your shoes are just as you left them:
grass caught in creases of the soles,
scent of foot sweat–
subtle, not overpowering;
inanimate objects imitate life
between these walls,
for my heart is just as you left it:
with one chamber heavier than the others;
unspoken words caught in creases of my soul,
future plans untied,
scent of body sweat caught in my bed–
subtle, not overpowering;
intimate objects imitate love
between these walls.
explored the future;
caught back up with the present–
sleepless and tired.
i got all dressed up
in my birthday suit and yawn.
sleep forgot to come.
under my eyelids,
dreams are ready to be born;
no contractions yet.
Once in a while, I will become engaged in a poetry conversation with a friend (usually initiated by me, lol). I LOVE when this happens because it keeps me on my toes and allows me to be inspired by other artists. I am currently in conversation with a talented brother of mine, Under_Score. I’m posting my most recent response to him, but you can check it out on his blog (in the comments section) by clicking here. Enjoy!
helplessly hoping that
the intangibility of nature
will make itself surface as real:
dead skin cells once invisible
appear, shed and reveal
where my eyes have landed,
and created futures imagined–
cool minty breath in summer heat
show water reflections of
still then shaking,
blowing in wind that hugs corners
and causes drafts through doorways
to the flame of my desire.
to be a hair follicle under the skin
of his shaved chin
would bring me close to him
as i sprout out
and get closer to his mouth
through a subtle kiss.
and what of rain?
cloudy skies to mask tears of mine
shed from heartbreak and love,
making my hair and heart curl up,
filling me so love never dries up,
just becomes a well for
and other life and such.
but always breeding,
a circle of life lived
and beyond my control.
i find myself not living
in the now
but the “when. “
the “When A happens then B
and I will be happy.”
so instead of looking next to me,
my eyes turn glassy
as i envision the moment when
certain events will happen
that my contentment is
“When I move to a better place,”
“When I get a better job,”
“When I have more money,”
“When I get that ring,”
“When I get married,”
“When I get free”
and other hypothetical statements
fill my mouth while
my future overflows with intangible dreams.
maybe when i hold them in my hands
they’ll feel real.
or maybe when
i stop living in when,
i can live in now
and appreciate what i have
never shows up
or decides to be tardy
(as it often tends to be).
i’m happy you’re my baby.
you got me feeling lucky–
no snake eyes with these dice,
all i’m rolling is sevens.
who thought a rainy day
could still feel like heaven?
you had me open since day 11
minus the one on the end.
when i looked in your eyes,
i saw the future as more than just friends.
i never thought i’d feel this way again,
never thought i’d not have to pretend
or sway in the wind
of scar-filled memories.
with you i have new leaves
and they’re greener than the greenest green.
i’m higher than when i smoke marijuana trees
this relationship is so obsene,
more beautiful than 1,000 sunsets
next to the sea of bliss in which we’re swimming
and this is only the beginning.
fresh acid burning in the back of my throat,
darkening my teeth
and freeing that stabbing feeling
in the pit of my stomach,
i purge all that is negative
out of me.
i used to look at bitterness and anger and self loathing
and pain and pity
and say desperately, “feed me”
but i’ve found new food today.
tears of joy and peace as toxins release
and when i breathe,
i am a new person.
the world is so different now.
i didn’t know i was viewing life through dirty eyeglasses,
mistaking danger for greener pastures.
now i see what i was missing.
i am emptying,
slowly but surely
and in the future,
i see me happy
and dancing like no one is looking,
living like everyone is looking,
to not care either way.
there are some people who honestly believe that
if they focus intently enough,
they can make the flame of a candle
rise and fall with their thoughts.
much too often, i have been a fool,
played the fool for that same trap,
thinking that i can create sparks in acquainted hearts,
mistaking kindness for interest
and my loneliness for the possibility of love.
once a pyromaniac,
i now flee from fire,
keep an extinguisher on my back
and with it, i aim and fire
the potential for romantic stories,
trapped in the fog of my history,
chest burning too painfully to see reality.
i no longer even attempt to stare,
have substituted my gaze for a blank empty glare
like a blind woman who has miraculously regained her sight
but still wears sunglasses because
she’s used to not opening her eyes.
is my fear that the future is too bright
or that all will be white?
absence of color,
absence of hope,
no patience to stare at fire,
seeking another foolish hobby