there's something not just anyone can understand
not especially you, for you are indifferent.
you were once very curious about me and i enjoyed your desire
to learn my ways and reasoning.
you were once very easy to be around, i said what was on my mind
and just let go. i was sure it was the same for you.
i felt like you looked out for me
in the corner of your room, even if it was just a peeking gesture
same time every day, even if it was just once.
to tell you the truth, i miss that.
the thing not just anyone can understand,
not especially you, is just how someone can change,
even his natural scent. something went.
your voice raised higher, you became shorter
and the way you held me no longer felt right.
it was like you had hidden your identical twin from me
then put him in your place.
i don't care for your twin too much.
he's whiny and annoying and painstakingly craves female attention
and yet, i keep saying hello, keep reminding myself he's still around
because secretly i'm hoping he's exchanged his place again with you.
there's more i could say but i'll try to be classy.
i get so uncomfortable saying more.
you (or your twin) really hurt me. i don't know if
an apology is anything i'd expect and
my mom said i can only find closure within myself.
i'm the thirsty camel roaming the desert inside
trying to find the oasis.
i miss your heart.
the one that was soft and approachable
eager to be touched like an umbrella
or a pillow or a box of photographs.
this thing you've got now,
i just don't know what it is.
i clearly don't understand it.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Closed
My breasts are warm only to my touch
the rest can keep away
I want nothing from each of them
as I aim to be excused.
The garden in my heart is closed for repairs
during the busiest time of the year
and still I walk along, admiring the colors
drunk from the scents
amused at visitors trying to climb the fence
eager to litter my garden.
I want nothing from them.
If love means allowing someone to come inside
are they willing to walk with me
instead of standing in my way or asking me to
stick around when I'm eager to get up and
shake everything around like dice,
instead of making me feel like shit
because i'm the way i am and feel too old to change it,
if love is one big compromise, perhaps i'm just not ready for it.
Maybe I just want to sit back and admire my goddamn flowers
or touch my aching breasts and feel grateful that
i know how to please myself
perhaps this is best right now
the rest can keep away
I want nothing from each of them
as I aim to be excused.
The garden in my heart is closed for repairs
during the busiest time of the year
and still I walk along, admiring the colors
drunk from the scents
amused at visitors trying to climb the fence
eager to litter my garden.
I want nothing from them.
If love means allowing someone to come inside
are they willing to walk with me
instead of standing in my way or asking me to
stick around when I'm eager to get up and
shake everything around like dice,
instead of making me feel like shit
because i'm the way i am and feel too old to change it,
if love is one big compromise, perhaps i'm just not ready for it.
Maybe I just want to sit back and admire my goddamn flowers
or touch my aching breasts and feel grateful that
i know how to please myself
perhaps this is best right now
Monday, April 27, 2009
How I View Myself
Fast notes on a slow train
coursing through someone else's vein
in a place too large for my small heart
this EKG is off the chart
desolate body craving space
in a place too small for saving face
i'm empty like a barren bride
or a liquor bottle washed and dried
always eager to run and hide
in a place too cold to stay inside
Slow notes on a fast train
evidence of a life's remains
coursing through someone else's vein
in a place too large for my small heart
this EKG is off the chart
desolate body craving space
in a place too small for saving face
i'm empty like a barren bride
or a liquor bottle washed and dried
always eager to run and hide
in a place too cold to stay inside
Slow notes on a fast train
evidence of a life's remains
Sunday, April 26, 2009
The Loneliest Place on Earth
city lights scream out at the masses,
"come one, come all"
except to me. Maybe they sense my fear.
Perhaps I fucked up this time and said too much,
or not enough, too late.
Lights, cold lights, unlike mothers' hands
or a day under the sun,
yes. I am afraid.
Sitting on the top, it's lonely up here
all I want to do is reach down and connect.
No one understands me, they think I don't understand.
I don't understand you, I want to be shaken till I understand
everything.
I want to be free but I don't want to be alone
under these crowded city lights,
standing till my knees start shaking
"come one, come all"
except to me. Maybe they sense my fear.
Perhaps I fucked up this time and said too much,
or not enough, too late.
Lights, cold lights, unlike mothers' hands
or a day under the sun,
yes. I am afraid.
Sitting on the top, it's lonely up here
all I want to do is reach down and connect.
No one understands me, they think I don't understand.
I don't understand you, I want to be shaken till I understand
everything.
I want to be free but I don't want to be alone
under these crowded city lights,
standing till my knees start shaking
Thursday, April 23, 2009
mirage
there's a place where it's still so hot the sweat is popping off our heads, rolling down our cheeks like delightful tears. i was in sweaty bliss, perhaps i still am
maybe i'm still sleeping in, lulled by the scent of your cooking. maybe i'm still avoiding the thought of leaving
you, taller. me, not so wise but eager to know. i felt like i learned you so quickly
if i'm still there, and you left before me, did you leave me for good or did you leave to go buy fruit? am i still standing there on the doorstep expecting you to show up or are you in the room undressing? are we dancing like we did that one night? or did i leave you
standing there watching me go, maybe that's where you are right now
maybe i'm still sleeping in, lulled by the scent of your cooking. maybe i'm still avoiding the thought of leaving
you, taller. me, not so wise but eager to know. i felt like i learned you so quickly
if i'm still there, and you left before me, did you leave me for good or did you leave to go buy fruit? am i still standing there on the doorstep expecting you to show up or are you in the room undressing? are we dancing like we did that one night? or did i leave you
standing there watching me go, maybe that's where you are right now
Friday, April 17, 2009
China's Little Bubble
Someone told me you were sick
with a tiny pin prick
in China's little bubble
I didn't know then but I know now.
I heard your baby learned to smile
Did it stretch for miles?
It took awhile but now I know
in China's little bubble.
My mother looks like the Franken bride
now the cat's too scared to come inside,
my best friend decided to get her masters
just so she could get her PHD faster,
apparently no one can get a job
might as well join the mob
all this, enough to make me laugh or sob
in China's little bubble.
I don't take sleeping pills anymore
unlike what I did every night before
I guess isolation helps me slumber
in China's little bubble
I have someone in love with me
I teach students of one hundred and sixty
and sometimes I watch the BBC
in China's little bubble
I ride my bike and wait for spring
still feeling winter's bitter sting,
i can't drink whiskey like i could
(secretly, I think this is good),
I work a job but I don't work hard,
I rarely get to see the stars
I still haven't mailed one single postcard
from China's little bubble.
Do you think maybe
you could come inside
just long enough to
watch me hide
i don't know when and
i don't know why i
decided to be so flighty
Maybe I was born like this
always feeling conformed by this
thought that life will stop if I
decide to stop moving.
Now China's bubble is quickly caving
and I see myself misbehaving
like I always do when I'm ready to burst
out into the open air.
Someone told me you were sick
like a large pin prick in my heart
bursting China's little bubble
I didn't know then but I do know now
with a tiny pin prick
in China's little bubble
I didn't know then but I know now.
I heard your baby learned to smile
Did it stretch for miles?
It took awhile but now I know
in China's little bubble.
My mother looks like the Franken bride
now the cat's too scared to come inside,
my best friend decided to get her masters
just so she could get her PHD faster,
apparently no one can get a job
might as well join the mob
all this, enough to make me laugh or sob
in China's little bubble.
I don't take sleeping pills anymore
unlike what I did every night before
I guess isolation helps me slumber
in China's little bubble
I have someone in love with me
I teach students of one hundred and sixty
and sometimes I watch the BBC
in China's little bubble
I ride my bike and wait for spring
still feeling winter's bitter sting,
i can't drink whiskey like i could
(secretly, I think this is good),
I work a job but I don't work hard,
I rarely get to see the stars
I still haven't mailed one single postcard
from China's little bubble.
Do you think maybe
you could come inside
just long enough to
watch me hide
i don't know when and
i don't know why i
decided to be so flighty
Maybe I was born like this
always feeling conformed by this
thought that life will stop if I
decide to stop moving.
Now China's bubble is quickly caving
and I see myself misbehaving
like I always do when I'm ready to burst
out into the open air.
Someone told me you were sick
like a large pin prick in my heart
bursting China's little bubble
I didn't know then but I do know now
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Water
Recollect, disassemble
masticate my thoughts like ice cubes
before they melt and disappear.
Soaking in the sun,
they wanted you like fresh rain
so that they wouldn't feel alone.
My thoughts.
You've owned them for awhile but now I want them back
even if they slip between my fingers
and soak my feet
or disappear on the street.
Recollect and I mourn the death of you
Disassemble and I don't understand you
Masticate as a means of digestion
so later I might piss you out
masticate my thoughts like ice cubes
before they melt and disappear.
Soaking in the sun,
they wanted you like fresh rain
so that they wouldn't feel alone.
My thoughts.
You've owned them for awhile but now I want them back
even if they slip between my fingers
and soak my feet
or disappear on the street.
Recollect and I mourn the death of you
Disassemble and I don't understand you
Masticate as a means of digestion
so later I might piss you out
Friday, March 20, 2009
Elephants
The elephants are crowding around us
so don't even think about trying to sleep.
I lie wide awake wondering if you too
can hear them breathe.
One is nuzzled between us, sniffing at my ears
urging me to speak
Yet I don't even know where to begin
and how do I know if you're even listening?
Instead I swallow the urge to confront it
or you
or the desire to start jumping on your bed
as though I am the elephant,
as though I am the elephant.
After being caged for months I've forgotten how to act.
Dear me, maybe you have too.
Instead I squeeze my eyes shut and nuzzle my face closer,
pretending once again they don't exist
so don't even think about trying to sleep.
I lie wide awake wondering if you too
can hear them breathe.
One is nuzzled between us, sniffing at my ears
urging me to speak
Yet I don't even know where to begin
and how do I know if you're even listening?
Instead I swallow the urge to confront it
or you
or the desire to start jumping on your bed
as though I am the elephant,
as though I am the elephant.
After being caged for months I've forgotten how to act.
Dear me, maybe you have too.
Instead I squeeze my eyes shut and nuzzle my face closer,
pretending once again they don't exist
Since I Criticize You So Much
I guess it wouldn't hurt if I actually took the time to get to know you.
Truth is, it's not You I criticize, persay,
but rather, your Congregation
that echoes your presence in cooing vowel sounds,
gives you more texture, makes you larger than life
even if the Congregation is too hammered to form coherent words.
You have become a symbol.
The Underachiever, the Misunderstood
the Lover Who Lacks Affection,
ironically, the Elite.
You have become a fence,
dividing the subordinates from the self-proclaimed prestige.
You are the name-tag, the handshake, the open sesame!
You are the hinge that closes the double-doors.
You have made me feel left out.
Maybe I criticize you so much because
I was the last one picked for the team.
I wasn't invited to sit at the punkers' table,
my grades weren't high enough for Ivy League
and I didn't even attempt the cheerleading squad.
Nope, none of it as I casually drifted like a lonely ball in bumper pool
waiting for just the right push, finally trying to win my own game
rather than anyone else's. Rather than prestigious like a symbol,
I am an excuse for the Non-Conformist.
Maybe you and I would've gotten along.
Or at least shit-faced to the point of non-recognition,
where suddenly it seems okay to hang with people you despise
for the sake of a good time. Maybe I would've passed out,
after slugging tequila and Bud Light, only to wake up still 16
with the quarterback rubbing my thigh,
whose throbbing penis is the size of my pinky.
Truth is, your Congregation repulses me and it's not your fault.
They've battered and abused you, commercialized you,
they call you their Father because they don't know what to call themselves.
But, Pops, I am the Transitional, the Hungry,
the Not-so-sour-puss.
Maybe if I learn you I'll learn me too.
Or at least I'll have a ticket through the double-doors
only to crash the party, pour beer on the quarterback,
have more depth in my insults.
Either way, I think you'd be proud.
written on May 12, 2008
(LOOOOOVE This! -Brantly)
(The part about the quarterback made my coin purse move a little! -Lyndsey)
Truth is, it's not You I criticize, persay,
but rather, your Congregation
that echoes your presence in cooing vowel sounds,
gives you more texture, makes you larger than life
even if the Congregation is too hammered to form coherent words.
You have become a symbol.
The Underachiever, the Misunderstood
the Lover Who Lacks Affection,
ironically, the Elite.
You have become a fence,
dividing the subordinates from the self-proclaimed prestige.
You are the name-tag, the handshake, the open sesame!
You are the hinge that closes the double-doors.
You have made me feel left out.
Maybe I criticize you so much because
I was the last one picked for the team.
I wasn't invited to sit at the punkers' table,
my grades weren't high enough for Ivy League
and I didn't even attempt the cheerleading squad.
Nope, none of it as I casually drifted like a lonely ball in bumper pool
waiting for just the right push, finally trying to win my own game
rather than anyone else's. Rather than prestigious like a symbol,
I am an excuse for the Non-Conformist.
Maybe you and I would've gotten along.
Or at least shit-faced to the point of non-recognition,
where suddenly it seems okay to hang with people you despise
for the sake of a good time. Maybe I would've passed out,
after slugging tequila and Bud Light, only to wake up still 16
with the quarterback rubbing my thigh,
whose throbbing penis is the size of my pinky.
Truth is, your Congregation repulses me and it's not your fault.
They've battered and abused you, commercialized you,
they call you their Father because they don't know what to call themselves.
But, Pops, I am the Transitional, the Hungry,
the Not-so-sour-puss.
Maybe if I learn you I'll learn me too.
Or at least I'll have a ticket through the double-doors
only to crash the party, pour beer on the quarterback,
have more depth in my insults.
Either way, I think you'd be proud.
written on May 12, 2008
(LOOOOOVE This! -Brantly)
(The part about the quarterback made my coin purse move a little! -Lyndsey)
Listening to the Train
reminds me that i’m human.
industrial sounds in nature’s air
is like breathing,
back and forth, in and out
like letters, like sex
like discovery.
listening to the train
reminds me of my childhood.
my knuckles were white at the thought
of the scorpions under my bed.
and all those fears subsided with the lushness of it
rolling past my house every night i tried to sleep,
whispering, "hush, my little insomniac,
no use letting them keep you awake"
those scorpions are sugar-ants compared
to what has yet to arrive
listening to the train
reminds me of wonder.
where are they going, who are they going to see
are they running to or away from
something scary, intense or magnetic.
i picture myself on it,
drinking a bloody mary with headphones on
enjoying the flavor and sound of transition
maybe writing a letter or contemplating a sexual encounter.
maybe on the trail of self-discovery.
written on March 28, 2008
industrial sounds in nature’s air
is like breathing,
back and forth, in and out
like letters, like sex
like discovery.
listening to the train
reminds me of my childhood.
my knuckles were white at the thought
of the scorpions under my bed.
and all those fears subsided with the lushness of it
rolling past my house every night i tried to sleep,
whispering, "hush, my little insomniac,
no use letting them keep you awake"
those scorpions are sugar-ants compared
to what has yet to arrive
listening to the train
reminds me of wonder.
where are they going, who are they going to see
are they running to or away from
something scary, intense or magnetic.
i picture myself on it,
drinking a bloody mary with headphones on
enjoying the flavor and sound of transition
maybe writing a letter or contemplating a sexual encounter.
maybe on the trail of self-discovery.
written on March 28, 2008
Crack Pipe
dear mister, in space
the one smoking crack
from a pipe you stole
like my reminders
kept in a box at the seat of my car
scratched by the broken glass
keep smoking them with a french inhale
those pictures mean nothing to you
and everything to me
a grandmother i never got to meet
my mother when her hair was longer
than sand meets the ocean
those songs i played at the beach
and longed for the moon to come and take me
those songs played me like a flute
blowing and whistling, bells twinkle like tinsel
clear as the memories i won't let you have
while you smoke your pipe, smoke your fucking crackpipe
you didn't even know that was me
kissing the bird on my shoulder
or my jilted handwriting with directions
to my favorite city your unfortunate ass will never see
blinded by the gaps of your missing teeth
those songs played me, played me played me
over and over again on repeat
i hear the noise of glass on the concrete
did you use your fist or did you use a bat
did you lurk like a jerk or prowl like a cat
staring at the one thing that always brought me joy
like the smoke from your pipe, smoke your fucking crackpipe
you can't have my memory
of the last one in the batch
the best and the last, i had a man hold me
made me feel something you will never ever feel
not from the crack you smoke or the reminders you steal
you filthy bastard, are you going to fuck to my music
or dump it in the trash because those pictures mean nothing
just some stupid people you're too high to know
so low, so low. keep smoking while i'm forced to let go
of a book of joy that made everything simpler
lighter, shit that made me burn inside
it's a pity to know you won't know what that feels like
a new reminder. to always feel joy
even when i'm not, even when he's gone
or it's gone because you took it
you didn't take the best of me
so cherish that shit, it's a goddamn trophy
coward, effortless. maybe those pictures will change you
show you what life could be like
sans the pipe, sans the fucking crackpipe
written on November 15, 2007
(fucking jerk. i hope he loses his testicles if he still has them. you write beautiful still, even through angry shit. fuck you for that. btdubs, im in the A on tuesday for aesop rock and im hanging out all night befor ei head to smallbany for tgiving. hit me up. -Kaleb)
(so, who's the bastard??? -Ashlee)
the one smoking crack
from a pipe you stole
like my reminders
kept in a box at the seat of my car
scratched by the broken glass
keep smoking them with a french inhale
those pictures mean nothing to you
and everything to me
a grandmother i never got to meet
my mother when her hair was longer
than sand meets the ocean
those songs i played at the beach
and longed for the moon to come and take me
those songs played me like a flute
blowing and whistling, bells twinkle like tinsel
clear as the memories i won't let you have
while you smoke your pipe, smoke your fucking crackpipe
you didn't even know that was me
kissing the bird on my shoulder
or my jilted handwriting with directions
to my favorite city your unfortunate ass will never see
blinded by the gaps of your missing teeth
those songs played me, played me played me
over and over again on repeat
i hear the noise of glass on the concrete
did you use your fist or did you use a bat
did you lurk like a jerk or prowl like a cat
staring at the one thing that always brought me joy
like the smoke from your pipe, smoke your fucking crackpipe
you can't have my memory
of the last one in the batch
the best and the last, i had a man hold me
made me feel something you will never ever feel
not from the crack you smoke or the reminders you steal
you filthy bastard, are you going to fuck to my music
or dump it in the trash because those pictures mean nothing
just some stupid people you're too high to know
so low, so low. keep smoking while i'm forced to let go
of a book of joy that made everything simpler
lighter, shit that made me burn inside
it's a pity to know you won't know what that feels like
a new reminder. to always feel joy
even when i'm not, even when he's gone
or it's gone because you took it
you didn't take the best of me
so cherish that shit, it's a goddamn trophy
coward, effortless. maybe those pictures will change you
show you what life could be like
sans the pipe, sans the fucking crackpipe
written on November 15, 2007
(fucking jerk. i hope he loses his testicles if he still has them. you write beautiful still, even through angry shit. fuck you for that. btdubs, im in the A on tuesday for aesop rock and im hanging out all night befor ei head to smallbany for tgiving. hit me up. -Kaleb)
(so, who's the bastard??? -Ashlee)
Patterns
grandmother, i still have not cried yet. what's become of me?
are you ashamed or are you proud, still proud even though i've done nothing?
i smell you everywhere, in your dishes, in your clothes
enough to make me think your soul has rested in my nose.
remember christmas day when you said he had no choice
from the way you looked at it. it sounded romantic in your voice.
gasps of life that were not there, you sitting there in your grown-up chair
little me, big me colliding with one another, consistently inconsistent.
i can't let myself cry like you couldn't keep your finger from your throat
i can't erase your number, won't give away your coat
i want to keep you alive on my fingers, on my wrist
i want to mimick your beauty with my red-as-blood lips
because i was yours. your blood.
please keep me from falling down when the earth decides to shift
please allow me to love and be loved because it's a fucking gift
if he decides to return this time, please let him have a choice
get these wretched things away from me, give me back my voice
i smell you in my clothes. musky, worn, sensual
linen meant for a woman meets a man.
guide me, hold me, shake me. free me
from the patterns in our blood
i want to change what blooms for us
in that lonely red rosebud. i miss your face.
he had a choice. he chose you.
written on April 24, 2007
(You are going to be famous. -Chris)
(You are brilliant -Jen)
(one of the most controlled and steady coherent pieces ive ever read of yours, tara. you have really come into a place wiht your writing and i am proud of you.-Kaleb)
are you ashamed or are you proud, still proud even though i've done nothing?
i smell you everywhere, in your dishes, in your clothes
enough to make me think your soul has rested in my nose.
remember christmas day when you said he had no choice
from the way you looked at it. it sounded romantic in your voice.
gasps of life that were not there, you sitting there in your grown-up chair
little me, big me colliding with one another, consistently inconsistent.
i can't let myself cry like you couldn't keep your finger from your throat
i can't erase your number, won't give away your coat
i want to keep you alive on my fingers, on my wrist
i want to mimick your beauty with my red-as-blood lips
because i was yours. your blood.
please keep me from falling down when the earth decides to shift
please allow me to love and be loved because it's a fucking gift
if he decides to return this time, please let him have a choice
get these wretched things away from me, give me back my voice
i smell you in my clothes. musky, worn, sensual
linen meant for a woman meets a man.
guide me, hold me, shake me. free me
from the patterns in our blood
i want to change what blooms for us
in that lonely red rosebud. i miss your face.
he had a choice. he chose you.
written on April 24, 2007
(You are going to be famous. -Chris)
(You are brilliant -Jen)
(one of the most controlled and steady coherent pieces ive ever read of yours, tara. you have really come into a place wiht your writing and i am proud of you.-Kaleb)
Dear Ma'am,
i'm sorry for your son, he's a real piece of shit.
it sucks feeling born to suffer,
i'm sure you did your best.
i wasn't there to see you cry but i have lived vicariously through your tears
although i was weeping before it all started for you.
ma'am i hope this doesn't come off as a slap to your face
because i know you've endured plenty.
i want to weep for you because you've lost something more than i have
all of this is bittersweet. and tragic.
i once told your son in another life we could've been friends,
if only he hadn't taken that senseless turn
that drove me into a ditch and left me for dead.
i actually held your son's hand and prayed he was different.
it sucks you have to go through this.
in another life we could've been friends, ma'am,
i'd do anything to send you flowers and pay you visits
look into the eyes that birthed my killer and feel love.
written on March 10, 2005
(man... MAN!!! damnit stop being so @..%$..% good! I am speechless.
Posted by Austin on 10 Mar 05 Thursday - 5:13 AM)
it sucks feeling born to suffer,
i'm sure you did your best.
i wasn't there to see you cry but i have lived vicariously through your tears
although i was weeping before it all started for you.
ma'am i hope this doesn't come off as a slap to your face
because i know you've endured plenty.
i want to weep for you because you've lost something more than i have
all of this is bittersweet. and tragic.
i once told your son in another life we could've been friends,
if only he hadn't taken that senseless turn
that drove me into a ditch and left me for dead.
i actually held your son's hand and prayed he was different.
it sucks you have to go through this.
in another life we could've been friends, ma'am,
i'd do anything to send you flowers and pay you visits
look into the eyes that birthed my killer and feel love.
written on March 10, 2005
(man... MAN!!! damnit stop being so @..%$..% good! I am speechless.
Posted by Austin on 10 Mar 05 Thursday - 5:13 AM)
Siamese Twin
the other side of me is like a siamese twin kept in the dark
but i feel her tugging at my hair, refusing to let go.
gasps meant for two when one's inside
but made for three when my knuckles are white.
i never meant to keep her alive, i thought i drowned her that day in st. augustine
when i tried to write a poem but she wouldn't let me
just sit and get soaked in the rain instead.
she complicates me
crawls into my brain and turns me blind
turns ink into piss, pens into pirates
and shows me history through slideshows of what my life is like
sans what i do best
and in turn, i feel useless and ask for no refund
wreckless teacher.
it's pointless to feel crazy or detached from her
so instead we cuddle
and sing duets
about the aging prophecy of being alone
written on March 3, 2005
(this poem is a wonderful example of yourself taking control of yourself, if only for a brief moment. Quiet revealing.
Posted by jeux on 02 Sep 06 Saturday - 1:20 AM)
but i feel her tugging at my hair, refusing to let go.
gasps meant for two when one's inside
but made for three when my knuckles are white.
i never meant to keep her alive, i thought i drowned her that day in st. augustine
when i tried to write a poem but she wouldn't let me
just sit and get soaked in the rain instead.
she complicates me
crawls into my brain and turns me blind
turns ink into piss, pens into pirates
and shows me history through slideshows of what my life is like
sans what i do best
and in turn, i feel useless and ask for no refund
wreckless teacher.
it's pointless to feel crazy or detached from her
so instead we cuddle
and sing duets
about the aging prophecy of being alone
written on March 3, 2005
(this poem is a wonderful example of yourself taking control of yourself, if only for a brief moment. Quiet revealing.
Posted by jeux on 02 Sep 06 Saturday - 1:20 AM)
Perfect Penmanship
upright and gentle
suggest you are growing
and i'm needing a new hobby.
it sways in a forward direction
leaving me behind wishing i could just
dance along with it, not knowing
when to stop, curve and bend like
a delightful comma, question marks suggesting
do you love me? what town are we in?
better yet, i want those parenthesis
(you and me) a juxtaposition,
a shield, a secret, a warm place for hands
inside your jacket while you praise my womanly curves
between pauses, for breath, for emphasis
for allowing yourself to reflect before you keep going
i'm thinking of your perfect hands writing the things you know
allowing you to let go and it scares me to think i'm not the ink that fuels your pen
the words in your head, asleep in your bed i'm not
can i be on another page (soft, sacred, secretive)?
i crave ellipses, not the single dot that imposes end.
(Nice to see you're still writing, Tara. -Marty)
suggest you are growing
and i'm needing a new hobby.
it sways in a forward direction
leaving me behind wishing i could just
dance along with it, not knowing
when to stop, curve and bend like
a delightful comma, question marks suggesting
do you love me? what town are we in?
better yet, i want those parenthesis
(you and me) a juxtaposition,
a shield, a secret, a warm place for hands
inside your jacket while you praise my womanly curves
between pauses, for breath, for emphasis
for allowing yourself to reflect before you keep going
i'm thinking of your perfect hands writing the things you know
allowing you to let go and it scares me to think i'm not the ink that fuels your pen
the words in your head, asleep in your bed i'm not
can i be on another page (soft, sacred, secretive)?
i crave ellipses, not the single dot that imposes end.
(Nice to see you're still writing, Tara. -Marty)
Older Men
are fun to look at. wiser, calmer
unafraid of the tag in his collar.
none of that balla' bullshit.
i'd like to hit it, rest inside
that wrinkle in his forehead
or the crease in his forearm.
god that place is sexy when
it's worn, it's been strained, tied up
it's been used and stretched yet
it still knows how to clasp back in place
like old, good-smelling clothes you don't find
in the new-smelling store, please i prefer thirty or
older, the smoldering glance that is mysterious
but not as curious as me because he's seen it already.
older man, make me feel young again
instead of like a mother to these pooches
waitin to suck suck suck, like prey.
older man, i'll spray your face with
the milk from my brain, i'll be your crutch
or your cane. i'll listen to all your stories and
wait, wait my turn to give in, instead of hearing
them buzz about what it's like to step into the world
of girls, oh my god, girls. imagine those for a minute!
older man at least pretend i'm interesting enough to
want to stick around and watch the wax melt down
to the floor where you first had me pinned, oh say
hypothetically. so unapologetic, you deserve credit
you rusty man you! but your deeds are meant to make me
feel new, i've been long overdue for something like this.
please, thirty or older. before i grow colder and no longer
give a shit, as that is a product of aging.
written on May 9, 2007
(wow, i really dig this! -Gabe)
(Damm ... now that's a fuckin song !!! -The Cold Ones)
(I hear ya... Penises are already wrinkly on young blokes, whats the hurt in hittin' the sack with an elder. Maybe we should stop going to the bar to find a good man, and start going to BINGO. -Leigh Anne)
(fuck i hate how this rings true. -Terra)
(You didn't have to write me a poem. A simple text message would have sufficed. -James)
unafraid of the tag in his collar.
none of that balla' bullshit.
i'd like to hit it, rest inside
that wrinkle in his forehead
or the crease in his forearm.
god that place is sexy when
it's worn, it's been strained, tied up
it's been used and stretched yet
it still knows how to clasp back in place
like old, good-smelling clothes you don't find
in the new-smelling store, please i prefer thirty or
older, the smoldering glance that is mysterious
but not as curious as me because he's seen it already.
older man, make me feel young again
instead of like a mother to these pooches
waitin to suck suck suck, like prey.
older man, i'll spray your face with
the milk from my brain, i'll be your crutch
or your cane. i'll listen to all your stories and
wait, wait my turn to give in, instead of hearing
them buzz about what it's like to step into the world
of girls, oh my god, girls. imagine those for a minute!
older man at least pretend i'm interesting enough to
want to stick around and watch the wax melt down
to the floor where you first had me pinned, oh say
hypothetically. so unapologetic, you deserve credit
you rusty man you! but your deeds are meant to make me
feel new, i've been long overdue for something like this.
please, thirty or older. before i grow colder and no longer
give a shit, as that is a product of aging.
written on May 9, 2007
(wow, i really dig this! -Gabe)
(Damm ... now that's a fuckin song !!! -The Cold Ones)
(I hear ya... Penises are already wrinkly on young blokes, whats the hurt in hittin' the sack with an elder. Maybe we should stop going to the bar to find a good man, and start going to BINGO. -Leigh Anne)
(fuck i hate how this rings true. -Terra)
(You didn't have to write me a poem. A simple text message would have sufficed. -James)
In A Room Full Of Pianos
you and i ran into each other in mexico by accident.
it had been years since i'd seen you,
the remains of your hair were gray
while mine were concealed with clairol.
it was outside the elevator you saw me
you kissed the cheek of my tanned skin and
i smiled at the fact it took less than a moment for you to recognize me.
we stepped into the elevator together,
i whispered in your ear, shyly, that i thought you looked nice
still distinctive. your grey, ironic sweatsuit made you look younger
than the other men standing beside us dressed in coat and ties.
our pleasure coaxed their business, inquiring minds wanted to know
who is that woman standing with you, sir,
and you quipped that i was your sister.
we stepped off, onto shiny white linoleum floor
our heels hitting it with a staccatoed rhythm
while the scent of espresso came from a cappuccino maker.
it explored our noses, it worked like a magnet between us and
i smiled as i buried my face in your upper arm,
hearing the lush whispers of resort couples sitting on couches
basking in the sunshine and the lull of the ocean outside
beckoning from the wall-sized window,
in this room full of baby grand pianos.
"pick one," i whispered. "play for me.
they won't mind as long as you're good."
and you knew you were good, you were always good.
i loved the way you took a seat like it was the first time
with one the color of cream, i knew what you were thinking.
Your face faked alienation,
pretending to be Larry David at a piano lesson,
knowing the people nearby would stop mid-sentence,
and flash us dirty looks all too credulously.
you placed your fingers on the keys,
then secretly glanced up at me
winking at the beginning of a haunting melody
that made my bones ache
i remember resting my arms on the velvet sofa
facing you while you played the song so delicately.
(and pardon the cliche but you could've heard a pin drop on the linoleum floor.)
i remember thinking,
All my life I've always wanted to be touched by a pianist
but wondering why you never occurred to me when I had those desires.
Maybe it's because you were always too busy embracing other things
whether it was steering wheels, other women
pulling you in the opposite direction
our lives like secrets never told to one another
like my graying hair or the fact you wore sweatsuits to Mexico,
intricacies we'd never waste our time describing because we never had the time.
And this time, you did not rush the song, i coiled around each key
like holding chocolate on my tongue and letting it melt on its own,
you, playing that arrangement, for me
as though you had all the time in the world
then i wondered if this encounter in Mexico really was by accident.
i love dreams like these, such a sweet escape.
written on June 16, 2008
(tara, your words are like butter off a hot biscuit. if life is a banquet, im over here starving to death.
m.
Posted by Kid Dynamite! on 18 Jun 08 Wednesday - 3:11 AM)
it had been years since i'd seen you,
the remains of your hair were gray
while mine were concealed with clairol.
it was outside the elevator you saw me
you kissed the cheek of my tanned skin and
i smiled at the fact it took less than a moment for you to recognize me.
we stepped into the elevator together,
i whispered in your ear, shyly, that i thought you looked nice
still distinctive. your grey, ironic sweatsuit made you look younger
than the other men standing beside us dressed in coat and ties.
our pleasure coaxed their business, inquiring minds wanted to know
who is that woman standing with you, sir,
and you quipped that i was your sister.
we stepped off, onto shiny white linoleum floor
our heels hitting it with a staccatoed rhythm
while the scent of espresso came from a cappuccino maker.
it explored our noses, it worked like a magnet between us and
i smiled as i buried my face in your upper arm,
hearing the lush whispers of resort couples sitting on couches
basking in the sunshine and the lull of the ocean outside
beckoning from the wall-sized window,
in this room full of baby grand pianos.
"pick one," i whispered. "play for me.
they won't mind as long as you're good."
and you knew you were good, you were always good.
i loved the way you took a seat like it was the first time
with one the color of cream, i knew what you were thinking.
Your face faked alienation,
pretending to be Larry David at a piano lesson,
knowing the people nearby would stop mid-sentence,
and flash us dirty looks all too credulously.
you placed your fingers on the keys,
then secretly glanced up at me
winking at the beginning of a haunting melody
that made my bones ache
i remember resting my arms on the velvet sofa
facing you while you played the song so delicately.
(and pardon the cliche but you could've heard a pin drop on the linoleum floor.)
i remember thinking,
All my life I've always wanted to be touched by a pianist
but wondering why you never occurred to me when I had those desires.
Maybe it's because you were always too busy embracing other things
whether it was steering wheels, other women
pulling you in the opposite direction
our lives like secrets never told to one another
like my graying hair or the fact you wore sweatsuits to Mexico,
intricacies we'd never waste our time describing because we never had the time.
And this time, you did not rush the song, i coiled around each key
like holding chocolate on my tongue and letting it melt on its own,
you, playing that arrangement, for me
as though you had all the time in the world
then i wondered if this encounter in Mexico really was by accident.
i love dreams like these, such a sweet escape.
written on June 16, 2008
(tara, your words are like butter off a hot biscuit. if life is a banquet, im over here starving to death.
m.
Posted by Kid Dynamite! on 18 Jun 08 Wednesday - 3:11 AM)
Detachment
attached
to the unattachable
i'm velcro on metal.
i'm the silver ball
in a pinball machine
waiting to get shot
into the air, like a cannon
only to find myself displaced
i am the loose astronaut
lost in space
waiting to collide into something huge
envelop me like a letter
that says all the right words
write me poetry instead of drawing me a blank
instead of this tired, empty space
dot your i's, bat your eyes if you have to
i won't think you're gay as long as you're looking at me
i can be the meanest son of a bitch you ever laid eyes on
or i can be warm, cuddly, vulnerable even
because these are the only times i let myself be vulnerable.
when i write, when i sing
when i reach for nothingness in the dark
trying to attach myself to my own detachment
p.s. i hate the way velcro sounds
it's like hearing people kiss
written on June 28, 2008
("p.s.
i hate the way velcro sounds
it's like hearing people kiss"
haha, too true
Posted by gabe on 28 Jun 08 Saturday - 12:10 PM)
(so, you wrote this on my birthday.
was it after you went home???
p.s.s.....i like the way velcro sounds, its bare feet rubbing on the carpet that gets me.
p.s.s.s..... i have seen you w/ a velcro wallet.....hmmmm
Posted by Ashlee on 31 Jul 08 Thursday - 2:29 AM)
to the unattachable
i'm velcro on metal.
i'm the silver ball
in a pinball machine
waiting to get shot
into the air, like a cannon
only to find myself displaced
i am the loose astronaut
lost in space
waiting to collide into something huge
envelop me like a letter
that says all the right words
write me poetry instead of drawing me a blank
instead of this tired, empty space
dot your i's, bat your eyes if you have to
i won't think you're gay as long as you're looking at me
i can be the meanest son of a bitch you ever laid eyes on
or i can be warm, cuddly, vulnerable even
because these are the only times i let myself be vulnerable.
when i write, when i sing
when i reach for nothingness in the dark
trying to attach myself to my own detachment
p.s. i hate the way velcro sounds
it's like hearing people kiss
written on June 28, 2008
("p.s.
i hate the way velcro sounds
it's like hearing people kiss"
haha, too true
Posted by gabe on 28 Jun 08 Saturday - 12:10 PM)
(so, you wrote this on my birthday.
was it after you went home???
p.s.s.....i like the way velcro sounds, its bare feet rubbing on the carpet that gets me.
p.s.s.s..... i have seen you w/ a velcro wallet.....hmmmm
Posted by Ashlee on 31 Jul 08 Thursday - 2:29 AM)
Think Green
he was hard up and so was i
fitted for a change
unzipped, let's not clash
there's truly something sacred about being honest
rather than fearing the unruly ego.
Saying, Hey look,
you were good, i was good
together we were good until we clashed,
let's not clash tonight.
Instead, let's collide
for the sake of humanity
and memory
you're older, i'm older
together we are older
and smarter, we are better
knowing what should and shouldn't be
like you and me, in a semi-permanent sort of way,
fuck all that noise.
Let's collide, and say the shit we used to say
only this time we mean every solid syllable
and phrase, gets me hard up every time
dilate my pupils with your rhymes
this time it's you, you're the one saying
Don't stop, don't stop
off the top of your head like a flashing light
meaning green, meaning go, keep going
for i'll be gone tomorrow
written on August 17, 2008
(I like this thing.
Posted by jeux on 21 Aug 08 Thursday - 1:21 AM)
fitted for a change
unzipped, let's not clash
there's truly something sacred about being honest
rather than fearing the unruly ego.
Saying, Hey look,
you were good, i was good
together we were good until we clashed,
let's not clash tonight.
Instead, let's collide
for the sake of humanity
and memory
you're older, i'm older
together we are older
and smarter, we are better
knowing what should and shouldn't be
like you and me, in a semi-permanent sort of way,
fuck all that noise.
Let's collide, and say the shit we used to say
only this time we mean every solid syllable
and phrase, gets me hard up every time
dilate my pupils with your rhymes
this time it's you, you're the one saying
Don't stop, don't stop
off the top of your head like a flashing light
meaning green, meaning go, keep going
for i'll be gone tomorrow
written on August 17, 2008
(I like this thing.
Posted by jeux on 21 Aug 08 Thursday - 1:21 AM)
Gentle Wolf
breathless
you used to leave me breathless
with my back against the wall
breaking a sweat.
staring up at the moon,
wondering
when will i see your face
when will i see your face, sweet man
when will i see it again and
oh, you haunted me
like a gentle wolf howling in the distance,
always close but never near.
and i longed for your teeth to indulge me
swallow and consume me
i wanted you to clean your plate of me
and beg for seconds, thirds,
fourths even? was your appetite ever that big,
as big as the gaps of breath i lost at the sight of you?
you tell me, sweet man, gentle wolf
was i strong enough bait to keep you salivating?
i'm no longer waiting for your touch
not ready to envelope my face into your fur
you are just too much for me to handle
but not enough as i deserve more
than the footprints, the echoes you left
on my wrists, thighs, confused heart.
clarity speaks willfully to me, sees me eye to eye
unlike the way i always found myself looking up at you
as though i was on my knees begging mercy
while secretly hoping you'd devour me whole
written on August 21, 2008
you used to leave me breathless
with my back against the wall
breaking a sweat.
staring up at the moon,
wondering
when will i see your face
when will i see your face, sweet man
when will i see it again and
oh, you haunted me
like a gentle wolf howling in the distance,
always close but never near.
and i longed for your teeth to indulge me
swallow and consume me
i wanted you to clean your plate of me
and beg for seconds, thirds,
fourths even? was your appetite ever that big,
as big as the gaps of breath i lost at the sight of you?
you tell me, sweet man, gentle wolf
was i strong enough bait to keep you salivating?
i'm no longer waiting for your touch
not ready to envelope my face into your fur
you are just too much for me to handle
but not enough as i deserve more
than the footprints, the echoes you left
on my wrists, thighs, confused heart.
clarity speaks willfully to me, sees me eye to eye
unlike the way i always found myself looking up at you
as though i was on my knees begging mercy
while secretly hoping you'd devour me whole
written on August 21, 2008
Swimming
dear you
i'm wide awake, it's almost 5 am
what have you done to me?
you swim in my head.
i thought i'd be long asleep by now
i thought i'd be long asleep by now
my eyelids were getting so heavy
the thought of slumber lured me
like you did once, gentle summoning
when you swim, you loft, you wade
you kick and you float.
i soak in my sheets. there, this.
is it lonely inside my head
or is it vast with knowing?
my head and i
sometimes we don't connect
i feel. like blindfold, touching walls
finding space, feeling light
or heaviness of having. you.
is it warm inside my head
or is it hot like fever?
when you summoned
you were graceful.
i slept soundly, unalarmed
in calm water, without making a splash
i sighed. it felt right.
are you wide awake too?
are you beckoning me to come for a swim
at 5 am, please tell me it's true
let's skinny dip and recollect, rummage
through my thoughts. i'm sure we'll find you
somewhere in there
like this. you write me a letter,
i'm swimming in your head
and my scent is in your nose
lingering like pajamas, dandelions
home. please tell me i smell like home
where the records play, songs stay
stuck in your head, where i take a bath
after soaking the sheets
you make me feel feminine.
i'd like to reward you somehow.
extend your hand and allow me in the water
hold me. let's keep each other afloat
watch the moon rise in my head,
that's me feeling light. having.
written on September 3, 2008
(you words are beautiful painted pictures. Talent!
Posted by Ashlee on 03 Sep 08 Wednesday - 1:59 AM)
i'm wide awake, it's almost 5 am
what have you done to me?
you swim in my head.
i thought i'd be long asleep by now
i thought i'd be long asleep by now
my eyelids were getting so heavy
the thought of slumber lured me
like you did once, gentle summoning
when you swim, you loft, you wade
you kick and you float.
i soak in my sheets. there, this.
is it lonely inside my head
or is it vast with knowing?
my head and i
sometimes we don't connect
i feel. like blindfold, touching walls
finding space, feeling light
or heaviness of having. you.
is it warm inside my head
or is it hot like fever?
when you summoned
you were graceful.
i slept soundly, unalarmed
in calm water, without making a splash
i sighed. it felt right.
are you wide awake too?
are you beckoning me to come for a swim
at 5 am, please tell me it's true
let's skinny dip and recollect, rummage
through my thoughts. i'm sure we'll find you
somewhere in there
like this. you write me a letter,
i'm swimming in your head
and my scent is in your nose
lingering like pajamas, dandelions
home. please tell me i smell like home
where the records play, songs stay
stuck in your head, where i take a bath
after soaking the sheets
you make me feel feminine.
i'd like to reward you somehow.
extend your hand and allow me in the water
hold me. let's keep each other afloat
watch the moon rise in my head,
that's me feeling light. having.
written on September 3, 2008
(you words are beautiful painted pictures. Talent!
Posted by Ashlee on 03 Sep 08 Wednesday - 1:59 AM)
China, You Are A Mystery To Me
it's the first sign of fall
after mid autumn day and
the wind is blowing like
it's telling me to stay and
i want to and i will
just as long as i see fit
even if my mood is low
or if i'm talking shit and
i'll try, i'll try,
i'll try to make sense of it,
must be patient like the winter
until my fire's lit
most things don't make sense
one could mistaken for jargon
but if i listen closely sometimes
they offer me a pardon
when i catch a word and hold it
like a tiny strand of hair and
see how long i hold it till
it loses in the air
but what if i don't let go
what if it becomes a part of me
what if it staples itself to my skin
what if i let it take the lead?
can i become a better person
can i be smarter than before
can i change directions
similar to a hinge-less door
you tell me, china
tell me in your cryptic way
i'll do my best to figure you out
if you convince me i should stay.
written on September 24, 2008
(You are very talented little lady
Posted by Joleen on 26 Sep 08 Friday - 2:06 AM)
(Sweet.
These lines especially:
when i catch a word and hold it
like a tiny strand of hair and
see how long i hold it till
it loses in the air
are gorgeous, Tara.
Posted by Marty on 24 Sep 08 Wednesday - 10:28 PM)
after mid autumn day and
the wind is blowing like
it's telling me to stay and
i want to and i will
just as long as i see fit
even if my mood is low
or if i'm talking shit and
i'll try, i'll try,
i'll try to make sense of it,
must be patient like the winter
until my fire's lit
most things don't make sense
one could mistaken for jargon
but if i listen closely sometimes
they offer me a pardon
when i catch a word and hold it
like a tiny strand of hair and
see how long i hold it till
it loses in the air
but what if i don't let go
what if it becomes a part of me
what if it staples itself to my skin
what if i let it take the lead?
can i become a better person
can i be smarter than before
can i change directions
similar to a hinge-less door
you tell me, china
tell me in your cryptic way
i'll do my best to figure you out
if you convince me i should stay.
written on September 24, 2008
(You are very talented little lady
Posted by Joleen on 26 Sep 08 Friday - 2:06 AM)
(Sweet.
These lines especially:
when i catch a word and hold it
like a tiny strand of hair and
see how long i hold it till
it loses in the air
are gorgeous, Tara.
Posted by Marty on 24 Sep 08 Wednesday - 10:28 PM)
Morningtime
he was slow, gentle
careful, silky
like a bar of soap
to run along my body
i need cleansing and scrubbing
this dirty mouth begs for renewal
in the form of whisper
in the form of panting
soft, gentle
careful hands
his silky skin competes with mine
if i was blind i'd think he was a woman
but only for one minute, then i am reminded
he's anything but. kiss me come to me
front me like a hot check that bounces,
i'm investing just as much as he is.
i want him to tell me his name so i won't forget it this time
sign it on the bottom line in a place
where it's quite possible to feel
until the darkness turns over and exposes
its flesh-skinned belly,
tinted with hues of red and orange
translucent through a glue sky.
i must go celebrate my day
where silent drivers steer cars that yell at each other
in a town where anger is a disease that must be contained
behind closed doors before it spreads.
i like my coffee like lead, much like snorting gunpowder
offering a satiable buzz, a segue connecting night and day
you and me, or perhaps the crying baby down the street
or the man below me who wheezes vehemently at precisely 8 am
everyday, or mayhaps the sun with its milky mask.
welcome to my new routine, stay as long as you like.
watch your foot on the revolving door as i'm likely
to beg you in, push you out or nip fiercely at your heels
written on October 16, 2008
careful, silky
like a bar of soap
to run along my body
i need cleansing and scrubbing
this dirty mouth begs for renewal
in the form of whisper
in the form of panting
soft, gentle
careful hands
his silky skin competes with mine
if i was blind i'd think he was a woman
but only for one minute, then i am reminded
he's anything but. kiss me come to me
front me like a hot check that bounces,
i'm investing just as much as he is.
i want him to tell me his name so i won't forget it this time
sign it on the bottom line in a place
where it's quite possible to feel
until the darkness turns over and exposes
its flesh-skinned belly,
tinted with hues of red and orange
translucent through a glue sky.
i must go celebrate my day
where silent drivers steer cars that yell at each other
in a town where anger is a disease that must be contained
behind closed doors before it spreads.
i like my coffee like lead, much like snorting gunpowder
offering a satiable buzz, a segue connecting night and day
you and me, or perhaps the crying baby down the street
or the man below me who wheezes vehemently at precisely 8 am
everyday, or mayhaps the sun with its milky mask.
welcome to my new routine, stay as long as you like.
watch your foot on the revolving door as i'm likely
to beg you in, push you out or nip fiercely at your heels
written on October 16, 2008
Aftershock
i remembered your feet before i went to sleep
and how ours would touch endlessly
even as we grew tired, they never did
i never got tired of you, never ever never ever.
soft feet, connecting legs twisted, coiled
under light blanket, slight sweat made them stick together
my thighs hugging one thigh, your thigh, my thighs
connecting lips kissing your hips, underneath the sheath.
if you coughed i felt it, if you laughed then i laughed too
if you shivered and shook i was there to echo your repercussions
call me your gentle aftershock. arms locked around your neck
ear pressed against your chest, trying to listen, trying to hear a noise
hoping to hear a voice that begs me to stay, a whisper, a murmur
this is too comfortable to lose. i refuse to let go
while you stroke my hair, dirt caked under your fingernails,
a poignant blessing. i often wonder if it will ever be this easy,
that i may find a time when waking up is natural,
feet touching feet, for hours, weeks. never ever
did i ever grow tired of you, even after hours of sleep
written on October 26, 2008
(i love your poetry. your words are a beautiful adventure just waiting to be explored.
Posted by Ashlee on 05 Nov 08 Wednesday - 12:32 AM)
and how ours would touch endlessly
even as we grew tired, they never did
i never got tired of you, never ever never ever.
soft feet, connecting legs twisted, coiled
under light blanket, slight sweat made them stick together
my thighs hugging one thigh, your thigh, my thighs
connecting lips kissing your hips, underneath the sheath.
if you coughed i felt it, if you laughed then i laughed too
if you shivered and shook i was there to echo your repercussions
call me your gentle aftershock. arms locked around your neck
ear pressed against your chest, trying to listen, trying to hear a noise
hoping to hear a voice that begs me to stay, a whisper, a murmur
this is too comfortable to lose. i refuse to let go
while you stroke my hair, dirt caked under your fingernails,
a poignant blessing. i often wonder if it will ever be this easy,
that i may find a time when waking up is natural,
feet touching feet, for hours, weeks. never ever
did i ever grow tired of you, even after hours of sleep
written on October 26, 2008
(i love your poetry. your words are a beautiful adventure just waiting to be explored.
Posted by Ashlee on 05 Nov 08 Wednesday - 12:32 AM)
Rabellious
please don't be mad at me
while you're staring downward with your tongue hanging out.
i fell in love with you instantly,
you felt like velvet in my hands.
you knew how to give a look that spoke a dozen words
while remaining totally silent
except for your pounding heart and panting breath.
those looks knew how to fill me up and break my heart
each time, i felt insufficient at knowing what it means
to be good, to be good at it, to be good for you.
you craved me like the water you chugged instantly
while i was out marking unfamiliar territory.
i loved you in my own complicated way,
it's the best i know how. distance gives me pleasure
like the space in your eyes, pleading for me to comfort you.
i was so distant, and i'm sorry.
just know i can't forget you, and i'm quietly angry.
it's a rare moment i don't have the right words to let
roll off my tongue like saliva on the floor,
i wonder if you stared at your own reflection in such a puddle
and saw yourself alone, that alone gave you enough strength
to reflect your anger and resentment.
please, while you're staring downward at me,
if you must be mad, you must, but please don't hate me.
i already hate myself, just a little bit, just enough
to keep your saddened stare blazing in my heart,
which is steady and unsettling
written on November 5, 2008
(what is going on?? i mean i can kinda put the pieces together, but there is some blank pieces that need decoding. i love your words. i can relate to them even though are experiences are totally different.
you have talent and i hope you know how much it is appreciated!!!
Posted by Ashlee on 05 Nov 08 Wednesday - 11:36 PM)
while you're staring downward with your tongue hanging out.
i fell in love with you instantly,
you felt like velvet in my hands.
you knew how to give a look that spoke a dozen words
while remaining totally silent
except for your pounding heart and panting breath.
those looks knew how to fill me up and break my heart
each time, i felt insufficient at knowing what it means
to be good, to be good at it, to be good for you.
you craved me like the water you chugged instantly
while i was out marking unfamiliar territory.
i loved you in my own complicated way,
it's the best i know how. distance gives me pleasure
like the space in your eyes, pleading for me to comfort you.
i was so distant, and i'm sorry.
just know i can't forget you, and i'm quietly angry.
it's a rare moment i don't have the right words to let
roll off my tongue like saliva on the floor,
i wonder if you stared at your own reflection in such a puddle
and saw yourself alone, that alone gave you enough strength
to reflect your anger and resentment.
please, while you're staring downward at me,
if you must be mad, you must, but please don't hate me.
i already hate myself, just a little bit, just enough
to keep your saddened stare blazing in my heart,
which is steady and unsettling
written on November 5, 2008
(what is going on?? i mean i can kinda put the pieces together, but there is some blank pieces that need decoding. i love your words. i can relate to them even though are experiences are totally different.
you have talent and i hope you know how much it is appreciated!!!
Posted by Ashlee on 05 Nov 08 Wednesday - 11:36 PM)
Careful Bandits
a few weeks ago i dreamt we were on a boat.
not a sailboat, not a fishing boat, not a ferry or a cruise.
it was more like a raft, as though we had taken turns blowing it up
with our lips.
you were paddling, i could see a few tiny beads of sweat
glistening with light from the moon.
"We're almost there," you said as I stared up at the sky,
lying on my back. The water, black as death,
made me feel so alive and calm that i didn't even have to mention that
normally i'm very reserved about being in the ocean at night.
Where were we going? I'm not completely sure although I do know
it was somewhere in the Pacific, as though we were riding along the west coast, two careful bandits.
There was a hole in the sky, a place where the clouds dared not touch each other, center stage for the fidgety moon that didn't want to stay in one place.
And when it peaked its head through that gap I smiled every time.
you kept paddling, kept talking about all these things you were curious about
while i said nothing. And the moon, shy and beautiful in its insecurity, kept glancing through that hole as though it had something so good and was scared to lose it
-written on March 8, 2009
not a sailboat, not a fishing boat, not a ferry or a cruise.
it was more like a raft, as though we had taken turns blowing it up
with our lips.
you were paddling, i could see a few tiny beads of sweat
glistening with light from the moon.
"We're almost there," you said as I stared up at the sky,
lying on my back. The water, black as death,
made me feel so alive and calm that i didn't even have to mention that
normally i'm very reserved about being in the ocean at night.
Where were we going? I'm not completely sure although I do know
it was somewhere in the Pacific, as though we were riding along the west coast, two careful bandits.
There was a hole in the sky, a place where the clouds dared not touch each other, center stage for the fidgety moon that didn't want to stay in one place.
And when it peaked its head through that gap I smiled every time.
you kept paddling, kept talking about all these things you were curious about
while i said nothing. And the moon, shy and beautiful in its insecurity, kept glancing through that hole as though it had something so good and was scared to lose it
-written on March 8, 2009
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