Let me walk.
On melting tar or until my feet freeze,
I don’t care.
Let me walk.
I’d never take an elevator again.
Better yet, let me dance.
I’ll look like an idiot, arms flailing,
feet tapping to a beat
even the song hadn’t discovered yet.
I don’t care.
Let me dance.
I’d hop around constantly because I could.
If I can’t have those things,
let me have a talent for
forgiveness and patience,
fill me with
purpose and fight and love.
Let me learn the uselessness of control
and the benefits of vulnerability.
If I am not even capable of that,
let me teach it to someone who needs it
before my mind consumes itself.
Let me be useful if not inspired.
Ideas rush in rivers through my sleep,
winding, wrapping themselves around
drowning all in their wake. The itch
to begin claws through my lack of
imPulse
control.
The Golden Fleece at my fingertips,
the moon just out of reach,
births sweet agony and fosters it to
obsession obsession obsession.
Diligent fingers, hands, feet
where mind and heart has already left,
abdicating their daily kingship to rule the
abyss and dance en pointe along the precipice
willing hoping waiting
for the wherewithal to
f
a
l
knowledge
“There’s nothing to do but laugh,” she said. Her voice was sterile like the room holding us.
She smirked and cried instead.
“Trust.” She rocked her head, lamenting the word. “I should have listened to myself.”
I agreed but wouldn’t tell her.
She felt her body, hugged where it was, then stared. “So this is what shock feels like.”
It wasn’t until she threw up.
That night, the nothing ate through her eyes. She breathed; she lived; she sat; she thought.
I was more afraid of breaking her trance, reminding her of what made her stop time.
I couldn’t follow her into the void. I can’t understand what scared her. I don’t know how to fix it.
So I sit with her in timelessness. I cradle her hand and focus on how she smells.
Today, I burned my back in the sun, tried to stand despite the ringing in my ears, the silent fluttering of my heart. Today my hands were calloused and my feet were blistered, my back was twisted and my pride lay dead, yet I hear more cries from my elders calling for accountability calling my people “entitled” and saying that we’ve never seen the face of poverty the pain of hard work tasted the bitter nectar of ambition. At whom do they point their knotted fingers? Who do they chastise? Which “them” will they blame their decisions on next? For once, we, the bane of their advanced years, were tutored by the idiot’s lantern, given a credit card as a toy, learned to self soothe and self care as latchkeys. Why now is this new culture of isolation, selfishness, and debt our fault when we were taught so well by you?
The city is a sea of jewels,
Her people fit into Matchbox cars,
Flow like rivers of light through a black field
And I’m happy to be in a world apart,
Allow my eyes to drink the truth from above.
Each one is a life or two, contained in a bright box
Speeding along with different intentions, to different ends.
From there
Individual Control
A fight for space;
From here
A Natural Current,
They float together in a dance to their destinations.
I’m nothing more than and atom wrapped in flashing lights,
Perhaps one of the stars,
And dismissed.
But they are more than lights in a river.
Each light is a person; each jewel is a home.
They paint a new sky on the ground,
Living stars
Write!
I recently left my exhausting full time job to study writing and film full time. It’s so cool! And it’s temporary, so I want to do my best with it.
That being said, I’m going to resume posting horrible poems as often as possible. For starters, I’ll be able to grow as a writer by working at it every day, or even every few days, like that. I’ll also be able to grow as a writer because I hate letting people read my work, and I have hated it since childhood. This will be a step out of my comfort zone (for sure), and I’m bound to try to get out of it, but I’ve been given the gift of time, and I really don’t want to squander it.
I’ll be adding theses poems to a series I’m calling “Naked Poetry” and adding NP in front of their titles. This will be running from now until I feel comfortable about sharing my writing. They’ll all be rough, since this is an exercise in letting go more than anything. So enjoy and/or join in on the challenge.
flat reality
my hands the only solid
like watching a film
ethereal days
like this flake away untouched
feel like reflections
i won’t remember
this or any days like this
another day dies
I’ve been titling mine by the day of the month. April 1 has already been posted!
I am going to begin posting my poems for National Poetry Month beginning later today.
For those who don’t know:National Poetry Writing Month(NaPoWriMo for short) and 30/30 are interchangeable terms used to preclude the challenge some poetry writers engage in which entails writing one…
I couldn’t hear the words but
I understood your eyes
I’d seen them
Glassy, staring
Tinged with red
Twice earlier this year
Your family shrank again
I’ll lie on your chest
Let my hair smear across the great
Swaths of saltwater on your face
Stroke your hair
Order you pizza and beer
Love you quietly
I’ll attempt to forgo sleep
Just to listen to you fight
Against your own mind
While I scream into eternity
On your behalf
Here I am, a part of your heart, and
All I can do is listen to it now
I can’t feel your pain
Nor can I take it from you
Never do I feel so far from you
As when only our skin touches
