatters confidence and plagues the mind,
Relentlessly gnawing at the intestines.
The festering infection spreading
Turning into a disease with no cure,
Leaving the hapless victim broken and unsure.
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 12:59 AM UTC
Raining
Pouring
My dad’s up a ladder,
Wet,
Cold,
Attaching the reindeers antler,
Up
Down
I start to climb,
1’oclock
2’oclock
Taking too much time
To high
Wobbling
Cat’s eating the wire,
I pull
It pulls back
My patience starts to tire,
Mum
Comes out
“It’s in the wrong places”
Goes inside
We take it down
“This is going to take ages”
Cold
Tired
It’s eventually done
Inside
Warming up
“Now wasn’t that fun?”
Dec 5, 2009
Dec 5, 2009 at 6:32 AM UTC
After she drank his bitter wine of selfish, pathetic love
She slyly sang him her haunted chant
"The laughs on you", she crooned in her soft malicious tune
At times, she could act with chicane
She had many charms when treated well...
Deadly ones - when not
Oh yes...
She herself may at times have sinned
But he-had the stain of evil, paltry love
Now...Inside her gossamer labyrinth she lay
Carefully, diligently spinning her web
Revealing nothing-and everything
She'd weave her silky snare inside his heart
Laying her toxic eggs of betrayed despair
Spinning her poisonus venom of painful truth
Oh yes...
Her bite is deadly now
She could have been his 'Velvet Rose'
But, he crushed her petals rare
Ending her silken dreams
With his evil malicious schemes
Her spider's web became untethered
Attaching itself by a single thread
To his shoddy veil of evil, selfish love
Now...She is the hunter
And...He is the hunted
In the coming eve...
She'd deliver her poisonous, lethal sting
He'd be noones's lover now
Her threads would cut his miserable flesh
Her deadly venom would seal his fate
Remaining nothing more
Than an ancient, slithering shadow
All along the castle walls
For some time a deadly secret she doth keep
"Revenge”, she whispers, while he sleeps
She was once his only lady
With ivory skin and beauty fair
She fed him nectar from her raven hair
His betrayal seared her hemorrhaged heart
She'd warned him with many words and fiery stares
"Thou shalt not indulge in wicked fare
Be ever so watchful, do not betray
Beware, where thou heart doth leave
Take heed" said she, "Just who thy seed deceives".
In her chamber dark at night, this maiden fair
Planned his demise with scourged nectar, bitter sweet
Stirring her venomous, poisonous treat
Or would dagger to his heart she’d plant
Bid him die a dark and painful lingering death
Upon his sleeping body that she'd leave
As she crept silently into his chamber -
These words she bitterly but victoriously said...
"Thou shalt betray no more.
Thou has sinned against me...
Taken my love in shame
"Betray no more", she said".
But now
Thou is thankfully, forever DEAD!"
Her silken threads had cut his miserable flesh
Her deadly venom had sealed his fate
Now...he remained nothing more
Than an ancient, slithering shadow...
All along her castle walls
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC
When nighttime is hit with a winters storm
And I realize I am not alone
When others run for the comfort of light
And I sit calmly and delight
Without the need of a candles warmth
The storm brings the difference
That makes me belong
Attaching me to the rest of the world
This storm we all share
As opposed to my private storm
The storm of my fathers snare
Jan 9, 2021
Jan 9, 2021 at 2:58 PM UTC
This season is
Memories of kids whipping past
blowing dead leaves on bikewheels
with hoodies hung upwards and
Horror fiend masks.
A ringing of doorbells and delighted
screams rushing forwards
and "Trick or Treat" plunging
like fallen bobbed apples
into concuspiscent ears.
With the Moon bearing high
its dominance of silver contrast
and sandsmoke grimaces
on a clandestine land, ***** for mischief.
All fairytales begin
with a break-up of the family
I'm convinced
All Horror stories
are a crying out
for old friendships to re-emerge
after the gist of mortality
begins to sink in.
And from when I was a teen
most of my friendships, for better or worse,
have centred around attaching my darker thoughts
to something concrete: like a list of favorite author's work
or a poster of Robert Smith on my bedroom wall
claiming knowledge to a world established around my own
The stirring fire to keep on going, after waking up on frostbitten mornings
is not a need to impress with the sense
of my own self-determined
trudging through rain and seeking
lofty self-reward
...But in finding people
to share the walk home with
bounce Cure lyrics back and forth with
and who'll simmer down to a horror film
(without insisting on my recommendation)
at Halloween.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:51 AM UTC
We’d meet up in the bridge of the night
on Monahan road where no streetlights survived at all,
where your
car would impatiently grumble as
I scurried out of the laundry room window
My bare feet kissed the cold concrete briefly before
I threw myself into the warmth of your old Honda,
attaching my body to yours like it belonged to you
The raccoons would come out to greet us because they
heard the sheer ripping of my cotton dress
into pieces between your palms and the rough grip of flesh which
held my flexing neck
Pearls of sweat accumulated once
I tore the shirt off of your back
My loving lips bit by your tough teeth and
I crumbled into your mouth like warm cake,
cuffing your face to the
irresistible urge to lick the plate
clean
windows once were the last moment I noticed but,
you dug your nails into my muscles like I deserved it
across the foggy surface of my skin as if we were lions leaving
chilled bumps and the marks of midnight
scarred in my mind for a minute
Fluttering lids lick this fleeting daydream
that I can’t seem to catch with
my bare authentic hands
Hands no longer tan,
Nor connected to the center
of your plans
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
One
Hello, it's nice to meet you.
Two
I've been meaning to say
How I love the way you look when you're
Tired
On the train home and at your desk
And I think I could help wake you up
Three
You look good in that shirt
Hello, yes I'm right here
And I don't mean to stare but
That shirt
Matches your eyes when the sun hits them through the window
Four
Do I know you? Have I met you before...no.
Are you sure?
Because when I look in your eyes as you breeze past me
My breath catches as if there's still one string attaching us
Together
Five
I miss you.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC