lackluster

walking home from work today in the rain, and turned to find a rainbow behind me. not a glimpse of a rainbow. not a rainbow far off in the distance. the rainbow was splaying itself from horizon to horizon, and was so near that the starting end was in front of a set of trees across the street from the property.

i couldn't help the instinctual reaction in my mind: i wanted to follow it. it was so close. the end of the rainbow is bound to have something beautiful at the end of it... it's kindof nature's neon flashing arrow pointing to something that needs to be revealed... something of importance.

for about ten seconds i contemplated this, before recalling how tired my feet were, and how badly i was hoping to get out of the rain.

this is what i dreaded about adulthood.

soiled

dirt has found its way
into the creases of my skin.
it doesn't seem to matter
how much i scour the surface
or treat them tenderly,
my hands have aged one hundred years-
losing their agility,
their softness,
and their purpose.

they're filthy and forlorn,
bruises coloring my palms-
forcing my fingers into fists
to keep from reaching out for you.
and i've buried my heart
deep into the soil
so the pleading is muffled,
and it can sleep where it remembers you best.

film reel

Something in my chest seems to be breaking
As though its foreshadowing misfortune.
But there’s a bit of optimism
Pumping through my veins,
And my weak little heart is refusing to home
The size and strength of a tragedy.
I’d rather shrug it off as desire
And lie in bed for a few more hours,
Blankets over my head
Recreating scenes with your hands
And my body.
Your skin and my hungry lips.
I spend my days and nights here,
Collecting hopes and projecting my mind’s film reel
On the back of my eyelids.
Seems to be
The only place
I can rest assured.

Marchtwentyeighthtwothousandandeleven