some days we are sinew and bone,
plucked from carcass like afterthoughts and wrapped in rotting linen,
sun-bleached and silent until the marrow is dry,
prettier at the precipice of being nothing at all.
in another room a man with cruel hands is talking about wishes,
wondering aloud if the sound of breaking bones is baptism enough,
knowing it won’t make him feel whole again
but at least he wouldn’t be the only broken one.
I keep reusing my old ideas
recyling words until they turn stale and plastic
I am blank, an empty white canvas
the longer I stare the more my words jumble
jagged phrases scraping the inside of my brain
They fumble aimlessly
attempting to recreate a feeble memory
It's been too long
my words are gone
It's summer and we're drunk on dandelion wine,
your fingers all chipped nail polish and calluses and perfection,
threading daisies into a crown you place on my head like a halo,
giggling as it falls.
I met a girl, once,
who would write poems on the backs of resturaunt napkins
because they were just a little bit magic
and I think this is a little bit magic, too,
this moment, pinned between fragility and forever,
where it's enough to not feel quite so alone anymore.
I don't know if I would call what we have obsession
but the sweetness on your tounge is my favorite poem.
At five foot three
an oblong shape
finding a way
the space I take
You’re like a car alarm: loud, unwanted, and a warning sign.
~ ~ ~ ~
don’t write me a song/to lose a friend
we had fun head-banging to metal in the parking lot. i laughed at your crazy hair.
the yellow moon thinks we’re fun to watch.
dont you dare ruin the moment with sentiment. your honeyed words.
how could you, when you know my heart is off limits?
stop trying to make this special with soft words, with the blue stars in your eyes.
this friendship or whatever this is. what are we, you and me?
i’m sick of feelings. can’t you just talk about favorite colors and stupid songs?
no, that’s not our star. nothing is ours. we are not a we. please.
the truth? he did it, and then we were done.
if you do it too, i won’t be able to stop myself from running. again.
yea, we love the same things, down to the note in a song. it’s crazy.
we cry for jack johnson and we’d die to play like jimmy page.
yes, we have the same mind, made of the same things. the colors especially.
heck, we have the same favorite pop-tart. who else likes fruity pebbled waffles?
just leave it there, don’t get into the ‘soulmate’ thing. i don’t want to know if we are.
hope flies, truth shatters. i saw the syrupy way you smiled, my stomach sank. don’t lie.
man, we were really flying down that highway, with the streetlights making it a party.
i held your guitar so it wouldn’t fly out. you looked at me like i was cradling a baby.
probably shouldn’t have touched it in the first place. i saw that terrible lovesick look.
does it make me special too, if i am friends with your most special possession?
stop smiling so sweet and soft like the gritty cotton candy taste left behind. we’ll lose this.
and you knew i was broken, why would you hit me where it hurts like that?
hey, don’t dress like me. 80′s is my era, no stealing, no matching. don’t sit so terribly close.
why would you mess with my head? you know i run without looking back.
and don’t write me a song. that’s where it all ended. the notes whispering about love.
don’t write me a song, you know how that killed me.
my mom pulled up his song the other day.she didn’t know it was the one he made for me.
i cried too hard. don’t do it, when you know its wrong. when you know songs are my love language.
don’t write me a song.don’t strum the strings so soft like that.don’t turn me into a melody
with your glass fingertips, your warm ‘hold you’ eyes. don’t name it after me, my hair, my colors.
i’ll lose you.
and i won’t feel a thing.
there are certain places that
scare me, I could never figure out why
always the places that are meant for
like parking garages
layers of empty, lifeless concrete
like elevators, metal and miniscule
like sides of a dirt road out
in the middle of nowhere
they are meant for coming
and going, never staying
and that terrifies me
the moment after a sunset starts dying
and fading into black
because they feel like endings
they feel like places for hopelessness
we flee from them without realizing
because no one wants to live in
what is meant to be empty and gone
I fear being stuck in the middle
forgotten and solitary
without moving forward
like an empty car garage
a broken elevator
a waning sunset
the silence between two songs
abandoned apartments with broken windows
the side of a dusty mountain road
the ugly alley behind a formal restaurant
like being alone
I am running barefoot on a wet track,
the red rubber biting into the soles of my feet,
a metallic taste lacing my tongue,
trying- always trying- to be just a moment faster.
but when I'm done
I will wonder if I am enough
or if I have somehow stopped
a moment shy
"There are a lot of days between now and then."
Yet not enough, I think.
If I could
I would hide your broken body in the dip of my clavacle
and keep you safe from a world too sharp for your butterfly wings.
I would dry your tears with dandelions from the garden,
letting the yellow petals map constellations between each freckle on your cheeks.
I would teach you to dance in a field of wildflowers,
spinning and spinning and catching you in my arms when you stumble.
I would silence their words with the sound of songbirds
and we would sing along, letting our chirps of laughter join their symphony.
If I could
I would keep you safe.