Over the tabletop
Nothing to do
They're lonely and empty
From not touching you

They lounge and they dance
They tap and they wait
But your skin's not there
And they anticipate

The day that they'll find
The touch that they crave
On the hips of the one
Who they intend to save

And meanwhile, my heart
waits on and forever, stuck
swinging like my fingertips
without love's luck

This axe in my hand is too heavy for me to lift.
Would you help me
s
   w
        i
            n
                g
                        it in the direction
                       of the tree
                        with our initials
                       scarring its lonely skin?

Swirls are better than slashes,
and I can tell you why.

Swirls are better than slashes,
for they help you up to fly.

Swirls are better than slashes,
with ink instead of red.

Swirls are better than slashes,
but they do not help your head.

To drown is to feel more bleakly alive
Than the gold studded bees in a sapphire hive.

To choke is to breathe in the Northerner's wind
that exhumed itself from the smile he grinned.

To burn is to feel the passions he hides
that tear up his heart and corrupt his insides.

And to live is to feel like you're finally dead
Because life is not life, when it gets to your head.

I hate how that quintessential part of me is gone
that I can appreciate a harmony or a triad
but don't make them anymore
who am I, really, without that part of me?
there's so much I'm missing
and I don't have the courage to hit the keys again
but I just want to be part of your symphony
and I'll do whatever it takes
to feel that again

I love you. So much it hurts.

But what hurts more
is the screaming
and the yelling
and the insults

I know you love me
so much it hurts

watching me progress from
mary janes to high heels
from face paint to mascara

but one day I'll be gone
and our emotions
need to stop playing
tag

Do you ever wonder what small miracle it is
                                    to be able to talk?

Do you ever have those moments where it is
                                   unnatural to talk?

                                                                                                               She yells.
          
                                                                   It's not that she means to be mean.

                       She just appreciates the small miracle it is to be able to talk.

                                                       But sometimes it's unnatural to even talk.

If your glances were breaths,
My lungs would burst
I see you

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.

My fingers
tapping out a
beat stronger
than my heart is

Why do they hold
the power that they do?

Why is it that
my heart, the
organism writhing the confines
of my small chest
can't out its feelings
to the ones who need
to hear
it most?

tap, tap tap

My fingers
tap out a beat
foreign to the
pentameter of my tongue
and the pulsing of
my blood
and the tapping
infiltrates my soul

nothingness
blankness
silence

The tapping
deafens me, so
loud that I can't
hear myself think
or even hear my
own heart beating.

If it beats is the real question,
the one I would pay
a million dollars
to have the
answer to.

tap, tap, tap----tap, t-tap

My fingers shake
above the wooden counter
in my kitchen as
they try in vain
to say what
my heart and my
lips cannot.

Actions
speak louder than
words.

But music
speaks louder than
actions.

but the rust still remains.
between your fingers, in your hair, cracking across your lips and the birds you admire from your broken window.
did you ever stop to think that it made you appreciate being clean?
it's not as beautiful as silver, not as strong as titanium, not as effervescent as chrome.
it covers you head to toe and still you insist that you've moved on.
i see your true colors, and right now they're all varying shades of red.
what happened to you, what did you lose?
and what did you think i turned to?
drugs and ******* money, i can hear the birds sing
maybe it's deliberate if it's lacking substance
somehow that's not where i ended up but the birds are still tarnished and that honestly just makes me thankful for the temptations that gave me more than the color red
did you scrub yourself raw trying to burn the memories away?
can you still hear the birds?

Writing songs doesn't come easily
To an unbroken heart.

Taylor understands.

I'm a little teapot, short and stout
Here is my handle, here is my spout
When I get all steamed up, hear me shout
"Tip me over and pour me out!"

I'm a little teapot, full and hot,
Ready for romance, and for quite a lot
Passionate and strong, all I've got
Is what's inside my pure white ***.

I'm a little teapot, partly mild
Still sentimental, still just a child
When he came along, on him I piled
Half my inside, from there it just spiraled.

I'm a little teapot with no brew
Poured all I had for the one before you
So if you're wanting love, then you'll be blue
Cause he drank me up, if only I knew.

I'm a little teapot, cracked and grey
Unused for sixteen long years to the day
Parts of me are missing, ere more I'll stay
The one who poured all her love away.

When the world is weary
Your problems have converted
Into a silver gold chorus
Of pots and pans

When your arms are tired
Because of the wooden
Hard grained electricity
They carry

Drop yourself
Into an armchair
Of silken iron and platinum
And drink the splendors
Of the barrier reef

whispers can emanate from all over
angels on shoulder pads
devils on shoulder blades

but the whisper i'm hearing comes from below
whispers from my heart
telling me to start

hope can form in the murkiest places
and i believe that we
aren't quite finished yet.

Tell me how to identify
What's running through my head
Cause I don't know how to clarify
Anything that you have said.....

And he smells of the lavender that presses into his back
Each time he presses his hand against my waist

Here, in my garden of shadows
Here, where the black blossoms grow
Tonight, deep waters will overflow
Here, no man dares to go...

Here, the nights are but lonely
Here, it's not safe to abide
Nowhere to run or to scream or to hide
Beware the Blackening Tide.

Come, my child, come closer
See what the lone river holds
Tales of sadness, of love young and old,
Come, dear, embrace the cold...

No, dear moonbeam, don't fear
Though it is cold as stone
You wouldn't leave me here standing alone...?
Stay here, this is your new home.

Stay with the misty deep river,
Stay with soft voices unheard
Calling to us, they outshine the bird
Of lives that were lost and all blurred.

So here, in our garden of shadows,
It shall be just you and I
You will care for the blossoms and stay by my side
Till you're carried away by the tide...

Beware the Blackening Tide...

She gave herself an A
Because her aspirations flew free
She gave herself a B
For her broken abilities
She gave herself a C
For lack of conscious time
She gave herself a D
For finding doubt all over her mind
She gave herself an F
Because failures ruled her life
She gave herself every grade in the book
And so ended her eternal strife.

Just when you thought I had broken your heart
B O O M
Here's a lie and a few assorted jabs.
Have a nice life, you optimistic idiot.
Did you really think I cared...

15+ elderly relatives
States away
Parents and sister
States away
Friends from college
Hundreds of miles away
And me?
Stuck in my dorm alone
Watching for the sun

I'll hold back my longing to quote Shakespeare's sagacity here
and instead apologize,
though I know not what for.

The world is indeed cold and unforgiving.

It is how we forge our way through hoping for the best
that makes us
who we are.

through my heart
through my soul
when i hear your voice
through my mind
through my eyes
when i see your hair
through my life
through my death
when you have to leave

hate me, hate me,
go ahead and hate me
slate me, slate me,
you know that i am lost.

harp me, harp me,
you know you want to harp me
start me, start me
onto the path of spirals.

change me, change me,
try if you dare to change me
play me, play me,
for the game i am.

but love me, love me,
why would you ever love me?
you're above me, above me,
and i'm just on the ground.

When I tell you I don't in any way, shape, or form, deserve you, you just smile and kiss my words away till they're nothing but a faded memory in the back of your mind, where they'll soon be forgotten. But not for me. I'd always said you were my saviour, my vice, my distraction; but, perhaps, am I yours? Living the life of a hero, with its' pain, sorrow, and guilt- your doting on me, covering me with sweet words, is this your distracting? You say, then, love is a musical, and we are the actors. But you omit who else ventures onto the stage, beloved. Have you forgotten our old nemesis, Jealousy? She wears jade and loathing, and is the lead soprano. Cloaked in all her majesty, hypnotizing with the voice she sings, you remember her well, as do I. Yet lo, from stage left, enters a dear acquaintance- it is none other than Hope, dear old Hope, donning her tattered rags of lost dreams and wasted words. But all is lost when the orchestra plays, conducted by the one who rules over us all- Fear has come back, placing doubt into our minds, our hearts, our souls. We said once we were intertwined, yet how can we venture to regain that conscious feeling of royal sweetness? It is lost to the stage as the music plays louder and Hope falls to the floor in a scene of tragedy. There is no much more to say- Fear has overtaken me, love. How will our musical end?

You flatter yourself by thinking those harsh words were about you.
You don't mean enough to me for me to set aside time to write about you, let alone think about you.

ECHO
               e   c h   o


                                      e        c     h         o

Everyone thinks
I've gone
bitter

I haven't

what is it that I'm missing?

Give my heart a flaming rest, set down from up on this pedestal
And away from this oaken throne

Let it drift away on the undulating waves of insanity
And fade into the fogs of memory

Mark it with your own decided determination
And withhold your silken vocal strands from uttering a word towards mine

For who can forget what was never there
And who can regret what was always fair?

Some may prefer a sunny sky;
Not I; I breathe the clouds that spy.
Their beauty is the darkest kind
That watches o’er love on the line.

The yellow daisies, I disdain
I’d rather inhale cold and pain.
For on my life, they’ve left their stain
And ne’er will they cease to remain.

I find myself in places new
With different eyes, a different view.
I never thought that I’d come through
But found my wings, and up I flew.

Over waters bright blue and green,
I want to see what I’ve not seen,
To rule o’er lands like the grandest of queens
And to understand what the lightning means.

O’er the valley of the lone rose,
Sad and despondent, a lone bud grows.
Bathing in gloom, thrashing in throes;
Who will save it? Nobody knows.

No fear have you, but much have I.
In one dark flash, my life slips by.
And inasmuch as I do try,
I cannot stop its’ will to fly.

With these old withered hands of mine,
I’ve tried to halt the passing of time.
I’ve tried to make its’ hands rewind
But to me time has not been kind.

For one day at that dark’ning door
When I see all Fate has in store,
I’ll breathe in quick, fall to the floor,
Heave my last, then sigh no more.

For future cannot be foretold
No matter what the runes may hold.
They may deceive with jewels and gold,
Omit the tales of fatal cold.

Trying to see through broken glass
Brings up memories from my past.
Memories from my mind I’d cast
Away and hoped they’d be the last

Sometimes, I dream of what I’ve lost
Then I forget what my dreams do cost.
So to and fro I’m fervently tossed,
Scars of life are on my embossed.

Writing is my only vice;
People don’t hear or give advice!
So hear me, I’ll say it twice:
I am naught but bones and mice.

Can we please take a moment
To abject from our minds
The unrelenting stubbornness
Of a mind that is told to shut the hell up
And who does

And instead plagues the conciousness
With memories.

Because we all ******* know
A picture is worth
A thousand words.

When you see someone who's feelings conflict with your own in a conflicting ball of conflict and your chest decides to spasm

Why did you weigh me down
If you wanted me to swim to you

time belongs to no one.
rather, it belongs to everyone.

everyone but the one who wishes
they could harness it.

like a wild horse, it can only be
tamed if it is given.

given, given from those who we
try in vain to give it to.

my time is not my time,
and yours is not yours.

it switches, it tangles...
and it is given, and taken away.

You control my time.
And I control yours.

Yesterday, I was tired.

Today, I am numb.

Tomorrow, I will be strung tight.

And after that, who knows?

The after wash of that blush
Won't go away.....
Are you really smiling?
Wish God would bless me enough
To let me see...
And my blush would tinge me head to toe.

I don't know, what is it young people do in these situations?
I won't Romeo and Juliet my way through life, but God, I want to explore this.
Everything.
You.

Unity.
Hands, rings, fingers
Smelly perfume and the swishes of gowns
That take us back
To a time period without pain
Caused by one another's insufferability....

Today is my day,
Ours,
And with a final
Huzzah
And a final
Amen
We will all become
One

I wish I could explain in a way that makes rational sense.
I've been scouring my mind for an easy way to phrase
the actions that came so cruelly to my heart last night.

Nothing is ever private. We should have known.
I wish I could have had the foresight to be more careful,
to hold myself back from being so arrogantly confident
that no one would find out until the time had come.

It isn't your fault.

It is mine.

Forbidden contact, that's what this is.
No more texts, no more messages....
nothing.

It breaks my heart in two, and I wish I could find a way
to help you feel less heartbreak than I.
This storm feels neverending.

In this past week I have felt more alive
than I thought possible.

And now your sorrow turned to rage
breaks it into a million pieces that I thought
it would never have to suffer through.
I wish privacy was so well practiced.

But not now, not today.

And so with a heavy heart, I bid you adieu,
my prince, my star, my superhuman silvertongue.

I will miss you more than I can say.

I will miss us.

He had it coming, he only had himself to blame.
If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I bet you you would have done the same...*
So don't come crying to me that he's depressed.
Where were you
when I needed that support?

To lead the land with a steady hand
Is easier said than done.
For since you have power
And have vowed never to cower
Your real troubles are just begun.

To lead the land with a steady hand
Takes more than just being the boss.
You must be willing to make sacrifices
-Not of  your own devices-
To stand up and bear your own cross.

To lead the land with a steady hand
Requires courage, will, and time.
Forced to make very hard choices
Over employees and invoices
And explain the reason where there is no rhyme.

To lead the land with a steady hand
Is a pressing, tiring feat
But upon returning home
You have no time of your own
None to rest your wearisome feet.

To lead the land with a steady hand
To us you try to explain
The principles you use;
Misunderstood, they light your short fuse
Deep breaths, then you try to tell us again.

To lead the land with a steady hand
Is not appreciated as it should be
For in all that you do
In all you charge through
Those unfamiliar do not seem to see.

Your hands do not shake
Your legs do not quake
And rarely do you ever venture upon a mistake.
None but you really knows what it will take
To lead the land with a steady hand.

I think I might finally understand
My services are at your demand.
Lead me, father, help me learn how to command
And to lead the land with a steady hand.

To love is to forget
All the pain that you regret
Every time you let your head
Tear your heart and soul to shreds

Don't explore
Don't investigate
Don't fall in love
Don't give in to hate

Just be safe, dearest darling
For daring to be something more than you are
Could cost you the world
And another's heart.

it used to be so easy to just
sling whatever emotions i had
onto a blank page.

now it seems there are too many
for me to possibly try to push them
into a sentence or two.

A pure brick of gold
The head of a dragon
The tooth of a basilisk
The horn of a unicorn
A thousand dowries
A kingdom of glass
A golden paved highway
Some Picasso art
Is it simply ludacris
That all I want is your heart?

There is no poison anymore.
Past thoughts, past dreams, past hopes,
key word; past.
It has drained into everyone- you have seen this- and it has destroyed more than is healthy. None is healthy. Unfortunately, that is not the case, not even close.
But now the toil is over.

You can only push so much out, can only drown so much.
You're tired, I can feel it.
You're weary, I can see it.
Memories strain against the metal bars guarding your heart and your head

Opening broken boxes of leering letters can **** the heart. I know.
Unearthing memories you'd tried to shatter can **** you.

But better than blocking comes redemption,
albeit harder and a longer process.

But being a whole puzzle means fitting the pieces together,
not throwing away those you wish you hadn't touched.

There are those who wish to build you up, those who wish to beam you into the high place you used to inhabit.

And you know what?

They all miss you.

your eyes make my heart want to speed
unfortunately, it's out of gas

To fall is to              y
                    l
f  

To live is to
                 d
                             i
                                      e

But to fail is quite folly
For have you even tried?