Lovers"Do you have a boyfriend?"Her eyes crawled from corner to corner as she mouthed the question. Do I have a boyfriend? After what felt like an unnecessary contemplation she said "...I know a lover, but I don't have him.""What does that mean?""I don't know if he's mine. He doesn't go by Mine ... that is to say, many could call out Lover! and he would answer. I could call out Mine! and receive no reply.""So this guy, whose not your boyfriend, doesn't it bother you that he doesn't feel the same way about you as you feel about him?"Her head lobbed to one side, as if it were weighted, her eyes found another corner, higher this time, right above my head. She may have been smiling, I didn't think so at the time but now as I reflect upon it, I believe she was. "I've known many lovers" She said "Many of them are strangers now. Strange thing, to know someone intimately, the crevasses of their body, their dark thoughts, and then in a blink, they are
Concernedly UnfleetingShe woke up as the sun did. Slowly creeping out of bed, eyes still half shut, her figure a small silhouette, fumbling about the bedroom. And then suddenly, I swear, I merely blinked, and the whole room was glowing with her presence. Her warm smile reflected the warm cup she placed in my hands and we just sat smiling to one another, to our selves, witnessing the blues of the day come into focus.You see, the sun was on the verge of rising. Too cold outside for the stunning rays she was known for. Today would not be a day for warmth, as our little morning cocoon would have you believe. No, today was a day for clarity, at it's best.Everything sparkled. The snow covered cars, the ice covered trees, her dark brown eyes. It felt magical, yet at the same time, untouchable. Frighteningly magical. The world outside my window looked Disney inspired, friendly, unreal, and frozen. Literally and figuratively, a beautiful winter still. How in the world is this moment, this time and place, st
This is the Door I Left Open For YouYou knocked and knocked. When I called outfor you to come in, the knocking stopped.I peered out the window and you were gone.I hesitantly moved on.I got up and closed the door, realizing it wasa ding dong ditch. From time to timeyou still knock, but the door stayslocked.
BalloonBalloons were created to floaton a leash. To be releasedis relieving solely to thefreed.
Sleep ChildSleep child. The day is done.A sweeter song is being sungthan the morning's rooster call.Sleep child, this day is done.Rest easy. Time will stopbefore a new day has begun.Sleep child. Sleep quick,before dark steals your thoughts.The night creeps on bywhile you're wide eyed.
Learn to SwimThey lined up and dove in. Every one of them sunk like rocks.Their eyes were red when they came up. They cried, I think, it was a pool of tears.Choking. Breathing. Laughing.She laughed a knowing laugh."If you stay in the shallow end you'll never learn to swim."I don't live by the ocean and I don't enjoy the sea,so what does your wisdom have to do with me?I waited by the door but you already left, so I wadedin the water and took a deep breath. I unstrappedthe vest that protects my chest. I shut my eyes and pluggedmy nose and pretended I was a balloon. Gravity wasn't pretendingand reality pulled me under. Flailing to floatand failing, my heart deflated. I gulped downwater not fit for drinking. Soon the sinking stopped.My toes reached cool tileand I thought thatthis must behow it feelsto walk on the moon.Moments felt like minutes,pushing toward the surface,bouncing back to Earth.
DriverI spend my evenings predicting the future.I will lay awake, with my eyes closed in the dark,considering hypothetical scenarios of what it mightbe like if that happens. Predicting how it will beeven though it is never is what you'd think, unlessthat is what you make it. You create it. I are not a passive passenger riding in the flowany relationship. I am the driver. I figure outwhat I want, and make it happen with that person.I choose to laugh.
O.R.B. He opened the front door and it didn't creak the way he'd expected it to. The house didn't know his father was dead. It was still fresh smelling, alive with plants and natural light. The curtains in the living room blew around, excited by his arrival. Ted had to push against the wind to shut the door. The house was quiet, anticipating his next move. He had to remind himself to stay on task. Do not pout around, don't touch everything. Find the papers and do what they say. In and out. It had been years since Ted set foot inside his parent's house. He forgot how Home and Garden's everything looked. Rather than being in his childhood home, Ted imagined he'd stumbled onto a made for TV movie set. Any minute a man would yell CUT and the walls would come down. Ted waited, and nothing happened. Every room was picture perfect out of a magazine. All shades of green and brown. The dishes and table sett
Lovers SpinningI faced him with nervous anticipation as our arms intertwined. His large hands easily clasped around my wrists. I too, held on to him. We began to spin, slowly at first. Everyone around us flashed looks of agitation, but I knew it was envy. He smiled and took pride in the fact that I was playing along. His feet sped up so I tried to keep up. We both laughed as our world disappeared into a kaleidoscope of color. Our shoes dug holes into the ground. I didn't want to slip, because I knew he wouldn't let me go and we'd both go tumbling down.We'll either decelerate or fall into the grass together. That is how it will end. It will be soft and will not hurt. Afterwords, we will wipe joy tears from our eyes. So I hoped.As our speed increased, so did doubt. I was sure we were spiraling out of control. My mind flashed forward, anticipating the release. Any moment now his hands will escape mine. I will fly away from him. My vision will be hazy without his face to focus on. I will be lightheaded
restroom graffititruths have a tendency to appearin the company of filthwhere pressure forces poisonout, we are desperate to purifyand forget souls-they are mere blemishes,stains on an otherwiseimmaculate mind-but every now and againwe stoop to feel the weightof our subconscious screams take a moment to relieve pressureand flush our shit down the pipes.
BoredomMy life is a choreThere's no joyOr happinessOnly boredomAnd frustrationI'm just livingFor the sake of itWith no objectiveWith no purposeOnly killing timeUntil the day I die
Right Here Right NowThe river is deepand after the fifth vodkathe everlasting sleepcalls louder than ever - -Just one reason to stay!
sphinxamaniai.in this dawnlightyou will let himlinger,strung outand more muddledthan last night'sinvitation.the dry chokeof his slumbering throatwill be the anthemof your morning routine:wake first,test the depth of his sleep,softly gather all articlesand effects,step wraithlyover piles of clothingand passed-out bones,and if possible lock the doorbehind you.ii.let noonflood over youlike absolving showerswith the heattoo high.stare at the sunand burn out last night's imagecompletely,and never again rememberhis "discreet" voice.soon, love, the marksof his teethwill fadeand his namedissolvewith the daylight.iii.you are an islein the pale and ficklelight of the moon.every soultrying to kiss your shoresis surethat they will be the firstto survivethe trip.but love, their veinsare not preparedto rip.
i broke the sky to make youand every time i dust your hipswith my aspirations,i hear her weepinstead.
Walking with a ToddlerSlow he may be, plodding gentle histiny legs. Each stick is a newexploration three steps toanother. “come on” you shout as he trots overgravel laughing delighted at the crunch-crunchbeneath his feetand thereand back again. A dog bounds by, so much energy thatit sparks fear in the little trekker ashe clings to your leg, begging to be lifted.Arms wrapped around his world,he points at the sky, tells you its blue.
InkI like to draw hearts on my wrist in ink.Let it wash away and draw them again.Not always in the same placesor the same amount.Sometimes my heart's in different places,but I always have one.