Light's patterns freeze:
Frost on our faces.
Light's pollen sifts
Through the lids of our eyes ...

Light sinks and rusts
In water; is broken
By glass ... rests
On deserted dust.

Light lies like torn
Paper in corners:
A rock-pool's pledge
Of the sea's return.

Light, wrenched at the edges
By wind, looks down
At itself in wrinkled
Mirrors from bridges.

Light thinly unweaves
Itself through darkness
Like foam's unknotting
Strings in waves ...

Now light is again
Accumulated
Swords against us ...
Now it is gone.

I saw you
As you stared at me
Two deers caught in each other headlights
As brief as a flash, blinked, and you’d miss it

I am only reminded of my heaviness when you are there
Standing – Floating – Watching
As ghostly as any ghost, then
Gone – Vanished – Nothing
I am alone, again, cursed to remain here

I tried to follow in your footsteps
Untangling, unknotting, unravelling
Myself from a generation of debt and duty
These twisted roots of familiar obligations
How did you escape such a similar situation?

I wasn’t born light, like you.
I was born heavy, brother.
I will have to earn my lightness.

Sometimes on rainy days
when the weighty pain becomes unmanageable
I find myself slipping into the tangible delusion
Of ascribing meaning to everything

That maybe you think of me as much as I think of you
That you see my pain and want to help
But it’s just too much for you right now
When you’re ready, you’ll come back to me
You’ll come back.

Sometimes the little lies we tell ourselves
Can be enough to get us through this life

But not tonight.

Tonight he leaves you with a pile of his favorite CDs;

you dream of loading them onto Noah’s Ark before the flood,

along with his 3 A.M. texts and prescription glasses;

he will talk to you when she is not around,

look directly into your eyes, until your heart cracks

and spills into his palms like a weak egg yolk

ready for the frying pan. Do not wait for his little green Facebook

symbol to light up or you will be up all night.

He will kiss her in front of you, a kiss so deep

it could cut straight to the bone like an interrogator

slowly removing a suspect’s finger with a carving knife.

Shield your eyes and turn away;

pretend you are casually studying the poster on the wall.

You will wonder if her body leaves an outline in his bed

the same way a crime scene is taped off

around the chalked-in edges of the victim,

and still he will call you twenty minutes before midnight

wanting to go out for ice cream

when you end up comparing the best 90’s music

over his kitchen table instead. When he looks at you

across this very same table, stare directly back.

Do not flinch. Do not turn away this time.

Let the tidal wave of his stare wash over you

until it drenches your hair

and he wants to comb out the sadness with his fingers:

let him. Let him.

It will take a while to work through the tangles

but savor this last moment with his fingers

unknotting you like needles, before tomorrow,

when he will go back to her again, bouncing

between the two of you like a yo-yo,

the kind that returns to the owner

then moves on to another when it grows bored.

My nose, it just bled numbers--
Bled for years on years unnumbered
'Til I lost my youthful hunger
For anything but numbers
And coagulating blood

But with figures cold and clotting
And with innards now unknotting
I clear the corridors of blotting
And begin to finally breathe

Know pens belong on pages
In your pockets, in your hands
Not in lives, or heads or veins
Most certainly not in plans.

I've mastered the art of waiting.
To be honest, I never realized how much it came in handy, how piecing together every string of the tapestry slowly makes for a better picture in the end.
But to lovingly finger every strand, to stroke the silk audacity of each fiber of the thousands that make up only half of what it is I wish for is to be in an eternal chokehold formed by the knots of the very same cotton I once adoringly began to weave together.
No one ever said waiting was easy, but getting your three piece suit back from the tailor only to find a knot in the first row of stitches can be rather depressing. For the first mistakes will always affect the later ones- you have to unravel all the came after it to fix it.
So why is waiting so hard?
While I covet the strings that make your life whole, mine swing quietly from the branches of a forlorn willow tree, caressed only by the lonely breeze, while yours are wound up within the picture of another's life story.
This is a picture I will never behold in a perfect light- how can an audience see what the master artist truly intended to be seen? They don't know her thoughts, her passions, her history. They aren't aware of her lusts, thirsts, and secrets that hide between the strands of cotton twisted together so tightly that no one can see within. It's the viewpoint that makes the piece art.
And of course it's art. She's a part of it, the lifeblood of you will- she glows, beating the most beautiful heartbeat into the fabric, making it ripple with excitement and pain and longing all at the same time.
And I can admire from far.
As I've said, I've become a master at waiting.
I can sit and watch her tangle her being within someone else's and know that if I ever get a chance to weave my story within hers, I'll have a hell of a lot of untangling and unknotting to do. And even still, the threads that make her her will still be slightly frayed. The more use, the more fray appears, until we either and disentigrate into a powder that was once the pride and joy of a queen who loved her tapestries with all her heart.
But I am a master at waiting.
I will redye the threads that need it, let them air out if necessary, before even attempting to draw out a pattern in which to use them with the threads of my own I seldom share. I will wait as long as need be, for to let those threads be a part of my life's tapestry is to let a heartbeat pound my fabric into submission, into happiness.
She once said she'd never let me feel unhappy, because happiness is important, even though it might take forever to arrive, and that she was going to make it her duty to speed its journey on its way to me.
But I'm a master at waiting.

Do you feel how broken we are ,
Both of us miserably broken .

Yet one is trying to hold the other ,
And the other is trying to figure out his own .

How unfair this love has become .
You just whispered to me you love me ,
And I've made you my soul .

I didn't want this kind of love .
Where you'll push me , stab me with silence everyday .
And whenever you want to love me you'll pull me closer .
But have you even realise every single behavior of yours was a slap on my face .

I could see where the cracks and how my love for you is seeping through my fingers.
I wish you were here to give me hand to hold that love .

You're were so much to me , how much was i for you ? Don't say .

I was knitting this beautiful love around you but when I look back i saw you unknotting .

I was giving effort and it bacame effortless to you .

I love so easily i just can't get over that easily .

I will never forgive you for loving me and making me feel unloved .

I will never forgive you thinking that I will get settled with someone else easily .

I will never forgive you for thinking that I will unlove you easily

I will never forgive you for thinking I will move on easily .

I will never forgive you for thinking that I can replace you with someone else .

I will forgive everything that hurt me , how loving you hurt me , i will forgive everything about you.  I just can't forgive your thinking .

I love you but I can't go back where respect does not dwell .

knots.

made of
knowing not
why not.

all i did not,
all i do not.

out of not
unknotting
what was not
knotted,
no, it was not.

so linear.
just
let it be
and move on.

or not.

Unravel yourself you said
you said I have been bound up soo tightly
it is hard to even begin unknotting
it is hard to for anyone to decode the arithmetic's in my mind
you said I never let myself feel what I have never felt instead
you said I lay dormant awaiting a match

But I know of these foreign blazes that come and consume like a flame
sometimes I want to be immersed in their heat
it is what I crave
but I feel like the more I run towards burning fire
the more the smoke begins to suffocate