The Girl and the Bird

Bird, so free

  of a perfect afternoon spring, 

linking time even through modernity.  

  

A phantom face, wrapped my exchange 

and put my body to sleep, 

  deeply reminiscing.  

Lips to mine, eyes half between now, 

  feel the arms 

  sliding to pull my skin-

  there was nothing there of course.  

  The Birds are bright lately, even exuberant through the night.  

  

  I had always missed him.  like the purple of a sunset cast; like the arriving too late on that hill, knowing he left

 the mornings and the birds 

  have since, tweeted that essence 

had, reminded me of my own love, 

  against his shadow light

and the sun, became a representation 

of my uncondition for this man.  

I see love in everything now...

perhaps because 

  he was never caught?

Perhaps because, when I look up at the sky, 

I know he is still out there, 

proving that love caries the distance of the sky and life

and well into death.  

My bird may not have the capacity to love.  

Can he, it shall not minutely compare to the capacity invested in me…

  neither had it stopped me from giving up my whole soul though

  to the perfect stranger 

of perfect nihilism 

  that bore a rebirth 

no better than my death…

yet.. 

my love  to him remains as innocent as nature itself- 

 perfectly unfair and unhinged, and yet graced with a humble divinity only The Creator can claim invention on.  

I am innocent because loving you, makes me so.  

perhaps, closer up, my love might change, might not remain so innocent, 

  seeing as how, dear mockingbird, 

you do not play so well; 

but I iterate, that it is the soul’s fire, caught wind by you- some unbelievably intrinsic force that I think snagged us both, but a storm had carried you off.  

  .so brief.  

paused   then 

  

  

  for all of eternity... 

Just realized.  

                              Checkmate.  

Clever, was I caught by it all.  

the fight, the flight

 and now, 

recovery.  

all while,  though, 

eternity 

      has    paused    

An Untamed Storm

  Not a day goes by

     in the ruthless passing of gestations, 

That I don’t think of you, come and gone, 

weightless in touch.  

  I long for the pull of your fervor, as though it were the trace of your sound.  The imprints left on me when you’d speak- precisely

  a hypnotization of the spirit and 

  my soul.  

    You were dark, and I waned to it all- risking what little there was left of me.  

Instead, a fire was awoke-

  left somber 

in the choke of your ash;  

cashed and put out before I had arrived.  

  But it is your lips, 

phantom, forlorn 

  because they are a ghost, 

that wakes my days, 

  and soothes my nights.  

The promise of your kiss, is felt against my lips, and hips, as I feel you 

  all over me, 

in the bedtime air, 

of nothing there.  

Unfair I hear the whispers of things 

  the trees and the airs on night’s tickled postures…

  dancing, crying, weavy; chaotic, buoyant, bright…

  The insights settle 

  the phantoms, 

  

  But Love, 

is a Beast

  all it’s own.  

an allure 

  of a beast, 

and unsettling notions.  

  The years set into me.  

I took 

  your hand.  

   My belly grew big, and our child would be to finally take it’s place 

  after so many years of squandered love and loss-  

  meaning always to be the precise reason, you ever came in, and I ever loved you.  

  But it is a phantom until your awaited return. 

The child will always be yours, 

  as will my heart ever remain loyal, through life or death, 

  to the jar, 

you and I 

  never broke into.  

My Stomach is flat with youth.  

  My heart somber from age, yet as ruthless as the passing of all things and all time- 

She is an untamed storm, 

  that soothes only to mysterious phenomenons, 

  and you, were my most mysterious of all.  

In my belly, awaits our love.

  But you must return to me.  

we must embrace.  

  You must let me love you.  

and you must, 

  Love me back, with everything you have.  

and only then, 

  can you and I escape all our have not’s; 

and have the beautiful family that we both never had.  

  A family we both deserve; 

a family we both want-

   A child made from the ashes and rebirth of our Love.  

  It was always you.  

Yet my Stomach is flat with youth.  

The Depth of Dante's Inferno

So used to being unloved, I felt really stupid when I let you hurt me.  

  I wish you never said things like "I love you".   It seemed hardly fair, considering their is another woman in your bed.  

I was so angry for letting the alcohol consume us like demons.  I didn't want to get that close to you, without being more careful.  Some other force whirl-winded over us that night, and I slipped into regret every passing moment that I felt abandoned by you.  I didn't need you to lie to me...nor even love me. I needed a friend to look after me, and be honest.  

  Your version of honesty was doublespeak. Saying things you never followed through on, and I am aware I should have seen the signs.  

  you were unlike anyone I had ever met.  A true internal wreck, and in the oddest way, like a perfect mirror of myself.  I didn't need you to love me, I needed you to communicate.  

I gave up a lot for you.  For that one stupid night, and all the emotions and torment that followed.  Having sex with you opened a Pandora's box, I had closed, so so afraid to get hurt again- 

  To have my heart touched before it was torched.  

And sure enough, 

  You searched for love elsewhere.  

Never followed up on us, 

  Or our "friendship".  

Loving you wasn't consuming- it was risky.  

  It wasn't my everything, rather an injection of toxins my body needed to do without.  

I wish you would have told me.  

  But if you did, it just crossed my signals more. 

Nothing was tangible, only masked.  

 And yea-

You threw me away.  

  That's what hurt.  

What seems to have scarred me.  

So go ahead, and go to church with her.  

  It's not like I meant anything, 

Ever, 

  To you.  

For a good man, 

You really hurt my heart.  

  And if it wasn't for that one night...

I might have kept clear of all of this.  

 But we failed each other,

 Didn't we?  

Or you failed me, 

  While I failed myself.  

Before all that, 

  I had kept you at the proper distance- one that felt safe for me.  

After, I was wrecked, and you slipped away, but not after " I love you's" and "there's no going back"....not after you said all the wrong things to confuse an already emotional trial.  

  

  No goodbye.  

No honesty.  Nothing of significance bared.  

You just moved on, 

  And stopped communicating 

With someone you called a friend and said you were grateful for.  

  Of course I felt used, 

While you never even gave me a hand to hold 

  While I was drowning because of what we'd done.  

Your hand was distant and vague...

  And now I see, 

your words empty.  

Even if in the moment, 

  

  You meant everything you said.  

Being hurt by the others, that was expected.  

  

But somehow what transpired between us, 

  Hurt and wounded me all over again.  

That's because I WAS your friend.  I needed more, I expected more..

And the truth that seems most prevailing is that you were never mine.  

So yea...go to church with her.  

  Enjoy the depth of her eyes, and everything she gives you.  

Congratulations.  

I want to be happy for you.  

But you really did leave me hanging, 

Without any concern for me now.  

Real friends, 

Dont do that.  

What hurt is finding out, 

That we are not friends.  

Because that left me merely, 

 Feeling used.  

What hurt was thinking we were better than that; and that you were.  

What's hurts is being so right 

And so wrong about you.  

I knew, 

That I should have known.  

I don't know if you remember, but you told me that you really just wanted to focus on love, on giving love, and on connecting with others in this capacity.  

So...what happened to mine? 

If that was even remotely true, why have you not reached out to me once?

What happened to everything you said? 

  I guess it's just easier to love a wildflower, 

Rather than a Lotus, masked in a graveyard of swamp. 

She is your wildflower.  

I was always just a throw-away between us.  

You said I meant something to you.  

But there is noting tangible left to signify any depth of truth to that.  

Just silence.  

Just loss.

Just bare.  

While you have been fulfilled, 

People who have used me up, 

Just constantly sucking out my air.  

I needed you to be different.  Instead you reminded me, that I was not worth loving.  

Different Eyes

Picked apart at every seem,
  the past is on a timeline on repeat.

I dodge it, assimilating the new encounters that churn my curiosity....

  A failing satisfaction
and a constant shaking loose of everything I believe I know.

  For instance, I would assume that Love is not abundant in this world, that we all might need more..
but the outsiders in this world seem to be just as stimulated by distractions;

some of them illusions, some of them, mere bouts of attention grabs,
  one after the other, and then to the next.

Short attention spans, keep them half fulfilled,
while I have been gasping and barely undrowned.

   I loved, and now I keep my mouth mostly shut,
As I seem to never carry their attention long enough.

  Rather than communicating,
They had cut me loose rather quickly,

As uncherished as any stray dog,
  Saved and cut loose again.

  The past tells me a different story.
A story that reminds me,
  That I can not compete, so ancient and modern,

Against the shallow lure and glam and simplicity of the offered up.

To each of them,
  I was always "too" something.

Too sad
  Too sick
Too much to blame
  Too deep
Too loving
  Too much.

Too passionate about uncomfortable subjects.
  Too messy
Too behind
  Too ahead

So no...
  I do not know how to be loved.

I love well.  Love hard.
  And that is like having a different kind of blood course through my veins.

In his air however,
  A California graveyard...
I find nothing I need but some deep reservation in my own soul
  Tapped into upon threat only of souly death.

I chose not to die.
  But I awalk a life here that deprives me of the breath I was born to need.

  God took my only Angel, as will be taken others.
  So I pray now,

On my knees

For peace.  Unsure if happiness is beyond me?
  Beyond any wounded and tossed away.

If feeling unloved and untouched can be the kiss of death for an infant,
  How do we survive, those like me?

How does any starved force, keep living?

  I wonder these things when man chooses himself.
This is why I was afraid to love him.

And why I'm afraid to even have an opinion on you.
  Denying my undercoat,
I keep my head down, while you glimpse me.

  I don't want to do this again.
I already know I like you,

  But it always seems like it's their choice, and never mine.

You seem aware of your worth.  Confident.
  Even too much like a man.

How can I compete being so used to being tossed away.
 Loving you will hurt me..

And I think we both know it.

The Cut

my heart has gone dark, 

  catching peripherals of color, content, 

drowning in meaning, 

  Passion, a deep end.  

  

It is easy to feel justified, 

  but I rage against the world, 

 because who would I be, 

if I did not? 

  Death, sunken in

to my life-beating heart, 

tears glassing over 

 dismays lodged long ago

wine glazing sour hearts, 

gone tender to the beaten touch, 

  of death, and destruction, 

and violence.  

  Innocence murdered as refuge of void- 

the grasp for power, and the cowardice of running from God. 

as Satan promises an empty Kingdom, 

  and normally nothing more,  

In all the times I danced, 

  I was thrown away.  

As if competing for my own humanity..

  I never made the cut.  

Purgatory

Silent ghost, 

  morbid greys, 

  morbid greys

  in between.  

Lost my humanity

  to identity’s illusion, 

sectored, 

  like a life trapped and fighting it’s way out 

of sharp chasms.  

 Failed, as any man, may the only thing that be reconciled is my own conscious. 

Ravaged, though, 

as good as any broken woman, 

How good can that be? 

  What good is good anyhow? 

  The world reminds us everyday, 

that we are broken.  

Can your mind erase the subliminals?