Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Day 862:

i am not angry you are gone
rarely miss you from here
sometimes i think about your hands and how they fit mine, sometimes
how nothing about us was stable
somehow that was fine
thought i'd find something about me that could be strong
in time
when i didnt
something clicked
ever since
i cant help but feeling like a joke
ashamed of who i was
that i am the awkWARD CHUCKLE AT THE END OF A PUNCHline
i do not call
because i have nothing to say
but im starting to realize why looking back hurts
and i know
i will tell my children about you
my daughter
the first time her heart is broken
i will find the only picture i managed to save
tell her about how love starts
and sometimes stops
and somehow
its okay

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Day 861: NYC

i am the not the type of person to find a home among the kind of valleys i've found here
peaks only seen in the image of steel
reflections at every corner
i am not acuoustomed to seeing myself so much
i favore like the of scenery tht will touch you back
doesnt scream for your attention
doesnt have to
where the people leave you be
but your family cant stand to leave you hungry
NYC is for the brave
and i am the weakest of them
the fractured soul sent to learn herself how to manage over the damage
they say an ocean can cure just about anything
but what of a city
full of promises and dreams
where do broken hearts mend themseves
i wonder
if i had one
where would i wander
if she leaves me
in the middle of this transition
how much fiurther away from home ad myself will i have to be before i shatter
i need her to be waiting at the other
theres nothing i can hold on to here
to tell me itll be okay
when the sidewalk is screeming
go home
and my reflection says
you cant cut it

Monday, November 28, 2011

Day 860: a haiku called incomplete

when i am without
words to fill our distance, I
search for music

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Day 859: the morning after

You write a poem
You think you are changed
That a part of you is pricked and pulled out like string
Something spun to make your insides feel less barren
With something shiny
Make you the consistency of cellophane
The shine of a pendulum
The gravity of a girl
Who keeps coming back
Like she’s tethered to your waist
And the heavier you swing her away
The faster the return

You woke up today
And realized
The lines that fell out of you last night
Were not songs
But coal pieces that never managed to pressurize right
You wonder what you will right tomorrow
And if you will ever sit
With this white page
And write a story
Worth at least your own time
In memorization

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Day 858: When given the time. and forced into energy. the product is either inspirational. or long.

we drink and dance
talk about our work
and let the pieces trickle down
never settle
never peaceful
how the minutes we spend in front of paper hoping to born poems do not turn to hours
not anymore
how you are growing old
and less innocent
and less visual
and less
less ready
so much less
that the falling of a season does not bring you to tears
and not near or close to the words

i am looking for something to move me
have been for months
and all i’ve come up with is a woman who makes me want to write masterpieces
but nothing
can seen to slow me down enough to give anything other than her smile
the energy it deserved to live

she is my second love taking captive my first
and i am struggling to write anything other than the tint of her irises
struggling to surprise myself with some worth of genius
i have found in these bones from time to time

i feel a need to give more
but an unwillingness to find the power under my skin
want to build a fortress
but the only materials i have close enough to touch are meant to fall
created as ruble
and the journey
to something more permanent
the foundation of something that cannot crack
cannot shatter
will not bear to be from clean palms
cannot grow from this crackle of a wrist
I am giving nothing in me enough space to expand
And so everything is repeat and imitation

Find me a genuine blade of grass
One that never dreamed of being more
Or less
And ill trade you a glass piece of my skin
The most stubborn and weak
But too persistent to shatter
Ill give you a song with no beginning
Not a single entry
But a home built somewhere within the clef of its base
A hallow crevice
Like the vein of a flower
The stem of a woman
Too afraid to sever herself horizontal
That someone may see something too real to be beautiful too honest to be symmetrical
Find me a saturated piece of tomorrow that falls into flaw
And ill find courage in the crack of me that have never found the surface
The bones of mine that seem too brittle for purpose

I wonder where the intersections will take us
In the wake of all of this
And writing
And dying
And winning
And writing
And crying
And writing
Until we’ve written through it

I wonder how the ends find the surface
How the immersed and waterlogged sentiments
Are transformed into something worth attention
Wonder how I will read this
Or the next day
And whether or not ill be able to say tonight
That I tried to create
Unlike the month before where I knew I wrote to say that I haven’t quite given up
I wonder how the giving up looks when you document it
When you let it follow you around in the body of words you insist on producing
Either before you are ready to release
Or give it the energy needed

Everything about these lines is a lie
I wonder tonight
How much of my poetry has been me fighting to emerge from smoke to reveal something
To magnify
And how much has been me shrinking
condensing myself into the mass

how much of me is trying to be remembered and inspired
while the rest is begging to hide behind the veil and be forgotten

I wonder
How far we will get through these questions before we realize
That all the energy and hours will plant you no inspiration
Will materialize no answers
Where certainty does not belong

Friday, November 25, 2011

Day 857: just the surface

finding a part of me
that is not
or broken
the process of bantering the free parts of this skin
to anyone willing to take a pice home
build them a letter bound book to leave there poetry in

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Day 856: Things I Have Left on the Side of the Highway

you were my first anti in
a promise i was ready to keep
a spine not fully hardened
the first wet pillowcase
salted and
a over heated engine
a lonely recovery
a lie i told my self over and over
she loves me she loves me she loves
when i shattered you were not a distant memory
you were a call i made
every morning
every evening
wondering when you would return
i took the pieces left
and fancied myself a friendship that couldn't stand
pillars born of the foundation of love i was waiting to return but never will

you were my first taste of selfishness
i relished in it
moments we stole upon the backs of my broken friendships
the lies we told each other that our heats were beating hard enough to drown out the noise
that the words i couldn't hep but write in your name said we were meant for it
destined for this
that every mistake we made was just a speed bump we needed to overcome
how wrong i was to hold onto pieces of you that would never belong
under my skin
would only stay there as a reminder of who you were
who i was
when i was yours
and who i would never be as long as i stayed that way

you were
we werent
i wanted
what i thought we could be
you were teaching me
what being wrong
felt like in the form of sweat and a night without a tomorrow

i will never write you
into this poem
only love you
into this day
it is all i can do
it is all that i need

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Day 855: but i am still happy to be yours

i shouldn't miss what is right in front of me
but i can see the miles
already trying to force themselves between us
the feeling of being pull away is returning
and my only instinct is to feel lonely

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Day 854: chapel Hill

there is as story built into the foundation of this building
a song in the spine of its walls
i can hear its whispers in the evening
they are also etched into the backs of your eyes
i am waiting for you to emerge with me
for us to build a temple
worthy of the scripture we wrote into our childhood
a place we may someday call home

Monday, November 21, 2011

Day 853: only you can

being here leaves a
bitter tastes upon my tongue
one you wash away

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Day 852:

to be free of you means
that somehow
i have found love on the other side of all of this
security where you made me believe there never could be
i wonder when you will turn over and find yourself a sunrise
something to take you into tomorrow
something to make you forget
about the wishes of children
when you realize that love
really is the meaning of it all
and worthy of sacrifices beyond comprehension

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Day 851: silence

i keep wanting to say your name out loud
so i keep forcing it down
it feels a lot like regurgitation
and the acid
does its damage on my mouth
your name
doesn't deserve the weight of its syllables
at this point its mostly a word
without a soul
doesnt mean much to me now
but keep trying to come up
for air

Friday, November 18, 2011

Day 850: patience

the morning after i first met you
first saw you
i stopped under a Chicago city awning
leaned over a carrel of pebbles
reached in blind
and pulled out a stone in the shape of a heart
at the time
i thought that i would take it home to my girlfriend at the time
but i didnt

there arent many things i hold on to for more than a few months
this is one
a year later
i found the stone in the bottom of a Diesel watch case
i wrote a poem called to do list
where i promised to give the rock to a girl who i loved
one that would find security in these arms
something about it all stings like a reminder
that patience is a virtue worth becoming

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Day 849: frustration

there are no lines caught in the back of my throat
no promise for something magical
i am a ocean that has lost its salt
a tree without its roots
something about me is cracked
broken at the base
and i am trying to hard to rebuild these ashes into something worthy of being remembered
but right now
im not even worthy of this moment
i am waiting for the poet to come back
continuing without her feels so wrong

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Day 848: Harry potter

10 years ago, today
we left our reality at the ticket office and for most of us
for the first time
let our hearts believe that magic existed
that we could rise from the monotony of these ashes
phoenix ourselves a promise for tomorrow
destiny born into the frame of a train barreling off into the morning
gave us something to believe in
in the forms of our selves
so we starting singing incantations to our morning
waking up to the miracle of our bodies
leaning to live up to its promise
and believing
that flight was real
and born in us all

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Day 847:

bend over backwards
build me into your body
hold me there like promise
secret me a tie
hang me from your window
breathing into your morning
ill hold on like its perfect
like im bending and not broken
distance is a lie
we told ourselves at birth
we hold ourselves up higher
straight and narrow backs
bending into morning
i am still hanging out your door
there is nothing here but waiting
waiting is the only way
when distance is a lie
and time never learned to fly
and rhyming brings the night
we fall over our corners
we are built into these bodies
we look for a new home
and realize the promises keep us tied
maybe ill hang here forever
maybe ill fall tomorrow
either way you are across the horizon
and my eyes will not be moved

Monday, November 14, 2011

Day 846: not ready

i owe you a poem
but i am not ready to write it just yet
so ill just sit here
picking at the dead skin that's too stubborn to fall
waiting for someone to tell me its time

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Day 845: applications

i will write these essays
as if i am proud of myself
where i have been
where i am going
and i know i should be
and i know i am
but there are still mornings i wake up
worrying that i still have it in me to fail
to pull back and run away
and then i remember you smile
and your touch
and the way you waited for me to realize
that i needed you to stay
how i expected all the worst
and got only the best
from you
i think abou that
and wonder
why im writing essays to schools on every corner of this continent
when all i really want is to be with you

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Day 844: a different way of missing you

there are days i write poems for love
and then there are days
i find myself looking for anything but
looking for space enough to pretend that i could live a day
without needing
you are the reminder that i am weak
and in need
that i cannot fill a moment without longing to be at your side
that there is no spine in this backbone of mine
standing alone is no option
when i am not whole
just half of what we are when you are here
i find myself looking for something else
something safer
those are the days i cannot write about love
because it requires too much of me
require i admit
i am far less than i should be

Friday, November 11, 2011

Day 843: road trip

i want to build you a road
spinning into the horizon
a song etched into the shoulder
a poem beveled onto the spine
a line running
these hands of mine
are made of mortar
were born to spin this concrete into a castle
but this distance
has got me wanting to putt everything i have as thin as i can
to reach you
by morning
to touch a part of you
as soon as can

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Day 842: Glass parade

it has been said
that my body was born to fit this shape
a crystal chandelier hanging over your overpass
iʻve always been see-through a fragile
sometimes beautiful
most times
out of place
a highway full on speeding steel is no place for something so breakable
i stay here anyway

iʻve been for a a glass parade
shards dancing into place
trying to find meaning in my weakness
ever since the last time i was shattered i am the off beat some people call syncopated
others call missing
out of place
you are the only hands iʻve ever felt that have the strength to make sense of my rhythm
to put me back in place
to make a symphony out of all this broken
but youʻre certainty
sends me in circles
because all i have ever wanted is to a beat the cement of that over pass
the steel holding the engine block
something fast, strong and reliable to carry you through this darkness
but instead
i am the sharp edges you caress in your palms
when you tell me
ʻits okay
tomorrow will be better
i will hold you soonʻ
all i want to do is scream
for my inconsistencies
my inability to be for you
what you are so clearly
for me

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

DAy 841: weather

she loved me for my climate
the temper of my skin tone
the magma in my blood
how everything about me could make her sweat
keep her unsteady
i wonder how she would love me
cold in every crevice
nothing about me ready to hold her

teach me to be the perfect kind of forever
a simple kind of balance
something that makes sense

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Day 840: gone

this morning
i wrote a song for your side of the bed
she refuses to sing
until you return

Monday, November 7, 2011

Day 839: its just the sting talking, dont mind me. dont think this means anything.

you learn with time,
it never hurts any less to be lied to.
to find out its not the string its who the end is tied to.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

day 838: morality

we werte told our bodies were built of dust
will fall to ash
and fall in between the crack
keep falling falling
until there is no more center to fall
if only we knew if falling was taking you down or to center
it seems both
but one
more infinite than the other
the idea of endlesness
and infinity has got me running circles hoping that not everything round can be a spiral and someone can show me a corner to hide in
a edge called stop loss
and ending
cuz there is nothing more frightening
than imagining your death and being reminded that there is infinity of living you must do beyond it
leave me at peace
let me forget
go dark
and silent

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Day 837:

trying to get myself to write
but pulling lines from these veins
wont do anything for the dozens of pounds pushing their way on the inside of my skull
i have tried to fashin myself a shark skin drum
to fill the case in my chest

but the pounding wont play any music for the damned
no writing for the lonely

Friday, November 4, 2011

Day 836: i hate being sick

im having a hard enough time sitting up in bed
to wait

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Day 835: san jose

i am trying to write a poem for this airport
the way the steel suffocates
makes every emotion i have evaporate
but today i have no words
just movement
and the silence of this moment
loneliness in the terminal

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Day 834: the 10th poem i've written for you called distance

i like to write you poems most when you are standing before me
when i can feel the weight of your breath from the other end of the room
the way your chest expands and makes the space between us collapse
how every part of my body
forgets its mother tongue
in the moment
i am the most sacred kind of silence

i am just the fumbling clicks of a keyboard
the tumbling turn of a hard drive
the repetition of it all
reminded me of your chest
rising and falling
but nothing about this moment makes me collapse
doesnt dare remind me of your love
i am a birdcage of feathers expanding
waiting to be pushed beyond my limits
waiting to break and fall
crash in silence
under the hum of a keyboard while you continue with whatever part of your day you are living now

on nights like these
i am anything but the masterpiece you are worthy of
the furthest thing from
the language will come to our children in their first breath
i am the awkward stutter sticking out of a fluid family of vowels
i feel like im made of edges
constructed with cracks
and gravity and distances are rubber bands pulling me in every direction other than yours

this is the only kind of poem i can write from this end of a computer screen
when i can see you
burning half smiles into the edges of your lips
catching my prayers in the roots of your teeth
cuz seeing all of this means nothing
if i cannot feel the way the air collapses
in our presence
when all the gods in the room realize
they were just taking time
saving our place
until we could find each other again
until our palms are resewn into this story
until our bodies are buried back into this ocean
until the atmosphere is released from you chest
and we remember what its like
to breathe

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Day 833: Kamakawiwoole

i've been wondering lately what it means
to be of this family
and its oceans
its blood
its water
wondering what it means for eyes to have no fear
to be of this name
what does it means of me
when i am full of fear
and nothing much else to hold the rest of the pieces together
how am i to be
full of wonder
future and strength
anything but fear
how am i any of this
if i cannot stand alone
face any part of this future
in the eye