narcissism

dear friend,
please do not think
that I visualize guitars playing
or my father arching his bone
I do not even expect my mother’s mouth.

I know that I have died before
once in November, once in June.

Of course guitars will not play
New York City will not mind.
At night the bats will beat on the trees,
knowing it all,
seeing what they sensed all day.

to keep and carry

It’s not unusual to feel so off-beat, to be way off-key on a warming Monday morning. It feels like someone gently dropped a large stone in my body of calm water and created the waves I’m currently riding out. Each ripple sanding me down into someone new, someone different. Someone who now knows how it feels.

I am constantly reminded of one of the best unseen forces; balance takes and gives but never asks.

11/09

November is setting in. The cold creeps up quietly in the night, gently frosting the tips of all living things. The trees go barren, completely, like the long stems and branches inside of me. Walking over the dead leaves under my feet, remnants of what was once a bright green.

I’d love to tell you about how I’ve come to realize how important it is to find one’s roots. To nourish and care for them until you have grown and grounded your own, but you will always be an extension. I wanted to tell them how I look at the stars and see home but instead, came here and found memories I couldn’t have dreamt of. It is as if they have kicked you out from underneath me and I have fallen into what has really been there all along.

What is it that you ask of me? They question with such doubtful tones and condescension. What do I tell them? Other than that you give me strength and a comfort I thought I would never feel. A vision that creates meaning in an otherwise, purposeless world. Instead, you make it a universe full of stars and galaxies. All equally unique and colorful.

I will see you, one day soon. We will talk and watch light reflect off the moons. You will understand why I had to let you go.

organic

when the rain,
falling plainly like the gray skies above it,
the citric smell of fresh oranges on my fingertips
the sweetness of berries and honey.
it’s the natural things,
raw like love,
bittersweet like chocolate;
when words make you taste your senses

the past

they were all haunting me tonight
all of them.
their faces, their love
echoing into the calm autumn night
and my oblivious head.
the fights that we had
and the cruel things I’ve said
to remember their love would tear me in two
each piece to cut into one another.
breaking open the closets in which I keep them
making sure they never got out
and none ever got in.

if I opened each door
I may never be still
only to weep and pain
until another one came,
to make me forget that you were on my mind
to begin with;
the regret
I’m filled with,
is enough to never love again.