29 August, 2013

I should be studying

I remember writing down how annoyed I was
by our monday-wednesday morning ritual, how
cyclic, everyday a replay of the one before,
after awhile, awhile of anything, you want more
i wanted more, else. 

It's half a year later and now I live in a darkness 
of you, in the back of your closet with your grandfather's things, 
pressed into your old biology notes, wedged
between the numbers in your algebra book (somewhere
on the shelf or other). 

Where you should be, instead is a pale space, torn
out nails bloody on the floor; how I loved
cutting you open, peeling back the skin, all 
your excuses for hiding. Your sacred flesh glowing 
soft lights, rosy, spring mornings, gentle
fur on purring things. 

But you belong to them now. 

I can't remember not having you for everyday;
you were glory-sprinkled sunshine glinting off screens
on one-something afternoons, pointing out strangers and
smiling all of a sudden at something long-since forgotten 
or else quietly acknowledged, information imparted
through days spent together
you were a scent across rooms, invading lungs and 
shirt surfaces and my moldable memory, so all my thoughts
of you are water-scented. 
you were navy blue fluorescent. 

You were mine, 
secrets included, intended, (especially); 
you were the whispers I never passed on, 
the gasps I kept gasping for days, 
given in faith, guarded in fidelity. 

(what i would give to have us waste our mornings
                                      looking for each other again)

21 August, 2013

...

I lie to you
by saying nothing

clarity is overrated and vagueness is undervalued
and nobody wants the truth
the truth

the truth is somewhere on the skin of my teeth, behind a layer of lips, pressed between two sides of the story. the truth is between your fingers when you hold my hand, in the back of your mind, in love with someone else. the truth is hiding in the last two centimeters of my smile and in the creases of your eyes when you laugh at me

for saying that i think too much, just let go.

and then i lie to you again.

05 August, 2013

To Visit

I want to see the world from the top of things, 
like the Empire State Building, or a radio signal tower in Las Vegas, or the back of a wind turbine up North some place. I want to face the sunset from a different degree, my angles going obtuse the slightest bit; closer to falling but loving the view. And maybe I'll like the look of tiny black umbrellas walking in hurried huddled masses in every direction; or empty streets with no people screaming for justice or freedom or water or love; or the stifling cold on exposed cheeks and the fog that so quickly creeps. 

I want to see the world atop a million balconies;
I want to sit pretty on a black metal garden chair, its curls rusting on the backrest, and watch a hundred separate lives all unwind like clockwork. People becoming and unbecoming next to each other, giving and taking in their shoebox spaces, never noticing the rats next door love just as much if not more. I want to sip coffee that tastes like shit at six in the morning as I stand on the fire escape and watch my neighbors drag themselves into the world, heavy with duty and last-night's-sleep. 

And then finally,
I want to see the world from underneath you. You're breathing the push and pull of the moon, and I can feel the ocean against me. A slow strangle to keep you there.