Saturday, December 31, 2011

Day 893: Happy new year

the calendars will ring of 2012
a constant reminder that graduation hangs close
there is nothing i can do to stop her
no way to hold 2011 in a way that will make her stay
iʻve learned that loving a leaving girl will always have you torn and running

so heres to something new
and someone to share it will
lets wipe the slate clean
cuz the last time i was here
it didnt end to pretty

i couldnt remember why
until last night
that i feel no excitement for the transition of years
until someone asked me what i did last dec 31st
there isnt much more to say, i guess
moving on means forgiveness
we will be completely free
of each other
of the version of ourselves we were then

Friday, December 30, 2011

Day 892:

today i realized im one of those who never stayed
who left behind
the chants
and the wovewls for shaper edges
things that looks stainless
steel like
left for an education that didnt feel
didnt really feel at all i guess would be the thing to say
but what of it should feel

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Day 891:

"i will be there when things are good
and when they are bad
when our kids are bored
and when they move out
get married and start their own lives
i will hold your hand and kiss away your tears
and tell you i love you every night as we fall asleep
i promise"

there is nothing i can say
that i havent said before
nothing about the shade
of your eyes in the morning
how they make me thing of home
and sad slowly sticking to the base of my back
nothing about your lips
not their texture
not your kiss
nothing about your palms
holw they hold even when they touch
nothing about these words
the ones that say so much
that hold me inside out
in the middle of an empty theater
nothing about forever
nothing about today

tonight you are less than 14 days away
and i am just waiting
for the right words to appear
so ill have something right to say

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Day 890:

this is me trying to remember

this is me giving up.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Day 889: counting counting counting

12 days 18 hours
30 minutes and some change
.... i've been here before

Monday, December 26, 2011

Day 888: match box logic

i found myself a match box
that seemed to fit
every secret ive ever kept
i think i'll load them in
light the match
watch them burn
ad begin collecting again

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Day 887: christmas

we lace our morning with your surprise
teach ourselves patience in the waking ours
try to stay quite in our excitement
wonder what the new day has brought us in the form of the present

remember to be thankful, she says
and we try not to forget

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Day 886: "but thats GAY"

the way the word slips out of you like slime
like bile
like you are trying to free yourself of its dirt
the scum of its body
the dirt of my body
the way it fall out of you like foam
like its taking it own form
its own disease
my own disease

i wonder where it is you learned to hate
to fear
not here i am sure
all i know
is i learned the same thing
sometime around your age
used the word the same way
until i found it turning my body to bricks
i wonder when you will see
how my body has turned into nothing more than walls erected in shame
how that will change your language
of if the words
will fall
a little more

Friday, December 23, 2011

Day 885: negative space

the days are falling out of me
one by one
i am a child turning into morning
looking for a line
a string with some direction
they know me to be angry
i find them to be useless
tie my hands like promises

i am counting always
these lines are only a fracture
a fraction
a piece of this project
like tomorrow
is just a part of the lonesome

i do not want to live in the margins of numbers
the negative space where we have learned to wait
from 31 to 18
18 to whole
holding you in the morning
is the only calm i know

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Day 884: water



let the ocean take the weak parts away
what it returns
you never know
only feel yourself growing stronger
from her

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Day 883: apologies

There is a reason why
i have given you a hard time
through the way you have dissolved into loving
because i can see my prints
on the scars you lead with into relationships
i notice the way our ends were cut and frayed
how you wanted to stay as i pushed you away
i see myself in every mistake you make
every heart that cracks under the uneven grounds you love on

i feel responsible for every fracture that falls in your wake
for the way i left you unsteady and baseless
find myself wanting to apologize to you in a million different ways
if only i could find the one that would teach you to turn your hands back into olive branches
because now
all i see of you
are weak limbs
and the bodies that have fallen because of them
i do not wish for either of us to carry the weight of broken hearts in shards on our skin

i realized i released you first
and that every mistake i made was me pushing you a mile further from you potential
i guess what i mean to say
is i know there is still blood on my hands
and everytime a new drop falls
i fins myself wanting to apologize
for all the things iʻve done
and all that you keep doing

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Day 882: not ready yet

in the evenings
i wish myself a pair of wings
something about their architecture
strong enough to send a dream flying home on

you are a smile i had forgotten how to forge
a dimple bent into the diphthong of your melody
a song i only learned to sing
because of the gravity of your voice

you are a poem i do not write often enough
because it requires knowing too much of myself
requires digging into the parts i left buried and behind

Monday, December 19, 2011

Day 881: To Bronte, the girl who dances in and out of me like water

who are the people
who hold you all the time
who know of your dreams
not because you keep the phone lines clean for their breath to flow through easy
but because they travel through them with you

im thinking about the love of my life
and wondering
who holds that part of your heart today
is it a boy from midtown
whos heart has sewn pieces of his poetry into your spine
whos fragments of story i found crashed into you as a constant reminder of the distance of you he's traveled already

is it a boy you love conveniently
one whose body
finds itself near to you often enough to call him dear
call him love
maybe even home
but what about those of us who love you like streetlights
who trust you to hold the shadows off on your side
even in distance
even in silence
even when we havent called in days
now weeks
soon months

what about those of us who have written you lines upon lines upon lines
who have carved your name into the sand
traced our promises
just to have them washed away
those of us who let go of your heart
only to hold onto a different part of you
knowing we'd be able to manage this angle longer if we learned to sacrifice

who is it who is holding you tonight
whose hands are reading the dances my melodies bent into your palms
whose fingers are carving their middle into the beginnings we traced in sidewalk chalk on your torso
whoe lips are finding home agaisnt the heaven of skin on your forehead
will you let him rest there
will you let him hold you

will he understand the weight of you?
the beauty and miracle of it all
how your body bent between his arms like a dance
is the heaviest and most beautiful kind of privilege
the most permanent kind of prayer
will he treat the blessing of you accordingly?
will you allow him that honor?

i hope so.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Day 880: Not a Lullaby

This is not a lullaby
not a paper crane bent into the folds of your eyes
not a promise for the weight of our distance to fall away like white wash
this is not a morning rain
or a midnight thunder storm
not a quiet whisper
noe a reminder
this is a girl
struggling for the umpteenth time to find the words worthy of these lines
worthy of your lines
worthy of your smile
and the hollow cavity created by your embrace

this is not the minor fall
or the major lift
not the travis pick
or an alternating bass line
this is steady
the beat of the bass drum
like a heartbreak
it is not a poem
waiting to be read
not a song worthy of your voice
just a rhythm
something that continues
in the absence of all other percussion
it is only something
a part of me
that will always be walking in your direction
while every other part of life
swing in its own pendulum

this is not a lullaby
so dont you go sleeping on me now
this is our morning grace
not a promise or a reminder
just a place we can take
for our own
this is where we are today
and today
thats just okay

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Day 879:

i line my dreams with the dust and debris of your promise
the ones that says
youll be here tomorrow
and every day that follows
i wait for morning
only at the chance to be fooled
to think for a moment
to be so sure of your presence
that the wind brushing through my window is really your breath breaking across my skin
the afternoon brings too much truth
its rain washes your body away from these sheets

tomorrow i will hold onto the thought of you a little tighter
promise me youll do the same
i think thats the only chance we'll have
for a moment of peace
together in this distance

Friday, December 16, 2011

Day 878: haiku

damn, i hate haiku
they just never seem complete
i need more from you

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Day 877: home

i can hear you chest rising from the bottom bunk
the way the breathe breaks against the ceiling
it sounds like you are dreaming of something exciting
i hope you hold those kind of memories where no one can touch them
where no one would dare try
to tlel you
you're living it all wrong
to tell you we failed
we dont know nothing about getting it right
but this sure

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Day 876: returning

i've written too mnay poems called distance
too many called travel
too many for the wind beneath this two engine jet
too many leaving
too many returning
too much of me getting lost in transport

these are the parts of poems i dont like rewriting
because they remind me how little i've traveled in all this distance
how much further i still have to go
and how much uncertainty lies within the margins of what we call future

new york city is just 6 thousands miles and could be 9 months away
and im not sure im ready for another spurt of commitment needed for that kind of promise
who knows

not me
not anymore

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Day 875: Carmen

there's a cord caught in the throat of
my guitar
dont sing like it used too
strings shut with rust
i am afraid
to let her melody free
means to let myself open
sever the shackles
the promise i cannot make
to music
the time i never gave
to her
a kiss never left on the fret board
her body
has top many curves to follow
i waited
thinking love is something that happens when we are stagnant
but life
is what happens
when we are caught staring too closely into the kaleidoscope dangling from our knees
but love
like music
doesn’t bring itself alive
doesn’t sing itself into the clefs of our chest on its own
as much as we’d like to think
that waiting is an active pursuit of our tomorrow
theres no substitute
for holding her body
freeing the flakes of sleep from her lashes
and playing her
into the early hours of morning

Monday, December 12, 2011

Day 874: silent wonder

there is a moment before you wake
when you are rolling over into consciousness
rolling over into my arms
my lips
to be pressed against your temple
to be held against my chest
for my body to lift you into this morning
this perfect
this part of our forever
a future made a words that used to get stuck at the back of my throat
im wondering what is it about you that taught me to scrape away all the stickiness
to demolish what was built
and begin from the ground
to check my own roots
i am wondering
how it is i found your body moving under me
and mine
rising above
like an ocean we have never rolled through together
i wonder

as you are falling asleep
i am slinging fragments into my ceiling
hoping you might hear these line scratching away at the drywall
theres a story here for you
its something ive found under my skin
i wonder if you are listening
or if all you feel is the silence of our bodies breathing under seperate sheets

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Day 873: gone again

she left her toothbrush here
a perennial reminder of someone missing
mist left behind in the shape of the soles of her shoes
there is a indent left on the side of the bed where she slept
when i roll over
i can still feel the shape of her that she left
so many parts of her gone
and so many parts still here
taunting my body
making me believe
that if i turn around
it will be her hands upon my face
the back of my neck
the collar of my shirt
pulling me in
reminding me why i let the distance go crazy
why i refuse to let go even where separated by infinity
with something like a kiss
but far more miraculous

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Day 872:

you have found a way to fill this room with promise
just like you have covered every hreatbreak of mine with melody
there is nothing more i can say

Friday, December 9, 2011

Day 871: bucket list

THings i dream of doing with you...
(if you do not think this is a poem- then you dont understand love. not at all)

1. Have a Daughter
2. Visit Alaska and see the northern lights
3. See a baby humpback whale
4. White Christmas
5. Kitchen with island/bar
6. Watch the sunrise
7. Have a deck/poach with a view
8. Jacuzzi bathtub for two
9. Adopt and train a puppy
10. Get married in front of all of our family and friends
11. Watch a soccer match in brazil
12. Watch a rugby match in New Zealand (Canterbury or all blacks)
13. Watch a UNC duke game at UNC
14. Own a home
15. convince the rest of the Randolph’s to move to Hawaii
16. see sarra bareilles in concert
17. take you to a radio head concert
18. go to brazil to watch rugby in Olympics


Thursday, December 8, 2011

Day 870: Haiku: the breath i take as you walk away

when you raise your chest
i find myself gasping for
air, please do not go

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Day 869:

i write you in the dark
a silence
something to fall over my body
carry me into the morning
when the insomnia breaks
what will be left under its shell to find me

i am solid waste
learning what it means to decompose
how the stench of it leaves its blight
watch as the pieces fall away
only in darkness

i write you in the dark
i feel like too much is looking upon me for inspiration
or something tangible
and i have nothing but these pens
they scratch the surface of my skin
the center of the page
when the cut it deep enough to feel without eyes
with the lights off

i stop

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

DAy 868: child

the base of my belly
is barren
and will be
as long as i am loving you
if only i could find a way
to turn these promises into potential
into something that could breathe
and embrace you

Monday, December 5, 2011

Day 867:

sounds sleep
something to promise tomorrow with
i wake
wanting to forld you into my body
but your stillness keeps me humble
i breathe only when you let me
inhaling more than i can swallow

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Day 866: Iwalani of Minneapolis

i met a girl with oceans caught behind her eyes
waiting for someone who blood brown enough to tell here this unknowing is alright
to reach out a hand
a shoulder
a few poems
ones with mountains caught in their lines
and yet
all i could give you were these two arms
and a few promises about bridges our bodies can build
how our bones are meant to mend
i wanted to tell her
that history doesnt die unless we let it
that there are bodies full of water and ridges
ready to fall open at your request
all you need, beautiful is to find a part of your heart that isnt willing to open itself up
and listen

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Dauy 865:

where the sidewalk ends
where the body waits for love
every heart, balanced

Friday, December 2, 2011

Day 864:

love written into the margins
scribbled into the snow
i am watching it from a distance
where its often harder to feel
but i know you will be waiting
wherever i will be headed

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Day 863: to the women who love the poet in me (revisionX2)

(There'll be girls across the nation
That will eat this up babe
I know that it's your soul but could you bottle it up)

you will revel in the way I say your name
how the weight bounces off the concrete
you will wait for me to open your doors
to sing you to sleep
to fling songs into your body as your pulse under me
you will call it sexy
I, will not know any other way to keep myself from falling into you completely
I will keep singing

(I am aiming to be somebody this somebody trusts
With her delicate soul
I don't claim to know much)

you let your hand fall just a little farther from you body
begging me to hold you
and i will
i will kiss your cheek
your wrist
your lips
when i kiss your forehead
a part of me will jump through my body and take home in yours
you will not feel my entry
but i will feel my own absence
something about it will leave me feeling empty
so I will keep singing

(Only thing I ever could need, only one good thing
Worth trying to be)

you will watch me on tv
on youtube
on your phone
at a friends house
when I gain the confidence to walk across the room to introduce myself
and extend my hand
you will say you know me
I will be surprised and not understand what you mean
But excited at the possibility that maybe
You were that spirit I felt the night before
On stage
you will see me perfected
the parts of me i practice in front of mirrors
only what is left after iʻve been cut and edited
you will see me then
stripped of all my human
and you will want to be apart of the masterpiece
of the story
want me to be your introduction to women who dress and sing like me
want me to hold you
because my hands are softer than your boyfriends
and i know how to make your body move right
you will want me then
and i will let you
Take a piece of every poem
Call it your own
When you say
That every time I read a love poem that you wish it were about you
I will write you your own
You will be terrified and will not listen
Not hear the words
Just see my body moving on stage
Call it anything other than honest
You will be wrong
I will be hollow

when i fall in love
you will think you are lucky
that you have caught the uncatchable
That I have written my last love poem for the beautiful things I see
you will think you are special
that you can be the one to tie my hands behind my back
make me yours
you will only be partially wrong
you will think you love me because your heart drowns when you think of the tsunamis behind my voice
but you will not be ready to see me after the curtains close
when the imperfect parts find their way home
when i am not so memorized and refined
you will wonder why you came to me in the first place
you never wanted human
you wanted magic
the flashing lights
the stage presence
the tears iʻve shed on stage

you will call my vulnerability sexy
but only when you are drinking it from the other end of my microphone
you will not want to stay and listen through the night
not know why i need to be told
what your love means
you will not understand when i need you to count the ways
over and over
until its etched into the center of my chest
how I will ask you again before you are finished
you will not know how I wait for you to reach our your hand a little further from your body
how i will need to held every once and a while
need someone imperfect to call me beautiful
to see me
in all the worst lights
when the words don’t come out right
and nothing rhymes
and my hands are too heavy
and you are not rising under me

I will need you to try
To look into
my ugly
my insecure
my love
my human
and maybe
and maybe
And maybe
still want
to stay the night