He said I’m his best friend. And wonderful. And he loves me so much. That he doesn’t love me any less and he misses me. He said he always wants to talk to me and he always wants to hang out with me. He said I’m a huge part of who he’s become. He said that I’m beautiful inside and out. He liked my awful shaggy hair. He makes me feel beautiful no matter what. We were crying and held each other and he was still able to make me laugh, despite everything.
Push and pull
Out of control
Well let’s go since you seem to know
Between the click of the light and the start of the dream
When it ends,
Before it ends,
Will you keep me here in your mind
(Hidden away in the pocket of a daydream)
How much is too much to ask of you
I was hoping we could talk it through
Before you’re gone with the morning
Not sure I need to mention it but just to be safe: line five is from the Arcade Fire song No Cars Go, which is sort of what propelled this poem.
There was a Young Boy whose grin,
Reached up passed his nose and his chin;
A dog saw it spark,
And yelped with a bark:
“Help! He’s drank all the gin!”
Hello. It’s been awhile.
I used to cry over the lines
At my ability to draw outside them.
Whether it was pen,
My concentration would slip
And imperfection would strike again.
So why, after all that,
Do I find myself stuck
Wanting nothing more than to escape
Those lines I tried so hard not to break
What if in the end
They cut us down,
And all that’s found is the rings.
The circles presenting our being
Our our repetition.
The only thing left of our potential
Rotting there in the ground.
By the end of Sisyphus Part 4 I didn’t know who I was anymore
Ageless and nameless I melt in the rain
You’re doubting me, timing me,
Daring me to get up again
And is it any wonder when I do?
Do these failings still come as a surprise to you?
In a minute I’m busy.
Some thoughts they surround me
I’m barreling through the rain:
Waiting to be caught.
Wilting under and then growing into the pain
I’m finding you;
I’ll be home soon.
Look for me sighing,
Somewhere under the moon
I think of things that scare me
Sometimes in the dark of night
A scratching at the window
Is all it takes to switch on the light.
I creep around, keeping watch,
Making sure every bolt is safely locked.
I know it’s a silly notion,
Living on the third floor,
Sometimes still I imagine a shape,
Silhouetted beyond the balcony door.
Never know who I’m going to lose
Waste of space
Time and place
Dusty orange sunsets accent outer space
Matter of time
Lose my rhyme
And I can’t find the reason, anymore.
In the quiet
No one watches
No one judges
No one holds expectations
For a moment I don’t exist
And I’m grateful for the dark
Posting schedule? What posting schedule?
Oh my gosh I’ve been so inconsistent this summer. I blame the awful heat. Since school has started back up I should be back on track posting-wise though!
Who can see me through this guise,
My poorly hidden pantomimes.
I’m looking at my overbite,
My worry lines, unsightly eyes.
And once I’ve beaten all the drums,
The meter’s set, my day is done,
They’ve taken off all at a run
And I’ll be here left in disquiet