dancing

nothing about her wasn’t beautiful,
but she had an attitude to throw back
hands and lines for help
over time. she swore
she’d go down fighting,
but she was really, stepping on heads
and climbing back underneath.
her looks, innocent, were replaced
with a graceless, aged tiredness.
and she hasn’t felt warm,
or wanted to, since you stopped breathing.
she wishes she could join you.

i saw her the other day, listless,
walking. she had fixed her hair,
and incorporated the black that
permanently sits below her eyes,
making a sultry, smokey vision.
but she left her lips alone.
did you know she hasn’t
spoken since you bent her like
a twig and she refused to break?
her edges are broken, uneven.
she aches to be touched
but the pain is too great.

once, you would have
serrated yourself to touch her soul.
but small scratches are too much
and not enough
to make her feel loved now.
it’s a complex-
one that she has, and a word
describing the difficulty in situations.
she said she’ll never be whole.
but, she’s said that, before, and there
are many more things
she’s willing to try these days.

the last time i saw her, she was
dancing. and i wept because it
was pouring rain and i knew
she was only outside so no-
one else could see her cry.

observation

i like observing
observation.
because for a second,
no-one cares who’s watching
and they study
this object of attention.
i love seeing people
genuine.
it’s difficult to be real when worrying
about others’ opinions on your authenticity.
but often,
when attention is stuck
it’s a striking change through a countenance,
when a person encounters
something eye worthy,
worth a second glance.
(and they forget who might be watching
as they concentrate on seeing
whatever it may be)

i’ll smile,
and maybe someone nearby,
somewhere will be grateful
for the first authentic grin
they’ve seen all day.

highway

i almost think nothing is prettier than what the open road represents. a long drive is one of the few things that truly frees me. i understand the necessity of responsibility, and i will gladly shoulder my portion. but running from my problems is a habit from the past that still strongly echos through my mind, and it’s a desire i’m much more inclined to cater to than to change.

i enjoy the solitude of the highway. the diversity of a drive encompasses the mind’s ability to dive into a cesspool of thought or blank out completely. i receive few opportunities where i am obliged to stop thinking. i work and study hard, because it is my responsibility to do my best. i help others, because it is my calling to be of service, to mean something. i am rational and critical because that is how my past choices have made me. rarely do i feel justified in laying down these (dare i call them) abilities i’ve been given. it is a blessing to be conscious and not have a single overanalyzed thought in my head.

this all boils down to what i can escape from, and one of the few ways i’ve learned to do it. each mile on the highway is farther away from things i don’t control. each moment concentrated only on keeping my car parallel to the center line is a break on an overtaxed brain. if i were less responsible, i’d wish my life a highway.

boiled down

i want to mean something.

sunsets and stars and words that start with ’s’

you’ve since reminded me of everything
i started to love and failed.
it’s a bitter and sweet remembering
that you still remember me as well.
when you showed me that bitter road,
did you suppose i’d not come home?
and when you set back to grab me,
did you not surmise i’d move on?

this is a bullet’s kiss for a selfish wish,
a long silencer recommend.
i’d suggest if you desire longer rest
that you show your face again.
our sleeves, clothes, and overcoats
cannot secret the broken bones.
i’m sick of the gruesome fight,
but i can’t settle and be alone.

i’ve never seen the sky so red.
i can’t stand that i never
preferred a sunrise to a sunset.
(can you see the sky from there?)
perhaps, simply all i know to do
is supply farewells and goodbyes.
i’d go back and ask you to stay
if i had seen you let go.

i’d like to see you look up
to my window and see me looking out.
i’ll let my face be lit by the stars.
you can use the sky to catch me when i fall.

we’re all petty, right?

i tell myself we’re all petty this to justify this post.

one day i want to be beautiful. i don’t want to be cute, or quirky. i’ve been that for as long as i can remember. i want to make all the girls jealous and i want to turn heads. i don’t want to attract guys because i listen to the same style of music they do, and i don’t want to be a slut. i just want to be beautiful. genuinely gorgeous. i want to be as flawless as humanly possible. i want to make girl’s hearts ache when they see my pictures because (while they may be cute) they aren’t as ravishing as me. i want to seem unattainable.

but i can’t.
but i never will.
but i won’t.

i will always uncomfortably catch the eye of those on a higher plane of beauty, and look away because i feel like they’re looking down on me. i will always be insecure in myself. i will keep to myself, shy, and let others shine.

i am not fishing for compliments. don’t comment with them. i don’t want them. i will consider them lies. if i can’t love myself, then i can’t love others. if i can’t believe myself about my looks, i won’t believe you.

and i will contemplate the edges

i can’t know that you’ve broken every promise you ever made
because i haven’t talked to you to find out.
i guess that speaks for itself.

yes, this is for you
(and i don’t care if you know).
i shouldn’t be this pathetic, but then again,
i always am.
never seeing past
the smiles in your lying eyes.
oh, how high i’ve lifted
the blinds you pulled around me.

is it possible that we’ve pulled so far away
that i don’t know you anymore?
did i ever know you from the start?
or do you have a subconscious
resetting and forgetting,
at the beginning of every end?

and how do you define that then?
because i’m gaining back the moments
for every hour
that i ever spent with you.
and i’ve got new lives
and new friends to love
and hold onto.

but just because i’m being strong
doesn’t mean i’m able to move on,
and i keep your pictures close at hand.
even if i can’t look at them yet,
i’ll trace the edges.

if we can compress a memory,
and time to a single frame
(a glossy 6×8 to capture the best
or the worst time of our lives)
perhaps (just for now) i can forget,
or remember less,
of what you meant to me.

rhythm

i’ve tugged tight on the laces
holding on my so(u)les;
they circle my heart to keep the pieces
from falling back to you.

because the steady beat,
shoes talking to concrete
is a sway i fall into
like a circadian rhythm
to unconsciously move from you.
and i have music
for every strong and weak moment
and a God who never fails.

i’ve built a strength evidenced
in sure swift strides
and a lack of degrees
more than 90
(to keep me from looking back).

your words are big,
but they’re leaving me alone.
did you know i have a mind of my own?

move along

I’m really grateful that you gave up.
Honestly,
because I’m honest with you.
I guess it was too much for you to do,
but you never followed through on your promises.
I kept them close to my heart for about a week
before I saw your hands lingering on hers,
and your eyes stopped seeking me out from across the room.

I know
distance
complicates and frustrates,
but was the ten minute walk
so much less convenient
than next door than you couldn’t
continue make the effort?
(That, doesn’t make sense,
when we went the whole summer
twelve hours away.)

I know things are hard for you, love.
I know you, something you could never seem to do for me.
But I wonder, how I wonder
(when I could have made them so much easier)
why you left me alone.
I’ll be fine, but I’ll also move on.

monday

i waste this discovery on him
but he are the only one alive at this hour
to see it.

and i was tired, although i didn’t realize,
from going to sleep with you.
and i’m awake, and i’m tired – a different
piece of the word.
i’m tired because i want to be,
not because i’m tired of fighting for you.
i’m tired because of my decision, not because
i’m waiting up for you.

my knees aren’t buckling and i stand,
and i’m considering that i can walk alone.
everything has clear clarity,
and your voice brings a slight pain
that sharpens my sight.

i had forgotten how pretty i was
when i get sleep. when i’m not spending
every second with you and i’m able to
focus on myself a bit.
i’d forgotten, the power of physical attraction,
because i didn’t have to work to keep you at my side.

perhaps that’s why i lost you originally.

because i didn’t have to try,
or because i didn’t try to be myself anymore.

you’ll not recognize me come monday.