In words softly sweet,
Tell me
Everything’s gonna be all right.
Tell me
What’s going on.
Tell me
To mind my own business.
Gently of your touch I need
I want
To push you away.
I want
To flee.
I like you too well
Already.
I have faults
You need to find
Though I can’t list them.
I think of you too much.
My god you
Make me, you
Make me
Feel.
I am antithetical,
Weighing to extremes.
I am torn in complexities.
I break down into simplicities
And I find, still, I am happy.
You make me happy.
Trust can be a tenuous thing.
And if ever you doubted,
Don’t doubt on me.
I am unlike anything
You have known or will ever know.
I am not a real girl
I only pretend sometimes with frippery.
I grew by my own rules
And they have stuck with me.
Just know I like you, you.
And there are now things I will not say
Unless you ask them of me.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
If I seem quiet today, I am inquisitive, mulling over the psychological ramifications of action and thought. My first instinct is flight. But I am happy, so I keep thinking and understanding my depths.
Intentionality.
Logic versus passion
And the heart that swears
In colorful spouts, the
Feel of the words rolling
Off her tongue feeling good.
Intentionality.
Logic versus passion
And the heart that swears
In colorful spouts, the
Feel of the words rolling
Off her tongue feeling good.
Monday, August 16, 2004
Sunday, August 15, 2004
III
No end in mind
Just enjoy the ride,
I’ll get there.
Don’t give up on me.
I take time.
IV
The carrion on the wall
And your work bench.
The work you put in to things.
You’re so cool.
V
I should have stayed hesitant to venture forth.
Her clothes in the closet struck me but lightly,
But struck me all the same.
I blocked their blow with a heart once gone cold
Now dripping in liquid mercury – alive.
VI
It was always dark, that house on the lake. Orange mesh blinds drawn tight against the sun. Stacks of magazines and chests forming walls. The cokes were cool not cold. They were kept by the case in the back behind jars of pickled okra and green tomatoes. Everything was always years old. The dust, the canning, my grandparents. The earth was rich with purple broccoli, blackberries, and vines. I would walk the lines just behind my father and his father as they spoke like men do. I would fall asleep after rounds of gin rummy and orange juice from my Fuzzy Wuzzy Wuz a Bear mug. I slept well at that house on the lake. Hard and deep but never dreamed. I awoke complete and whole, at peace. I used to dream restless in the house of my youth. The shadows forming. I sleep well in this house. Robert’s death built my fence. My father’s sweat and even more of mine put in to the walls and earth. For now, I am home.
No end in mind
Just enjoy the ride,
I’ll get there.
Don’t give up on me.
I take time.
IV
The carrion on the wall
And your work bench.
The work you put in to things.
You’re so cool.
V
I should have stayed hesitant to venture forth.
Her clothes in the closet struck me but lightly,
But struck me all the same.
I blocked their blow with a heart once gone cold
Now dripping in liquid mercury – alive.
VI
It was always dark, that house on the lake. Orange mesh blinds drawn tight against the sun. Stacks of magazines and chests forming walls. The cokes were cool not cold. They were kept by the case in the back behind jars of pickled okra and green tomatoes. Everything was always years old. The dust, the canning, my grandparents. The earth was rich with purple broccoli, blackberries, and vines. I would walk the lines just behind my father and his father as they spoke like men do. I would fall asleep after rounds of gin rummy and orange juice from my Fuzzy Wuzzy Wuz a Bear mug. I slept well at that house on the lake. Hard and deep but never dreamed. I awoke complete and whole, at peace. I used to dream restless in the house of my youth. The shadows forming. I sleep well in this house. Robert’s death built my fence. My father’s sweat and even more of mine put in to the walls and earth. For now, I am home.
I
I awoke
Looking forward to the day.
I wanted
To call, wake you up, ask if
You were
Dreaming about me.
II
I am excited.
You do not consume me obsessively
But intrinsically.
If I go about my day, the simple knowing
You are there comforts me.
This feels healthy and real.
III
From sunday, August 3rd, 2003 in a poem to myself, I wrote:
I Fly
Ninety on the highway,
Sixty in a forty, and
Forty in an ess curve twenty.
Windows down,
Music high,
I wanna drag it out
Till the engine growls,
High and mean,
Till the chassis shakes
And the tires squeal.
I wanna break you
Like a new toy,
Consume you
Like no other,
Bleed you dry.
I awoke
Looking forward to the day.
I wanted
To call, wake you up, ask if
You were
Dreaming about me.
II
I am excited.
You do not consume me obsessively
But intrinsically.
If I go about my day, the simple knowing
You are there comforts me.
This feels healthy and real.
III
From sunday, August 3rd, 2003 in a poem to myself, I wrote:
I Fly
Ninety on the highway,
Sixty in a forty, and
Forty in an ess curve twenty.
Windows down,
Music high,
I wanna drag it out
Till the engine growls,
High and mean,
Till the chassis shakes
And the tires squeal.
I wanna break you
Like a new toy,
Consume you
Like no other,
Bleed you dry.
VR Cowboy
Thinking her the artsy type, too full of what, but
Admiring her ink and style,
The Cowboy had said hello, doubting her reply.
The Princess had stalked him as best she could,
Thinking “hunting and fishing? Oh no…”
But she was flattered and intrigued
Coming back with a blush and
After a few pleasantries saying
“Would you like to chat.”
And they did. For hours and days. And they met,
The VR sparks coming alive, flowing over into
Green eyes flashing blush stained smiles at his blue.
She saw him in a suit, her jaw dropped divine.
He saw her in wind blown hair and he called again.
And the ink stained girl smiled.
Each had thought the other too different.
Neither looking for anything.
They had chanced to meet in a VR world of
Fingers fast flying and smileys of broad smiles,
Tipped hats, and an endless blushing and batting of eyes.
They’re days were filled with each other,
Their nights with themselves.
Only the honesty and openness between them.
Admiring her ink and style,
The Cowboy had said hello, doubting her reply.
The Princess had stalked him as best she could,
Thinking “hunting and fishing? Oh no…”
But she was flattered and intrigued
Coming back with a blush and
After a few pleasantries saying
“Would you like to chat.”
And they did. For hours and days. And they met,
The VR sparks coming alive, flowing over into
Green eyes flashing blush stained smiles at his blue.
She saw him in a suit, her jaw dropped divine.
He saw her in wind blown hair and he called again.
And the ink stained girl smiled.
Each had thought the other too different.
Neither looking for anything.
They had chanced to meet in a VR world of
Fingers fast flying and smileys of broad smiles,
Tipped hats, and an endless blushing and batting of eyes.
They’re days were filled with each other,
Their nights with themselves.
Only the honesty and openness between them.