Thursday, June 28, 2012

she tasted fine then

before the ship sinks
we're grasping for glaciers
and spare planks of wood or

how did we get here? it's
not my fault; i was overdrawn
and i certainly had my

now i lay open-faced on the table
hoping i can still complete a breath
tomorrow. when you feast,

leave me a crumb or two of
what i used to be: i don't really
miss her but she tasted fine


[shared this week at the Poetry Pantry over at Poets United. xo]

Monday, June 25, 2012

time to go

twilight had difficulty bidding farewell that day,
clinging to life as it offered a view
and somehow found itself at a crossroads
pondering the left trail
or the ever-sought road not taken.

she faced the same dilemma each day
of being forced to go
though the day had been so lovely,
full on laughing breezes
and smiling clouds
and tired rain
and blistering thunder
and tormented wind.
at least the weeks all brought variation;
but in a way it made the goodbyes even harder,
like having to leave a new lover over and over
after finding the match is made in heaven.

torturous, dangling there
like a dream just out of reach.

but the moon won't stand for any dilly-dallying
now or ever,
as he's bound by his obligations
to the night,
contracted in ink and splotches of stars.

at a loss,
dusk is overshadowed
and dawn begs for clearance.

this is it,
she says, not quite ready
for another twelve hours
on her own.
alas, it's the inevitable way of the world
and as twilight was equal match
to night
she could not deny
that it was time to go
once more.

but she vowed to return
more triumphantly than before
as always.


Sunday, June 24, 2012

let her go

if she's never allowed to stumble
into the muck's tempting tendrils,
desperate to drag her out screaming
and make her wish she could go home,
she'll never start to miss
the comforts of what she knows.

if she can't lose her bearings
in the overdrawn map she's scribed for herself,
becoming absorbed in ornamental details
that turn out not to be so,
she'll never accept the role of designer
when life hands her a pen.

if she doesn't betray the fickle cord
binding her to what she's been told,
drawing her back in to the rigid frame of still life,
she'll never invent ideas, create surprises,
fool the conformists who've trodden paths
worn thin with footprints
everyone's stepped in.

if you refuse to let her go,
she won't ever make her mark
on streets paved in cement
that's already drying
without her.


Thursday, June 21, 2012

save me my own mercy

what makes you kick
is sometimes
what makes you tick.

i'm kicking today because
the rain made me do it.
i made bad coffee and curled my hair.

when the wind blows
the rain sounds like someone's vomit
splashing to the pavement
but it looks a little prettier.

i think if i throw my heart away
it'll save me my own mercy
afforded when no one gives a fuck
what happens.

attention whore, thrill seeker,
call me names, i invite you to.
i'm immune now,
numbed by bad weather and
the memory of cigarettes on Sundays.
God's day. a day not to commit
the inevitable sins of your ancestors.

if i grow old but never get even,
it'll be a combustion of sorts,
the key in the ignition, me learning
some humility at last that the
earth might have withheld;

don't look at me, the cocoon
is cracking.


[this piece is inspired by the "labyrinth" prompt from Think Tank Thursday over at Poets United. i get lost inside myself often, and a labyrinth is a good way to describe my insides, i suppose. writing about it helps me find my way out. x]

picture imperfect

the bathroom floor was ready to receive me
the other night
when it occurred to me at last
that you're really going.

for months that has been your plan
but i'd not considered
everything you'd be leaving behind,
me you'd be leaving behind.

all of a sudden
those portraits of us, you know the
ones positioned neatly below the stairs
were screaming at me
to notice them,
and as i shouted back that i always had
they whispered, 'not like this, you haven't.'
and that was when
i was drawn
to both
and stood
and considered them
at once.

at left,
me at seven, you at four
in my likeness
or rather, that of our father:
squinty-eyed from smiling,
a joyful thing.
inside of your chubby cheeks
was where you stored your cuteness,
and i in my bow and velvet
and you in your bow and suit
were a happy sight.

at right,
me at sixteen, you at lucky thirteen
and we're different
and we're the same.
our features have all evolved
but at closer look,
i in red and bangs,
you in black and shaved head,
we have not grown out of
that age of innocence
where we were too young for labels,
too young to make decisions,
too young to be separated.

my own cheeks possessed no cuteness the other night,
only two distinct trails of tears
that i hadn't felt coming on --
they were just there
and flowing
and flowing.
i left our pretty portraits
to never betray the memories they induced
and went instead
to beckoning bathroom
that had always been comfort
to sleepless nights,
to unabashed sickness,
to moments like this
when the rug had been pulled viciously from under me
but instead of going off like a fine magician's trick
everything came crashing down.

i could feel the portraits shredding
where our hands were interlinked,
split down the middle cruelly
and i wanted you there with me
so that you would link hands with me
in the flesh
and somehow maybe glue it all back together.

our picture could no longer be portrayed
as perfect.
and i tried to cease the fault lines
in both frames
but they


Wednesday, June 20, 2012

i remember Decembers

in high school choir we sang this song called
I Remember December
and it always made me a little sad to think of
remembering Decembers
that weren't there anymore.

i never want to only remember my Decembers;
i always want to cherish them.

Decembers bring me unexplained joy
even when the rest of the year's been shit.
my childhood was good and i have never yet missed a Christmas
and Mama was born on its eve
so there's that.

but most of all
there was the promise of something to come
when the long year at last was over.
December could make me forgive when i wasn't ready.
nothing mattered because December knew the score
and suddenly stopped counting
and i always remembered that about Decembers
young and old. i feel like i can truly
remember all of them.


Monday, June 18, 2012

it's funny

it's funny, i finally interest myself
in something other than me
and it's like i'm not in my own body
but still somehow gasping on the surface for air,
treading glue because i didn't see it coming and
no one knows what to do with me.
well this i say to you:
i'll take the dive if you ask me to walk in step-by-step
up to my toes. so this means of course i am
going out not with a fizzle
but with the most spectacular bang
you've heard


Monday, June 11, 2012

take now my heart

i could have been the best you'd ever had.
now that you've done what you want
with my heart,
any remnants of attraction
are yours in lovely frailty,
and in the end
i think the foolish timestamps
i've placed on all my expectations
shall expire dutifully,
exposing your downfalls.
lest mine should trail,
i will not be undone.
all i can do is sing
until my tainted lungs resist,
until scream becomes song.
it will not cease
until the song sheds tears as i have for you,
and if you ears should play upon my song,
i will belt out notes
that would prefer a more suitable key.
take now my heart
and all its pieces --
it was yours to begin with.

look at yourself,
cleaning up after me now.
how i've longed for the satisfaction
that brings.
somehow you still retain your beauty.
'tis a shame you still don't see mine.


Saturday, June 9, 2012

peut-être fous

nous étions heureux, peut-être fous;
tu me manques
chaque jour.

peut-être ce n'est que moi qui est folle,
mais ça m'est égal, je m'en fiche.
j'espère que tu reviendras


we were happy, maybe crazy;
i miss you
every day.

maybe it's only me who's crazy,
but i don't care, i don't care.
i hope you come back


Friday, June 8, 2012

on hold

she had sunken eyes
that she played up
until he took her picture
'leave them grey,' she begged and begged

the band sang something like
'you can't want to become a woman
and act like a child'
and it made her think
of what she wanted
like what she really wanted

it was the simple design
that's what she missed the most
having it all decided for her
it never made sense but it was always easy
she needed color but couldn't pick which one
couldn't leave her life on hold for that

'leave them grey,' she begged and begged


Wednesday, June 6, 2012

i owe you

my heart was out the door
before i met you
and you couldn't have known.

i should have told you when
anxious eyebrows questioned that i
could feel anything for you:

i should have told you when
the little wit i still had discerned the
contractible warmth you were offering.

you were more than mockery
and i was the reason we were a sham --
i owe you some equity,
i owe you my belated love.


Monday, June 4, 2012

you're the glue, baby

i knew no one would hear him until he was screaming.

who loves you the most? everyone
puts their two cents in, vying
for love you already freely give away.
it's a rat race, unnecessary victor.

it doesn't have to be this way,
it doesn't have to be tug-of-war.

your heart's not big enough yet
for us to break it apart: and you're
angelic and clean, sobering.
i want you to still want to be here
in ten years' time. don't go, baby boy.

our emotions set us on fire,
stretching those seams for the ripping
but you're the glue, baby,
you're the glue.


Saturday, June 2, 2012

honorable or mentionable

let's go down to the demonstration
and breathe down the backs
of ideas that were dead
long before we arrived
here or on the planet.
we might inspire
life anew
in them.

we could be the next generation's
or onlookers.
either way
we've got something to prove.

inspire some fear,
make 'em wonder,
we could;
it keeps 'em on their toes.

we might even find
some comfort among
changing hearts, the world awake.
but if we're talking some sort of sense,
i'm not sure we'll do much good,
for we can only leave marks
where they are wanted;
the fools in their paradise
won't have any of it.
off and on
and in between
are the words we'll use.
we could always just toss them around,
let the air receive them
and pray.

come with me
and our transgressions;
they'll probably get lost by the road
on the way
and then we're free for the future,
no longer obliged to the past.

let's go
take back the night
and give sanity the finger
and then we can run for our lives --
we'll be so on the line
that anyone society could send after us
wouldn't even find themselves in hot pursuit
because we'll be long gone,
our well-wishes having erased
any remnants of footprints.

that renders us untraceable, yes?
we could always zig-zag our way
across state lines and oceans,
make some sort of epic swim to London or Paris
or perish out at sea
although i'm certain
if we traded breath along the way
we could make it
relatively unscathed.

new civilizations
could be birthed.
limitless potential
or at least thoughts of it
to share with neighbors
who will either think us
honorable or mentionable.

in the end
our noisy hearts will have
stomped on all the dreams
that never got accomplished
to make way for
it might be our only shot
at something next to genius:
our mind structure may not allow
for such plans now
but they keep the drawbridge lowered all day
so we could sneak in before dusk
if we had to
and scatter our influence everywhere.

ambition of our generation's
movers and shakers
is how they'd chalk up our behavior
on the giant bar graph
of the years,
having some overbearing need
to classify everything and everyone,
make them fit.

and those are the boundaries we'll defy
and such are the cuffs we'll saw
and these are the ropes we'll fray.
it has to be that way
or we might find
we're forgotten,
like Christmas trees thrown to the curb
in January
lacking celebration.

no one wants to be forgotten.
but few know how to make sure
it never occurs.
so i figure
if we take things into our own hands
cause a little stir
and even knock down some trees
so new ones can flourish,
new trees,
new ideas,
new wants,
new news,
we'll be fine.
bags are packed;
the time is now.

let's go ensure
that we locate some meaning
and make so many changes
that the world won't know what hit 'em.
we mustn't be let go.
we won't be forgotten.