I still beam at the thought of you
Lungs billowing at a breath of you
Drawing you in till you dawn on my eyes
My lips ache for skin never touched
Teeth pulling at a mere echo of your name
Scraping by tastes lost in adaptation
Your words lie curled in my stomach
Whispered truths and a half awake smile
Spreading warmth and turmoil in my soul
Your eyes plead for innocence
Yet all you’ve known is distrust
And loyalty was my only offer
I cannot speak of you again.
It sucks to feel like a simple placeholder in someone’s life
A quick drag on a 5 minute break
A trail of ashes and your crumpled shell discarded after use
The lingering scent of tobacco mingled with sweaty regret
Perspiration clinging to their lips as they turn away
With no mark that they ever knew you
Except the slight cough when they hear your name
And the awkward shuffling to stamp out what is left of your light.
I scrape your scent from my hands
With nails filed down for impunity
Dense shavings of thoughts gathered,
Fervently dislodged, and shaken out.
Yet flakes of our regrets cling to them
Curled within my bones like worms
Burrowing between the cracks
Digesting humanity.
I scream, but my lips are sewn
With indecision catered to your heart,
Tracing loops along my tongue,
Binding fingers across my mouth.
I devour words caught in my throat
Coughed up, half digested thoughts
Failed suggestions experienced as mist
Droplets dyed in hues of pink and orange.
I run warm water over homemade scars
Gently brushing off dirt with soft cotton
Laced with fragile intentions
That sting like antiseptic whispers.
Fading marks of afflicted thinking
Entangled in my hair
Like the shadows of your fingers
Remnants of a time we felt love.
I seek to speak peace
To bind up and to make whole
To string along kindnesses oft unspoken
With proclamations of unabashed truth.
I attempt to roust the inner soul
To contemplate its own magnificence
To begin to comprehend its worth
With an appeal to heart, I nary bluff or feign.
For there is only faux conciliation
A mockery of appeasement in lies
Whispered honeyed diction dripping with condescension
Condensed and wrapped behind vacant eyes.
It lies curled in my stomach
Breathing words that taste like peppermint
And the musty smell of abandoned books.
It struggles, caught between sentences
Subtle variations of patterns of speech
Etched in rough vinyl and the cracks on our teeth.
It preaches acceptable failure
And forgiveness in forgetting
Yet gives no heed, nor offers its own.
It whispers sadness into my skin
Melancholy voices that creep within,
Softly marching fingertips on my heart.
It may never die
But merely sleepeth
Till the end of day draws to an end.
Sometimes you have to tell your wounds that you love them.
They are trying their best to heal, and that’s all you can really ask of them.
Sometimes you have to tell your weary bones to rest.
They have held you up for so long, and can barely remember their own names.
Sometimes you cannot quiet your heart, loudly, endlessly beating.
It is struggling to keep you alive, the only way it knows how.
Sometimes you cannot blind your eyes, as you see the good in the world pass you by.
For they were made to show you what you needed to see, cracks in the world and all.
Sometimes you cannot tell your lips to cease, speaking of flaws, fears, regrets.
They were made to speak true, yet get so caught up in the twisted idols of men.
Sometimes you have to tell your mind to forget, to catalogue a different hour,
Instead of sorting through the same albums, plastering your senses with grief.
Sometimes you cannot quiet your ears, from the lies you tell yourself.
For you have trained them so well, to hate so much of who you are.
Remember that they are all flawed, just like you and everything else in this world.
But that does not make them useless, as they are trying the hardest they can.
I am too much sometimes,
You know?
I arrive all at once
Baggage in my hands
Ready to sift through them
Right before we depart,
But you have barely begun to pull in
Your hair still windswept,
Your eyes groggy from your last trip.
You stumble half-heartedly onto the platform
And in your hazy vision you can barely make me out
You’re not really sure what you’re seeing
You’re not even sure who you are
Or where you are
And I’m packed up and ready to leave.
You smile in your delirium
And I choke back on my understanding.
I know where you are.
I’ve been there before.
And I’ll wait at the station for you.
Because each step forward
Is weighed down, heavy with preparations
Echoing thoughts and intentions
Too early to even breath.
But I’ll stand here,
Communicating that I know I am too much
Too quickly
Too cumbersome for now.
So I’ll unpack a basket and some plates
And spread out a place for you to sleep
And lay the rest aside for another day
Another week
Another trip.
He loved her in hushed tones
Like a rumor perched between his lips
Held hostage by anxious thoughts
And visions of what could have been.
Every breath emerging from hesitation
Slid past fumbling fingers
And tension that was less a form of art
Than a simple extension of existence.
Each association was shaken down
Examined for vulnerabilities
Then held at an arm’s length.
Eyes squinting and ears pricked
For the inevitable signs of boredom
Discretely widening pockets of silence
Footsteps fading in the distance.
Her heart is a confession box
Full of the whispered sins of others
Regrets mingled with half-hearted promises.
Her legs are marked with scattered stories
In the burns and bitter stains of spilled coffee,
A representation of missed appointments
And unkempt curls drenched with ambiguity.
Apologies lie tangled between her thighs
Like sounds trapped in tree branches
Waiting for the wind to release them.
Her laughter catches in her throat
Like a quickly uttered curse echoing in a chapel
Blemished by horrified stares
And all the while
She feigns offense at her own mind.
Yet, betrayed intentions gloss over her eyes
And speak volumes that neither her lips
Nor ample tongue dare admit.
You sing within my bones
And resonate my waking hours
With gentle harmonies of disillusion.
You sap from me my memories
My fear of having a past that mattered
Baggage that marred and deserted
So many before.
Life before you seems a dream
A nightmare I’ve barely awoken from
Shaking,
Sweaty,
Throat hoarse from screaming,
Reaching and grasping for some hold
Some ledge in the retreating landscape.
You are not my savior;
No.
You are not a rope or a ledge
To climb up or hang myself with.
You are not a drink or a drug
To forget with or find some shallow high,
Some tainted sweet taste of escape.
You are none of these things.
You are none of these things.
You are neither the patterns
Or spontaneity in existence,
Cohabiting a home of flesh and thought
Spiraling in conjunction.
You are not the thoughts that shriek
In swiftly passing days
Or grueling nights.
You are not the worries
That perch outside the windows
Announcing rain with weathered claws
Screeching upon glass.
You are neither the anxious murmurs
That tap on your doors
While slipping hatred underneath
Signed by friends
You know so much better than that,
But begin to doubt anyways.
You are so much more than all of this
And I love you for that,
Because it’s all I really know of you.
And everyday I regret that.
And everyday I wish I knew more.
Moonlit Poetry 