I write what I cannot speak

Though spoken word seem free

It appears but a shackle

Confining my tongue within its resting place.

If I pierce the silence

My breath falls short

Weighed down by foolishness

Restricting motion in emotions

That come all too slowly.

If fear means hesitation

Then speed is reckless abandon

Dismissed as ignorance in glee.

But what else can I be?

For this is my release

Of lines and stanzas from within

Unspoken harmonies and melodies

Concurrent with the void in my heart

And cacophony in my mind.

She came like a ghost in the night,

Silently fading in and out of existence

Like the indistinct taste of smoke on water

Gracing my tongue with promises

Of more than ethereal visitation. 

Glimmering in the moonlit illumination

I find her pale visage like bleached bones

Glowing from her inner flame.

She felt like cool fire,

Flickering between warmth and isolation,

At once a hearth and desolation to my soul.

She held my heart in hesitation

Whispering of sustenance heretofore unknown

And her smile tilted as perspective fell

At the gates of Avalon.

Yet, passing in the sunlight

Our resolve dissolves

Like particles of ash in a breeze. 

While you’re waking up I’ll be falling asleep for emotional relief

From the heart strings snapping like they’ve been over-tuned.

I’ve seen my reflection in the soulless eyes of a man framed for 

Murder, when his only crime was caring too much for

The daughter he never had with the feelings of others too tightly wound

Inside his heart to distinguish them from his own.

I taste my words in the bitter regrets of unconventional friendship and

Unwelcome sacrifices that taint and drag down the curtains of my world

That hide the vision of how I see myself. 

“When the lion is in the room, you will know.” The doctor said

Unconvincingly. What I didn’t know was that it was the lion who spoke. 

But, can he understand the lengths I go to find tears for myself

While my pillow and shirt are drenched with the sorrows of others?

It seems so much easier to turn it off; I’ve done it before,

But who wants a high functioning sociopath for a friend?

Maybe a doctor, but certainly not this one. No,

He seems only interested in finding his next meal. 

“Don’t solve the mystery. Save the person.” I told him,

And he does it so easily, emotionally driven and warm.

I hope one day to be half as human as he, but until then:

I’ll wait here with my pipe, heroine and forgotten patches;

My house full of dogs substituting the family I could never have

And my words that always seem to come at the right times

For everyone but myself.

Like a lost tooth I tried to leave my

Thoughts of you under my pillow

Knowing that far less precious things

Have been bought with the wishes

And hopes of childhood. Wrapped in

The stitches of its cloth, your hair

Weaves in and out of my life

Like a pattern I’ll never comprehend

Interlacing my imagination with

Vague representations of how I want

It to be. And as the morning comes

I find my pillow still laden with your

Voice and the scent of ecstasy, void

Of change and dismissed by

A childish creation.

Just a girl with a box trying to smooth

Out the lines and build a castle away

From this world. Too caught up in

Obscure directions leading places

I’d never conjured nor desired. With

Thoughts mismatched like socks

Riddled with holes like plots in my

Heart and soul, I’m pulling up stakes

To afford rent in a broken family

That speaks only to be heard, but

Never to be understood. “Fragile”

Was never a truer description of

Who I was back then, powerless

To stop the road from moving

Away from where I wanted to be.

Now I have my box and the rain

Melts the foundations of the walls

I’m building, watching my castle

Sink away like the memories I wish

I could forget. Alas, it takes more than

Water to wash away the ink that

Stains my identity from storms of

The past. Haunted by clouds destined

For monsoon season in the West Indies.

That’s probably where I’d go, just to

Escape it all. Instead I sit in my bloated,

Defeated box and try to keep warm.

Between the Tetons, a cigarette and

Sex I would have to choose the

Adventure that would take everything

But my life. It seems a bitter thing to

Depart from either which might bring

Peace to these wandering breaths

That mark our trail up and down the

Face of time and confront the winds

That push against the days we’ve

Left behind.

Yes, tis a fragile thing, choice, so

Wrapped in threads of intertwining

Sighs and silence spotted with

Mistakes we try to forget and

Stripped of color as shades of

Monochrome configure themselves

As patterns of ambiguity.

Binding manacles of recollection

Blur the vision and trouping

Phantoms of the past haunt more

Frequent than we permit

Casting shadows that stretch across

The length and width of our

Misguided perceptions and

Misconceptions of what we want

And who we are.

So take a breath and climb

Take a breath and breathe

Take a breath and feel the sustaining

Harmonies and dissonances

That carry us through the night

And tuck us into sleep.

Words are brittle like paper cups

Used and tossed away as

Vessels for thoughts we hoped

We’d never see again.

We drink from them promises and

Poisons alike as veiled meanings

Curl themselves like vipers

On our tongues and whisper

Temptations and assurances that

Their freedom is our desire.

Find my hips and push me where I’ve

Never been. Skin to skin we’ll find

Our rhythm in the parting of our lips

And passing phrases that only serve

To accent the expressions our

Tongues and fingers trace so delicately.

Find my heart and hold me closer than

You ever thought possible.

Find the pattern in the grooves and

Scars that spell out the reasons

I could never judge you and all

The reasons I can’t begin to trust

The feelings that I have when you’re

Around.

Find my ears and quiet all the fears

I’ve had for years of never being quite

Enough for someone as lovely as you

Are.

Find my warmth and settle there and

Know I’ll never send you home,

Because that’s exactly where you are.

They say resentment is venom,

Disfiguring the face of time spent

Whispering sweet nothings and

Distorting layers of comfort with

Sand.

Pox-marked by an internal plague

Festering wounds of regret for

Words unspoken and the weight of

Lies is carried on the backs of okays

And neverminds.

Our “don’t worries” and “forget its”

Become a rhythm we can’t escape

From and our understanding seems

To bar us from and yet within

Frustration we despise and deny

Inside.

Yet the cure is as simple as speaking

Up, but we can’t bring ourselves to

Complain for it seems vain to expect

Change when clearly we mean less to

Them and need them more than

They will ever need us.

They told me not to touch

The masterpieces, “priceless” they

Told me, yet how could I resist

Tracing the softness of your skin

And staining my fingers with sweet

Assurances of your reality?

To keep you at arm’s length is

Such a chore when all I want is

To smother myself in your

Intrinsic curves and wilderness

Of possibilities yet unmentioned

Hidden in the subtlties of texture

Unrefined, though pure.

Yet as I reach myself out, my hand

Yields to barriers unseen and

Falters in its ability to console

The memories underlying surface

Tensions that break out in waves

On the canvas of your soul.

You fear me and that I understand

For I lack the delicate fingers and

Intuition to understand the

Preservation and construction

Of such an artistic expression.