I’ve got a feeling you know
How
To move me.
Into a place,
A moment,
A memory.
One I will look back on
Fondly,
Softly.
Within the full breadth of time,
I will love you,
I will love you,
I will love you.
Tag: change
Diluted and Somber
I've tried to make families from dozens of friends
But they never seem to stick through the end
Destructive decisions, shorter conversations.
With all of these failures I shouldn't pretend
That I've got such a lot
Of time.
And if there is something missing from me
Getting by from the skin of my teeth
If you don't want me around here that's fine
It's starting to get easier
Most of the time.
My brain likes to lie to me
Saying they've all abandoned me
And every Nana Grizol song still makes me cry
I'm trying to heal
And I never had an adolescence
Worth talking
About.
And that makes me bitter
And that makes me scared
I'm worried that somehow it's made me impaired.
Turn me into a melody
Someone worth singing about
Pull me from this waking dream
Tell me how to symbolize, to categorize all of my thoughts into digestible chunks for everyone
to see,
to look at,
to measure.
My confidence was lost when I didn't have a tether.
Run-on sentences
Angry over grievances
Too tired to care.
I've run miles in words
But they're never good enough.
I can never get my point across and,
Simplification lacks luster.
Welcome to the end of my rope for the day.
Where body-heat has cooled to a contemplative dew.
I've never been the type to run quiet with rage
Though sometimes the silence speaks louder.
An End to The Means
I apologize in advance for the mess you’re about to read, I just watched a movie where the dialogue/thought processes of the characters were similar to this, a sort of ongoing never-ending cacophony of words. Sort of dreamlike where you start somewhere without knowing how, and end up somewhere else without trying to.
So afterwards my thoughts were following a similar pattern and that’s kind of how I’d like you to read it. (Or not that’s totally up to you)
I was going to post it without any kind of explanation, but I wanted you to know what you were getting into. A true word-vomit of a pseudo-intellectual run-on sentence fueled by memories and fears and whatever else was going on when I blacked out and wrote this.
Enjoy. (You probably won’t I don’t think any of this will relate to anyone except me lol)
Where do you stop and where do you end and how does anything even begin if you’re waiting waiting waiting
I come to the conclusion that this was all madness and a mistake and we got to but that was your ending not mine you act like you have a right to choose when I had no say in the matter it’s a choose your own adventure which should be something mutual you decide hey let’s go to page eleven not I’ve read ahead and this is where it’s supposed to end-this is where we go and drag me along to whatever future therapist appointment you put me through and there again I see a face your face in everything and everyone and I need to live in the present but what is the present anyway standing half naked in the bathroom fallacies running running in a head that’s turning towards nothing but guesses and wishes and fears
Suddenly the kitten is the cat and the child is the woman and oh she has so much to bear how can she know it all now when she has an encyclopedia written in Spanish French Japanese and she never took her studies seriously so what’s to learn where to go
A poet and that’s all a lover and that’s all a person and that’s all nothing more just friends just hiding behind things no one wants to say or feel or judge to be true if there’s anything to judge at all I would blame you for lying and what is that anyway but a sorry excuse to be blameless when no one can be
You put on a sweater and tell me run on poetry is meaningless coming from a mind half jumbled with numb thoughts of disaster of hope of certainty dashed by someone else’s fears delusions surviving on conditional love a tired old speech falling on tired old ears that never listened when they could deny deny deny any attachment any abandonment any admissions at all
Lying for the sake of it a mother ambassador cell warden general hopped up on concern dished out in quiet mumblings a beseeching of truths too dishonest to matter a frog in hot water doesn’t realize the lies its mother tells until they become its own
A speech from lips shadowed by another’s and who could go on anyway scrounging after love after acceptance after peace after misery after missing love connection home it’s winter and there’s no one to come home to
Not the right kind not the permanent kind always fluctuating nebulous none committal cyclical hypocrisy But that’s just it then toothpaste on the counter never a lover chirping to the sound of diligent waves and a love without conditions was too foreign to calm could not be enough
Figure it out a purring sense of broken edges bent into places you never said you’d take me
The trance is gone.
Possibly Everything
Cleaning up corpses on the freeway,
Bloody spatter for miss November.
Moving on from Hollywood.
We’ve missed November, I’ll start when it’s over
And over it’s been in my mind again.
So it goes, lost in the wind.
Circling back, dropping the pin,
In a room too full to notice it’s ran out of gin.
Startled into recompense;
Turning it over til it all makes sense.
November was missed and I’ll start again,
Buckling under the rain.
So it goes, running thin.
You’ve grown too fat, you’ve gotten too short, the mind scolds the broken heart.
She’s working around it but nobody notices the note left out in the bin.
So it goes,
Missing November,
She found it hard to remember,
Her way back into life again.
So it goes.
Don’t stop me.
This one was kind of a mish-mash of ideas on my drive home late at night, hence the sort of jarringly different stanzas as the tone of it changed once I got home to work on it.
I tried adding little transitions between stanzas as a way to make it flow a little better. Not sure how well it worked but I liked it enough to publish it, so.
Thank you for reading!
-T.D.P.
Tryhard
Sometimes I convince myself that my teeth could bite through metal
That the razor edges would do nothing to the soft parts of my mouth
That I wouldn’t bleed
Sometimes I think that I could crush glass between my fingers
That the glazed sand would find no purchase on my soft tissue
That I wouldn’t tear
Sometimes I imagine that if you were here I would be able to stand it
That the sound of your voice would be nothing but a residual melody in my mind. Your face an inkblot.
That I wouldn’t crumble.
But I know, I know, I know.
The moments tick by and I know.
I bleed, I tear, I crumble.
I am no match for the dreams that play in my head
Unintended Consequences
Push and pull
Out of control
Well let’s go since you seem to know
The way.
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
For awhile?
(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.
Talking to Myself
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
Metanoia
My mind speaks volumes
I won’t say a word
(Mama said she’d buy me a mockingbird)
Indentured to sickness
She won’t stand a chance
Bejeweled wings flutter a commonplace dance
(If that mockingbird don’t sing)
A value of equal to or less in stature than
Some thing left to squaller
I’ve muddled it, and,
(Mama said she’d buy me a diamond ring)
For too late I find, I’ve lost peace of mind,
And those thoughts are loud enough to ponder.
Rules Beset
Inspiration on thin ice
Those melodies don’t play nice
When you’re underground
Hairlines gathering dust
They concede that you must comply,
For at least what’s under my
Jurisdiction
Soft Green
Enchanted and allured by you,
Your presence changes every tune
I still remember that sweet afternoon,
When everything grew over summer
Woolgathering 