I want to be unable to sleep, running far in distance, gaining strength with each step. I want to be strong - don't we all wish for strength. I want to feel rain, to taste green.
Walking in a fog of perception, how I perceive what is real. Tongues tied into knots and ice paved diamond in hand, like a greenhouse. What does it take to make it to the top?
I walk toward you, I don't know where to find you. It's not that you're lost; you're simply too far away and it's simply too dark wherever I go.
Once I reach you, I rest my nose on your back. I smell your skin and I hear you, feel you stir, softly inhaling a deeper breath. Still standing, I bite my lip. I can't stop my eyes from tearing. I've somehow lost that ability; you must have stripped that away from me, how you cleanse me of my natural defense mechanisms.
I'm a master at dismissals. No need for concern, sir. It's just a sigh, nothing more. Castles built and burnt. How it must be to know I'm emperor.
I wanted to take you in, there, that moment, nose against skin. I wanted to absolutely fall apart, like shortbread dough, sandy and crumbled. I wanted you to know I was there and know why I was there and understand what was required. I wanted you to feel how I felt, if only for a moment, because I need you to understand this, that I don't have words to explain what this is...what this holds.
You stirred, softly inhaling a deeper breath. I straightened myself and suppressed my chaos and walked away from you. I took my clothes off and stood there, water fading behind me and thoughts melting before me. Considering the absolute insignificance of blackberries. And just how foolish I am. How foolish I've always been - how foolish I'll always be.
Feeling insignificant and foolish and heavy. My ignorance weighs on me.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
Never you
Bubbles, bubbles from my lips as I let the water enter me.
You know he knows me differently than you know me?
You know how he can find me? How he knows certain things; how he knows when to mention the words that I'm seeking...Somewhere, somehow, reaching out to hold my hand, to fill in those blanks. He hears me, through stars calling, through the field. He can find me giggling, blackberries in hand, metal on standby, hawk watching. Discover here, fear there. Halo, tiara, gloss all the same. Bridges to honey and milk - putting up a show. Girl for sale and never was there a buyer. Funny how he denies me; always denying me wishes and demands. He just forgot what was right, which way I was. He stays up all night and I sleep, knowing I can't let him go, chasing his ghost. Crystalline vision of this girl perfected, he watches over, watching well. He plays with keys and I steal his drink. And I'd play. All along, I'd play. He likes my show. It's me. And now he knows all too well, heart wet. Visual display of emotion - surprising me - what he knows. But it's just me. Just the me he knows.
But he isn't you.
You know he knows me differently than you know me?
He sees me in his dreams and he creates his world around them. He finds the tortoise and the gold in the daytime. The birds do sing here. He smiles in the shadows. He lets me break, there in his hands, and he puts me back together without fail, without question. He finds the lines in me and follows them there and traces them back to me. He finds me carbon-sided, imperfections abound, bloodied feet. Through soft eyes he sees me, through the raging tempest and buildings that close him off. He takes his weapons to me, the callouses and razor sharpened edges and I fight like hell. He becomes that vision of light in my darkness that I swallow. Secrets that he knows, forbidden. I subtly give in. He stitches my tears and repairs my holes, he washes away my filth and combs my damp hair. He fixes me with precision, in every way possible, working to find my perfection, when only truly working to find me. And it's me, the me that he knows.
But he isn't you.
She knows him better than you could ever imagine.
You know he knows me differently than you know me?
You know how he can find me? How he knows certain things; how he knows when to mention the words that I'm seeking...Somewhere, somehow, reaching out to hold my hand, to fill in those blanks. He hears me, through stars calling, through the field. He can find me giggling, blackberries in hand, metal on standby, hawk watching. Discover here, fear there. Halo, tiara, gloss all the same. Bridges to honey and milk - putting up a show. Girl for sale and never was there a buyer. Funny how he denies me; always denying me wishes and demands. He just forgot what was right, which way I was. He stays up all night and I sleep, knowing I can't let him go, chasing his ghost. Crystalline vision of this girl perfected, he watches over, watching well. He plays with keys and I steal his drink. And I'd play. All along, I'd play. He likes my show. It's me. And now he knows all too well, heart wet. Visual display of emotion - surprising me - what he knows. But it's just me. Just the me he knows.
But he isn't you.
You know he knows me differently than you know me?
He sees me in his dreams and he creates his world around them. He finds the tortoise and the gold in the daytime. The birds do sing here. He smiles in the shadows. He lets me break, there in his hands, and he puts me back together without fail, without question. He finds the lines in me and follows them there and traces them back to me. He finds me carbon-sided, imperfections abound, bloodied feet. Through soft eyes he sees me, through the raging tempest and buildings that close him off. He takes his weapons to me, the callouses and razor sharpened edges and I fight like hell. He becomes that vision of light in my darkness that I swallow. Secrets that he knows, forbidden. I subtly give in. He stitches my tears and repairs my holes, he washes away my filth and combs my damp hair. He fixes me with precision, in every way possible, working to find my perfection, when only truly working to find me. And it's me, the me that he knows.
But he isn't you.
She knows him better than you could ever imagine.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
sheer
i feel you, and i want you to know i'm listening. i hear you. i won't take you for granted. i'll wait for the clarity, tell me what you know.
cool, there, in the shade, in the shadows, resting against slabs of concrete, i can hear you. close my eyes and let you in, sweetheart, i promise you're going to be safe with me.
thank you for coming now. please don't stop. please don't hide.
cool, there, in the shade, in the shadows, resting against slabs of concrete, i can hear you. close my eyes and let you in, sweetheart, i promise you're going to be safe with me.
thank you for coming now. please don't stop. please don't hide.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Corners of my soul
Something different again, something different here.
Spinning round.
Lining up the what ifs, really fast for reevaluation. Stepping back for a moment, red polish love and consider them. Wine glasses filled with red, all in line. Toy soldiers of possibilities. Perfection, girl. Hitting that perfection head on.
If I could, then I would. My maybes. His maybes. Your maybes. Lined up in rows, ready for the maybe war.
Ghosts.
How many promises were made, only to be cast to smoke, fogging up my way home? Gathering up the fog and the haze, my own personal collection of mist molecules that cling to my hair.
Smoke and mirrors, chess and checkers. Wondering your color, and you always chose black. What do I do when she still asks after you? What do I do when you say it should all be water under the bridge, when I set fire to that route centuries ago?
I see it in your eyes, the love. The love that I question so hard. You have to remember I have ghosts on trial, here. And you have your ghosts too, yes?
I wonder when she will be satisfied, wash the haze from her hair, take a clean breath in, to learn to let it fall, to learn to let it go, to take. Oh, to take.
I wonder what it would be to have left my car behind, to walk along the road that morning, alone, cold, and to tastes those ghosts instead of driving through them, running from them. Even if walking in the dark, taking that moment to absorb what had just happened to me. If I could only ever just take that absorption.
Could you too? Can you feel that let down each time over and over, once and yet again? You're my very own anticlimactic - you promised me heaven. Heaven and white tea black. The look you never gave again, every word that you never took. Like cake for breakfast and blood on the lawn. And you go. Small scene massacre as you shadow through. Were you ever okay with that?
What you were able to embody, for me, were you ever okay with that?
Spinning round.
Lining up the what ifs, really fast for reevaluation. Stepping back for a moment, red polish love and consider them. Wine glasses filled with red, all in line. Toy soldiers of possibilities. Perfection, girl. Hitting that perfection head on.
If I could, then I would. My maybes. His maybes. Your maybes. Lined up in rows, ready for the maybe war.
Ghosts.
How many promises were made, only to be cast to smoke, fogging up my way home? Gathering up the fog and the haze, my own personal collection of mist molecules that cling to my hair.
Smoke and mirrors, chess and checkers. Wondering your color, and you always chose black. What do I do when she still asks after you? What do I do when you say it should all be water under the bridge, when I set fire to that route centuries ago?
I see it in your eyes, the love. The love that I question so hard. You have to remember I have ghosts on trial, here. And you have your ghosts too, yes?
I wonder when she will be satisfied, wash the haze from her hair, take a clean breath in, to learn to let it fall, to learn to let it go, to take. Oh, to take.
I wonder what it would be to have left my car behind, to walk along the road that morning, alone, cold, and to tastes those ghosts instead of driving through them, running from them. Even if walking in the dark, taking that moment to absorb what had just happened to me. If I could only ever just take that absorption.
Could you too? Can you feel that let down each time over and over, once and yet again? You're my very own anticlimactic - you promised me heaven. Heaven and white tea black. The look you never gave again, every word that you never took. Like cake for breakfast and blood on the lawn. And you go. Small scene massacre as you shadow through. Were you ever okay with that?
What you were able to embody, for me, were you ever okay with that?
Monday, March 26, 2012
Chasing Austin
I want to change the world, but I can't hear what you're saying. I can't hear the words, honey, we need to think about our words. Yes we do, I say.
I don't know where it could take me - where these cold arms draw around me and taking leaps into galaxies beyond.
I might rather be alone, listening to the quiet, running down hills and learning how to skip stones. Playing at balloons and water slides.
Cashmere and crushed velvet. Sandcastles and marble.
Blood on my hands, love, blood on my hands. Wash me in the stream, washing clean. Of guilt, shame, hatred. Fear.
You killed me once, again and again. So you can only come back for more flesh, blood, glitter, gloss.
I find myself pushing away. I'm running out of my head with this violence to separate. I want a violent segregation of self. I feel it sometimes, like right now, when I'm humming girl. When I want to be walking in the warmth of heated summer concrete pathways to my next stop. When I want to be young again, foolish again.
When I want the world to flip once more, so I can taste that air. Because I had this peace. And I can't find my way back there, to that day, the day in the sun. It's funny how I wanted now then and I want then now. Just for a moment, just for a brief moment of an hour in the library, the weight of a research paper, the moment of deciding to walk in the rain or to disregard the night, the moment of he and me and she and piling on my hood to watch the fireworks, the moment of walking off the field to absolute silence, that moment of respect, tears in eyes, respect, the moment where nothing was right, and what I felt was right was never made right because I didn't know how to live.
And the truth is that I was so alone. So alone, which is why I was walking in the sun. I was walking on a Saturday in the middle of August or September, 21st to San Jac and Jester and the croissants and orange juice, then back to the mall, south mall, somewhere far because I couldn't fill the loneliness. I found solace in the sun, in the heat. Brazos. Find me home. If I could only feel like I belonged. Like I fit. Walking the streets aimlessly, churches and construction, green and trees, somewhere in between. Studies and books, music and notes of luck, hugs and smiles. Congratulations and disappears. Vines through the chain linked fence. Leaves reaching out to me, grazing my arms, making me miss you when I didn't even know you.
It's like I forgot who I was there for a moment, because I found myself outside of me, where I didn't belong. Shadow of a girl that I desire to chase after now. Take me by the hand and hug her. Whatever keeps her safe, whatever that is, once when it's determined...
Leaving nothing behind, I left it all behind.
I don't know where it could take me - where these cold arms draw around me and taking leaps into galaxies beyond.
I might rather be alone, listening to the quiet, running down hills and learning how to skip stones. Playing at balloons and water slides.
Cashmere and crushed velvet. Sandcastles and marble.
Blood on my hands, love, blood on my hands. Wash me in the stream, washing clean. Of guilt, shame, hatred. Fear.
You killed me once, again and again. So you can only come back for more flesh, blood, glitter, gloss.
I find myself pushing away. I'm running out of my head with this violence to separate. I want a violent segregation of self. I feel it sometimes, like right now, when I'm humming girl. When I want to be walking in the warmth of heated summer concrete pathways to my next stop. When I want to be young again, foolish again.
When I want the world to flip once more, so I can taste that air. Because I had this peace. And I can't find my way back there, to that day, the day in the sun. It's funny how I wanted now then and I want then now. Just for a moment, just for a brief moment of an hour in the library, the weight of a research paper, the moment of deciding to walk in the rain or to disregard the night, the moment of he and me and she and piling on my hood to watch the fireworks, the moment of walking off the field to absolute silence, that moment of respect, tears in eyes, respect, the moment where nothing was right, and what I felt was right was never made right because I didn't know how to live.
And the truth is that I was so alone. So alone, which is why I was walking in the sun. I was walking on a Saturday in the middle of August or September, 21st to San Jac and Jester and the croissants and orange juice, then back to the mall, south mall, somewhere far because I couldn't fill the loneliness. I found solace in the sun, in the heat. Brazos. Find me home. If I could only feel like I belonged. Like I fit. Walking the streets aimlessly, churches and construction, green and trees, somewhere in between. Studies and books, music and notes of luck, hugs and smiles. Congratulations and disappears. Vines through the chain linked fence. Leaves reaching out to me, grazing my arms, making me miss you when I didn't even know you.
It's like I forgot who I was there for a moment, because I found myself outside of me, where I didn't belong. Shadow of a girl that I desire to chase after now. Take me by the hand and hug her. Whatever keeps her safe, whatever that is, once when it's determined...
Leaving nothing behind, I left it all behind.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Don't be afraid
Feeling on the edge, just threatening to tip over head first. Weighed with the thought of you - what you wanted to be. What you had always promised through suggestion. Power of suggestion, of provocation, of perception.
Perhaps I made a move unexpected - perhaps you were just a little to occupied - perhaps somewhere beneath all of the lace and lime I forgot how to take it off, to get off of it. There you go again, sword in hand, feeling all man.
I feel like I'm missing something - like I'm out in the cold. Trying to piece the puzzle together and it's as though I lost the other half. Just a little bit of moisture, just a little bit of trust, a little bit of tongue.
Flashbacks and nightmares....True fear envelopes my heart and shocks me cold. Taken aback, revisit the dreaded walks at 3:30 in the morning, through the endless empty corridors. Sterile. I fear that regression - that one older than this one. He'll come before her and you'll never know, she said - you'll just never know.
And so now you pray. On the edge of your tongue, to whatever gods you can find, to whomever will listen. Because now, at this point, those who failed you, you want to fall into their good graces, if you could only be graceful, friend to the church, legs crossed, closed toe and have another button buttoned, tied tight. Just wrap her up in perfection, please because she can't take one more breath without understanding why she had to fall quite so far.
So now I pray. Waiting for an answer that never comes, never will come. I breeze through my own responses, my own ideas of what happened - transpired - following these events. Kicking and screaming and crying through my own ideas. So I laugh. I laugh because there is nothing more I can do.
So now let's laugh. Let's pray.
Perhaps I made a move unexpected - perhaps you were just a little to occupied - perhaps somewhere beneath all of the lace and lime I forgot how to take it off, to get off of it. There you go again, sword in hand, feeling all man.
I feel like I'm missing something - like I'm out in the cold. Trying to piece the puzzle together and it's as though I lost the other half. Just a little bit of moisture, just a little bit of trust, a little bit of tongue.
Flashbacks and nightmares....True fear envelopes my heart and shocks me cold. Taken aback, revisit the dreaded walks at 3:30 in the morning, through the endless empty corridors. Sterile. I fear that regression - that one older than this one. He'll come before her and you'll never know, she said - you'll just never know.
And so now you pray. On the edge of your tongue, to whatever gods you can find, to whomever will listen. Because now, at this point, those who failed you, you want to fall into their good graces, if you could only be graceful, friend to the church, legs crossed, closed toe and have another button buttoned, tied tight. Just wrap her up in perfection, please because she can't take one more breath without understanding why she had to fall quite so far.
So now I pray. Waiting for an answer that never comes, never will come. I breeze through my own responses, my own ideas of what happened - transpired - following these events. Kicking and screaming and crying through my own ideas. So I laugh. I laugh because there is nothing more I can do.
So now let's laugh. Let's pray.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Sugar
Dreams floating like bubbles in a spring breeze. Floating along. I come through and smash them into tiny dream droplets. Smelling the Carolina jasmine, tasting the fresh cherry tomatoes, leaving that tomato vine stickiness on fingertips, heated in the sunshine reflecting from glass, feet tucked underneath, book in hand.
You let them sail, helping them along there in smiles and your way.
I'm conjuring my magic by the way of praying for clouds. Snakeskin flesh creeping moisture what you just said. I pray for fog and whispers that come across to me from miles and distances. Like fingertips grazing ripples into the water of my soul.
Ghosts.
I've never been so far from sugar. I hold Athena by the hand and stray further from you who I used to know. Fury.
Dancing celebration around the fire, lighting shadows on rocks cascading to the land. I'm tracing out the path - bloodlines. I'm going to try this one again here, see I think I know. Strong girl; foolish girl. Holding. Dancing for rain, dancing for blood, putting in war paint, calling up our stallions.
Golds that flash, crimsons and pinks...rusts of earth and hooves hitting the sand. Faster now, wind in hair, as if in a sex ride with the top down, possessed with the fire of speed, desire of flight.
Do you really want to get in the way of this? Know what you're up against? Stomach a thousand but come back in for two more. Do you know what kind of rage is wearing a ballad? When I got lost in a mystery, the Senator comes in.
Peanut butter over ice. Calming and clean - I lost you, wild as we were. Offering or not, poised for the fight, cream and sugar. Two in one two.
You let them sail, helping them along there in smiles and your way.
I'm conjuring my magic by the way of praying for clouds. Snakeskin flesh creeping moisture what you just said. I pray for fog and whispers that come across to me from miles and distances. Like fingertips grazing ripples into the water of my soul.
Ghosts.
I've never been so far from sugar. I hold Athena by the hand and stray further from you who I used to know. Fury.
Dancing celebration around the fire, lighting shadows on rocks cascading to the land. I'm tracing out the path - bloodlines. I'm going to try this one again here, see I think I know. Strong girl; foolish girl. Holding. Dancing for rain, dancing for blood, putting in war paint, calling up our stallions.
Golds that flash, crimsons and pinks...rusts of earth and hooves hitting the sand. Faster now, wind in hair, as if in a sex ride with the top down, possessed with the fire of speed, desire of flight.
Do you really want to get in the way of this? Know what you're up against? Stomach a thousand but come back in for two more. Do you know what kind of rage is wearing a ballad? When I got lost in a mystery, the Senator comes in.
Peanut butter over ice. Calming and clean - I lost you, wild as we were. Offering or not, poised for the fight, cream and sugar. Two in one two.
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