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

quiet cave

i want to fill these walls with smoke and suffocate this heart-
leave the mess for someone else with some strength-
it could even be me, on another day.
but today, this body is merely a cave.
hollow and uncertain
claiming no treasure or beauty.
just a place for echoes and other methods of repetition.
careless with sharp edges and tired eyes.
useless,
save for some torturous methods of love
or limp, cold embraces.
and so visitors grow listless,
pace the contained border,
and quickly depart.
no flashes of eager bulbs
or curiosity of its intricacies
and flawed character.
just a nod of the head at the exit,
as though to mentally cross off another
duty from a list of chores.
excitement seems to be kept for the polished,
the new,
the complacent.
so, it will encase this breath
and attempt to survive the lonely tremors.

intro

You can’t underestimate the intuition of a child. You just can’t. I mean, sure… you CAN. But you shouldn’t. Its one of the most crucial mistakes people can make. These children- these little freshly-exposed , emotionally uncensored creatures- are telling you how it is all the time. Whether your pompous ears are capable of receiving that message or not is entirely up to you. That’s is precisely why, when I stood in the bedroom of my eventual step-sisters (and destined ex-step-sisters) during our introductory playtime and stated ,

“you know, my dad’s going to cheat on your mother,“

the comment was quickly reported to their mother. She and my father, in turn, gathered all of us together in the living room to address the comment. They wanted to reassure her upset, naïve children; and to keep his children from spoiling the fresh affair. What they received in response was a few pair of rolling eyes, while the other sets of eyes twinkled with some foreign, dreamy hope of fairytale-endings. Needless to say, those twinkling eyes weren’t originating in any of the young girls with my father’s blood. I’m not sure if it was a lack of romantic comedies in my childhood, or if it was the fact that my mother and father had shared 6 divorces between themselves by the time this discussion occurred, but I had no interest in humoring another “uniting of hearts” or bullshit matrimony. While it would be grand and so precious if I was proven wrong, I was most definitely dead on. Hearts and families were swollen with emotion and broken. Foretold by a young girl not yet heartbroken or bitter from her own experiences, though I’d find my way there soon enough… with very little training needed.

foreign objects

I’ve considered

Gutting myself.

Replacing each and every

Pink, smooth, functional part

With tired gears,

Chicken wires

And rusted strainers.

Eliminating some of the pressure

Of my misguided intuition.

Because this world has become a difficult thing to read-

No longer bound with familiar materials

Or printed in texts I’ve been

Trained to understand.

It’s unfortunate that my arms are so tired,

Because I know if I laced my fingers around all of

Your necks,

Your calm, sleeping faces

Would soothe me.

Let me breath a little deeper

And walk with a little less caution.

Novembersixteenthtwothousandandeight

sinking stone

it was getting more and more difficult

to rest my eyes

as each minute hid...

my heart still pounding : :: : :: : ::

after countless attempts of

grabbing for you

and returning with hands

full of this quiet room's

stale air.

and so, i call my cat over,

patting my stomach-

imagining i'm floating in a river

and the weight of her soft body

could sink me,

leaving me appropriately in solitude

with pebbles and curious fish.

but when i open my eyes,

she reaches out

and rests her paw on my mouth,

shaking her head-

reminding me that i signed up for this.

junetwelfthtwothousandandnine