he'll listen to your trouble
act concerned as if he cares
he'll make the right expressions
and act like he's aware
she'll tell you that she understands
and how she can help you along
she'll make you deep convicted promises
explaining how your worries will be gone
they don't care about your future
they don't care about who you are
when you talk they their minds just wander
their souls are just a carr
Did I Ever Really Know?
In August, I remember when the sky fell in on itself
hot as a molasses running between breast and hip,
there are some moments when I dreamed on fire,
when I burned for something greater than myself,
swept up on the coattails of youthful passion.
When I think I knew more than the world,
when I was young and dumb and possibilities "endless"...
But in September the sky opened up,
cool breeze dried up sticky heat between breast and hip,
and my dreams of fire are put out by the reality
that I never burned. Not even once in my tiny life,
and those coattails belonged to a viper who wished me harm,
and the world had always known what was next.
I am now old and not much wiser,
but at least I know that possibilities do not go on forever
they can also just... end.
August and September
I wish I could have told myself:
you'll marry someone born in September.
When it was August in college
and there was a three week stretch
of ninety plus degree days
before the new school year
and my pajamas were stained
with boys making mistakes
and sweat that kept coming
like the tears that tattooed my face
because it was endless, and the feelings
were permanent, a reminder of what had been
and what would become my illness.
I wish I could have told myself:
you'll be a writer.
when I was presented
someone forcing themselves
to be their own demon
and I had to be saved
by someone who later
decided not to survive
the mundane of the every day
or any day.
August smells like her
the perfume in her apartment
the summer she saved my life.
August smells like the rain
evaporating off the sidewalks
in New England
after a thunderstorm
the humidity too much
to contain any of us.
I don't tell people she saved me.
That in August, we went for drives
in my Prius
and sang songs that I still listen to
though sometimes they hurt.
That when I was faced with issues
she said I could stay with her.
That there are ways
to be free of those
who would hurt us.
She died in August of
the next calendar year,
and I remember calling my parents.
September came and it was
still stagnant with death.
But there's something
to the notion
I knew her face
in all my ambitions, dreams,
the sun setting earlier
than it had before.
it was okay to not be okay
and for that I thank her.
We've put ourselves out
at the far edge
where the light catches
of the blade
you're passing me
the Buffalo grass seed
can you smell that?
reminds me of way back
mowing down August, to September
it's that damn misty morning scent,
the yellow bus that takes us
August/September challenge @Pagesfragensage
The end of the beginning
As to quote Taylor swift "August slipped away into a moment of time cause it was never mine" i do look at August as something that just doesn't belong to me, July is my birthday month and August being the next month its not mine its my sisters because its her birthday month! Silly reason? I know its because im a silly person! Now, some of my life's moments ive experienced in August just ends to show that everything in August is temperory its what you want but not what you get its everything you desire but its simply not yours to have. At the end of every August i've spent in the last 15 years i look back and relate even more to the song "August" by Taylor Swift. Now i look at my life in chapters just like how people like to look at their lifes in years "this year that, that year this etc" i like to think that with every year starting and ending its time for a new chapter to start and end with new storyline and villains. August is where my chapter ends. September for me is the starting of a new chapter its where you set your priorities right its where you decide what you wanna do next its the time where you move on from the past. Every september i find new goals to work on i find more people to obsess over. September starts with alot of new talking stages but also finally getting new group of friends to share your life story with. September is the month to get wise!
To look back at the previous chapter and take more mature and wiser decisions now. To conclude, August is the ending of the beginning i had the previous September and September is the beginning of new beginnings.
August was unusually warm and dry, especially for the last month of winter. There were still tomatoes growing on the plants that draped over the garden bed. Untouched by frost. Bees buzzed around the backyard, making the most of the few flowering plants, which persevered through the cooler months. I allowed myself to rest, to sit in the sunshine, gazing out at the natural world. I gave myself permission to just be.
To notice how the days were growing longer and the evenings were gradually stretching out - heralding the changing seasons. In the cold and dark of winter, I had planted many small seeds of change - burying them deep within my subconscious. Seeds of self-acceptance, compassion, creativity, bravery, self-awareness. Seeds of healing.
As August drew to a close and birds started courting, I felt them begin to stir.
Spring announced itself in dramatic fashion, with a blistering heatwave. Hot, dry wind swept across the dusty ground and the sun baked away the last few hints of moisture. Storm clouds gathered, but the longed-for rain fell elsewhere - offering no relief. I pulled out the hose, watering the garden every few days as I gazed hopefully up at the sky.
My days were spent nurturing seedlings, pulling weeds and writing. Sad stories from my childhood, love letters to a handsome French sailor that I would never send and playful rhymes that masked the inner turmoil behind my words. I walked through the bush, dwarfed by the towering trees, glad to feel small and fragile.
The heat intensified. Smoke drifted lazily through the air and for the first time in three years - I feared the coming summer. La Nina had paid a long visit, coaxing many seasons of frantic growth. Now El Nino was back and everything was tinder, just waiting for a spark. Windy days fuelled the fear, the threat of wildfire looming. Not if, but when.
Many people long for summer. I just long for it to be over.
As I watch September nearing an end...
I think back to August and am unable to truly differentiate
For you see my friend
The temperature today is predicted to be a "cool" ninety-eight.
The crispness is not felt, but is heard in the air
it is provided by the crunching of grass beneath my feet
my lawn is to the point where I think it just does not care
I water and water until the green does meet
Talk of fall and pumpkin spice
does not interest me
Sweet tea with lots of ice
Good ol' Tex Mex is what I want to see
August and September
One month just blends in to the other 'round here
It seems to have been hot as long as I can remember
Thank God for AC - Amen, let out a cheer
I am used to the heat
and truly grateful for the winters we see
with no deep snow or cold icy mess, they just can't be beat
I am looking forward to the 70s and 80s of December and January......
I can't lie, if it happens to come in a rush, I won't mind....
You Aren’t Welcome
August she loved me. In August, she carefully kissed the marks indented by careless mouths.
In September, she bites into the dents and tears away a part of me before she leaves just so I can watch the blood turn stale as it trails after her-- so I can forever remember the carnage.
It is unbearable, as I watch wide-eyed like a scared child clutching my teddy as someone's callousness infects me. I wait like a beaten dog, for her return.
But September is cold-- and I grow to be the same. Where tufts of hair were ripped away, is shrapnel flesh.
When the summer kissed my skin and I smelt of coconut and harsh perfume, nothing was sweeter.
In September, the air tastes like gunpowder and honey.
It's my shot I fire, when you come limping back under the autumn's chill twisting your joints.
It is my smile-- poisonous and vile. I hope it eats away at you.
..is the girl
Hope is the girl with a full set of jagged teeth covered in blood. Biting through the rotten flesh for the juicy centre; sweet and saccharine.
Hope holds the cloth out-- for you, not her, as she grins and wipes your tears.
Hope spits out pieces of bridle that kept her bidden, along with the clotting sickness that reminds you of what lines your chest.
You look down, and stare at the gaping hole someone had made with their torrent of hurt; poisonous and the killing kind.
Hope is the girl that holds your beating heart with human hands, and looks at it like it's precious. Because it is. With watery eyes, she looks at you. Like you're precious.
Hope is the girl that protects the most vulnerable part of you.
Hope floats across the universe and settles into the soul,
Whispering encouraging words when much else fails.
Hope begins, born in the depths of longing and need,
Stemming from belief that prevails.
Hope encourages, motivates, and lifts
It is able to move mountains - it is a divine gift.
Hope is heartening for the downcast,
An elemental force which exists to bring
A growing force of will to one's heart
Like the first blossoms in spring.
Hope sustains the weak, reinforces the tough,
Instilling a belief we can go forward
Even in times that are dismal and rough.
Hope resonates through thick and thin,
Whether it be the size of a boulder
Or the size of the tiniest pin.
Hope remains an integral part
In the depths of our heart
As we clutch it close
Hoping for what we want most.
Hope is essential, it must be in our midst
To keep us from faltering lest we cease to exist.
Hope is to live and persist.