|Trying is the only thing that really matters, it's not that it "counts" it is the basis on which everything else counts ~ Me|
What People SeeI've met a girlWordWeight
With grisly bear brown hair
And eyes that look as black as
night from afar but
match instant coffee cup up close.
And all she knows
Is that the secret
of life doesn't rest in the soul
But moves and is revealed
in between two
pink pressed crescents she wears
on her face.
When she saw me,
a few stars caught in her eyes
from last night's fishing
and gazing, still fresh and thriving.
She said hello
I've known you
for so long.
I glad you
can see me.
I asked her what
her name was and
why was she here.
she was here to be me.
interstellarone look and a shy half awayyour-methamphetamine
the fogged window to the left
unveils a split second warmth
you fill me, your beta-rays consume
my eager form to five missing facial
muscles deepening with every move
yes, wormholes can be spheres but
cylinders make sense too, save for
their lost sense of distance, dimension
time and us. I don’t wish for galactic
wars for you. there is a balance we
made a home in, an embroidered
version of the cosmos that fits between
your mountainous knuckles when we
kiss. I kissed your in-betweens because
you already love your wholes. one look
and a shivering half away, I planned so
much more for your hands and mine, my
eyes and your entirety. I will have lived
a thousand mornings in your arms by
sunrise; you woke me in each one.
the convenience of knowing a poetit is the momentsintroverted-ghost
when you whisper words that
tempt my bones into
the regurgitation of pure,
it is the moments
of instant, unpressured realization
that force my mouth to curve open,
unable to contain my sudden awareness.
it is the moments
of mind to hand,
hand to pen,
from pen to
it is the moments that are more;
more than a recreation of speech,
more than a snapshot of a moment.
it is the moments
that are manifest,
a testament to the quiet filling of a mind,
of a quietly uttered,
newly born cell.
the polar opposite of translucencycradled in the echointroverted-ghost
of a cloudburst,
the earth curls invisible fingers
about my achilles' tendon
she cries that i am not
intended for the clouds,
that my mind must not wander
between their susurrous concaves
furious with her insistence,
untether myself from the soft,
diaphonous comfort of the heavens
down into the weight of gravity.
listless green blades welcome my soles,
stimulating a tickle,
a sneeze; i never have done well
she is calling for me,
soft-tongued and crisp in her
& i am sorely tempted
i am not for the soil.
she becomes my inhale;
my alveoli shudder
beneath her force--
i am not for the air, either.
i stand beneath her onslaught
until she tires,
her molten heart beating beneath my toes;
unable to woo me with her facets,
cloaking me in one last attempt,
a final shadow.
my pores bloom
& i r
the summary of a half-womanI am here, in the quiet stages allowed by grief for myself and what I am losing, but that is not enough for passers-by who mistake the smoke of my imagination for the smoke of a pyre. My soul whispers often that they may be right, that perhaps my imagination and loneliness is a pyre of my own making, that I am scorching myself from the heels up into hell and back, but my mind remains unconvinced and stubborn in her ways.introverted-ghost
The cold is in my bones in these summer months, a contradiction of nature and self, but I have delved too deeply to warm myself with the fire that burns within me; it is ice cold and reddening, this fire-- another contradiction, but perhaps that is what I have become. The awakened, self-aware contradiction of peace, helpfully contained within an introverted skeleton and puckered goose-flesh that obediently walks the paths etched for it in the early lights of the dawning days.