my hands are pacing,
driven wild by these
of vibrant boulevards
my fingertips could discover
upon crossing the bend
of your collarbone.
|You don't feel me in here, anymore.|
I stayed up all night painting your face so
I could beat the birds to crying your name
and the world would shudder and shake in two syllables
once the first glitters of dawn skittered across the horizon
and skipped across the tips of your blindfold eyelids;
I stayed up all night losing my sanity so
I could on auto-pilot put my body to work
and my hands would find a natural rhythm
in the swoop and crash of heat transfer
bobbing up and down in the waves of your skin;
I stayed up all night dancing so
I could prance through the doors of your dreams
and I would step and spin without your guidance
until your eyelashes fluttered awake with pride singing
and our distance would hum along with the song and close in;
I stayed up all night lighting fireworks so
I could pretend I was a sailor lost at sea
and you would find me shipwrecked at the shore
tame my soul's raging waves before the day could break
and giggle the whole way back to your lighthouse escape;
I stayed up all night writing these verses so
I could capture the firefly words to speak when your lips
first parted with the adieu of a yawn
and my tongue would sprinkle across them all
the te quiero's and ich liebe dich's my heart has been choking on.
Pieces of me are scattered across the city,
sleeping on storm drains, kissing their feet,
but I am unseen.
I giggle, "Hey, look. Those are my initials."
I point and recite, "M. E. S."
and the rise of his brow
whispers that he will never
be able to strip the memory of me
from these streets.
I smile and we take a step
Rain drips down the drain
and washes away my footprints
but my initials remain.
I am gone.
Battle CryI write poetry to ghosts in my dreamsBattle Cry by DearPoetry
awakening with ink stained sheets
from nights I can't remember,
meaningless phantom words upon my flesh.
And this cigarette between my fingertips
taunts me,"Hey baby, heycatch me on fire
and I'll burn you away." I laugh, hollow
unafraid of flames & smoke & shadows.
I've felt it all before.
I'm washing away the ink with homemade
remedies. Like it never was;
Like I never was.
But there is love on my arms now
smirking and itching away at me.
I'll claw it out a hundred times over
because remembering you
that is worse than self-inflicted injury.
small musingpeople are always sosmall musing by diddlyhohum
sad about caged birds
the fish in the bowl?
the nature of the soul?
the arrow and the bow?
the turtle, a slave to his shell
never running, always hiding-
walls, small devils and taut strings.
i am not so sad about the bird
in the cage.
what i am most sad about is
the look on my own face when i heard
you said you wanted me out
of your life for good.
i am a slave to old
grudges and i am
too proud to