"interconnecting" poems

My hands fidget. I will tell you when I see you that my fingers could break when I speak, loose from the chicken wire houses that pin them to nail holes no one sees and my words could snap with them, straight down their spines. My hands fidget and my tongue trips. One day I won’t be allowed to see your eyes, your eyes when the sun hits them and they turn green, your eyes when they're blue, when you're being real. Or both. The sun is in your eyes and it's setting. I think I could be the moon, we could meet at every eclipse, create our own lightshow in the sky or make them notice us just for five minutes, the kids sat on steps behind the sports centre, I will tell you when I see you that you are so ******* smart you could ruin the world with it, so why can’t I tell you this, so why can’t my hands stay still? I want to feel the way my mouth tingles when we sit, you murmuring in my ear that you could spend all day here, alone with the indents of each other's lips. I guess if we ruined the world I wouldn't even feel Numb, the Nirvana song. My hands fidget. Recently I stuck a sticker over my fear of death to try and be as brave as you and now I am Nevermind, I can't feel a thing. My tongue sits still when I try to speak about thinking and when I think of losing you I see Topcat, Pink Panther and this time my mind trips over itself. I chew my lips and the corners of my mouth close. I can’t see in the dark like I can’t breathe when I see cartoons like I can’t see **** when you say we need to talk like I’m scared of the ******* dark so please walk me home. You find my hair bobbles at your house and I'm sorry that that last one wasn’t a metaphor. I imagine the space behind your closed eyelids looks like a dark place at 3am where you exhale smoke. I imagine the space behind mine is inhaling, coughing and static in the form of a thousand headlights blinking and it burns. My hands fidget. You call me out and it sounds like my brain not being able to hold itself still, I can't, I can't stop fidgeting under those blue-green eyes. When you tell me you love me my fingers stay still. When I think it's loud like nerve endings screaming at me ******* react like controlling hands, interconnecting veins jumping from wrists, hazy. The stuff of nightmares where you say I don’t trust you but I know that your hands on my wrists would not, do not, burn like that. I will tell you when I see you I will not wrap you in chicken wire. I am writing to tell you that when you speak my hands stay still. I am trying to say that nothing snaps and my head is quiet.

0

Jun 1, 2016

Jun 1, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC

jodie-whitchurch

My hands fidget like 11 metaphors on lined paper.

My hands fidget. I will tell you when I see you that my fingers could break when I speak, loose from the chicken wire houses that pin them to nail holes no one sees and my words could snap with them, straight down their spines. My hands fidget and my tongue trips. One day I won’t be allowed to see your eyes, your eyes when the sun hits them and they turn green, your eyes when they're blue, when you're being real. Or both. The sun is in your eyes and it's setting. I think I could be the moon, we could meet at every eclipse, create our own lightshow in the sky or make them notice us just for five minutes, the kids sat on steps behind the sports centre, I will tell you when I see you that you are so ******* smart you could ruin the world with it, so why can’t I tell you this, so why can’t my hands stay still? I want to feel the way my mouth tingles when we sit, you murmuring in my ear that you could spend all day here, alone with the indents of each other's lips. I guess if we ruined the world I wouldn't even feel Numb, the Nirvana song. My hands fidget. Recently I stuck a sticker over my fear of death to try and be as brave as you and now I am Nevermind, I can't feel a thing. My tongue sits still when I try to speak about thinking and when I think of losing you I see Topcat, Pink Panther and this time my mind trips over itself. I chew my lips and the corners of my mouth close. I can’t see in the dark like I can’t breathe when I see cartoons like I can’t see **** when you say we need to talk like I’m scared of the ******* dark so please walk me home. You find my hair bobbles at your house and I'm sorry that that last one wasn’t a metaphor. I imagine the space behind your closed eyelids looks like a dark place at 3am where you exhale smoke. I imagine the space behind mine is inhaling, coughing and static in the form of a thousand headlights blinking and it burns. My hands fidget. You call me out and it sounds like my brain not being able to hold itself still, I can't, I can't stop fidgeting under those blue-green eyes. When you tell me you love me my fingers stay still. When I think it's loud like nerve endings screaming at me ******* react like controlling hands, interconnecting veins jumping from wrists, hazy. The stuff of nightmares where you say I don’t trust you but I know that your hands on my wrists would not, do not, burn like that. I will tell you when I see you I will not wrap you in chicken wire. I am writing to tell you that when you speak my hands stay still. I am trying to say that nothing snaps and my head is quiet.