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.

You always leave me hungering for

Your words which never seem to fill

The void I face without them mutually

Celebrating the boundaries set

Unknowingly with purpose

Unrelenting in binding without

Suspicion or revealed design.

My ears are starved of your voice

Which only seems to grow in your

Presence and wanes only when the

Blackouts steal me from this

Consciousness I can no longer

Deny.

I’ve lost my interests in fantasy and

Fiction is but a caricature of happiness

For truth is much sweeter and I

Must confess that I would give it all

Away to spend one moment where we

Were able to be honestly sincere

Instead of waltzing with loaded

Words and actions across shards

Of glass from promises we’ve broken

And blood-stained regrets that

Gnaw openly at our hearts.

You may perceive me vaguely

As if through clouded streets that

Crisscross in the ev’ning before

The storm or perhaps right after

But know that it is I who worry

Most oft that my reflection will

Chase you off more than yours

Ever could.

Fleeing from winds acrimonious

Harmonious with a will toward destruction

Instruction laid in whisperings violent in admission

Submission disregarding tastes and pleasure

Measured by eyes unfit for recollection

Perfection unnoticed and tossed

Lost in the transition of the frame.

Shame encircled in translation

Supplication and resignation

Consternation with factual dictation

Revelation simple, yet sublime.

Rhymes melancholy in function

Junctions at crossroads restricted

Convicted and convinced of fabrications,

Justifications without grounds for statistics

Heuristics with unmatched diseases and behavior

Flavor of spite and regret. 

Forget words and reason and just listen

Glisten in the stars aloud

Enshrouded by your grace. 

He said she tasted like rain

Yet I can not figure

If she was a light trickle

That slid down his throat

Or if she drowned him

In a torrential downpour.

You’d never know

Just by looking at her

That she could mesmerize

With a tongue built for more

Than repetitious recitations

And lips that felled mountains

With their whispers.

Her curves are gentler

Yet his cries were anything but—

A king brought to begging

Like a wayward bard

In search of sustenance

No inn could ever provide.

She was not a harlot,

But she dripped with honeyed eyes

Like amber shades of day

Capturing deity in fealty

Like sap from a oaken tree.

Soft like her heart

She hung his majesty

From the curtains of her golden locks

Nooses too noble for petty crimes

And stole his faltering steps

Till they found her bed once more.

Taken like a whisper

Fingers barely dragging

As they scrape the dust,

Unsettling settlements of taste.

Gagged and bound by ill fated regrets

Weighing in as milestones

Sinking with each breath

That tries to rise against.

Unconventionally sound advice

Softly lingers still

Like wet footsteps on linoleum

Tracked in from the snow.

As bitter flakes of northern fury

Cling where others fall

And mingled tears end rapture

Of uncommon contempt.

The scent of wilted fuchsia

And faded poppies,

A delayed high

Too far gone for escape.