Monday, June 21, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Just a show
I'm sorry I resorted to such games. You liked me better when I showed little interest. So that's what I did. Only this time, it was just a show...
Are you sick? Do you really prefer what you can't have? Am I really different when you can't have me? Does it make you mad that I "forgot" about you? Mad enough to make you want me? Have I confused you like you confused me? Have I?
The truth is, I think you're a masochist. I think you desire what cannot be, because what cannot be cannot hurt you. Because you're prepared for the end to come before the beginning has a chance.
As for me, I'm already starting to hurt.
Thinking about you has been killing me. Don't you know, I NEED to forget? I can't let myself fall for someone who doesn't want me. I can't do it. This needs to stop...
And you need to let yourself fall, because I won't fall alone.
Together, we can jump.
Are you sick? Do you really prefer what you can't have? Am I really different when you can't have me? Does it make you mad that I "forgot" about you? Mad enough to make you want me? Have I confused you like you confused me? Have I?
The truth is, I think you're a masochist. I think you desire what cannot be, because what cannot be cannot hurt you. Because you're prepared for the end to come before the beginning has a chance.
As for me, I'm already starting to hurt.
Thinking about you has been killing me. Don't you know, I NEED to forget? I can't let myself fall for someone who doesn't want me. I can't do it. This needs to stop...
And you need to let yourself fall, because I won't fall alone.
Together, we can jump.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Your Name
I want to write your name. I want to write your name a thousand times on the pages of a notebook, sometimes in block letters, sometimes in [my attempt at] elegant script, sometimes in chicken scratch, sometimes transliterated into Arabic, sometimes Pig Latin.
It wouldn't matter really, how I'd write it, as long as it flowed effortlessly from pen to paper as though my hand owned it. As though your name belonged to my fingers. Fingers to body. Body to me.
I want to write your name but I will refrain, so if you Google yourself-- which someone with an ego your size would do-- you won't find this (though I secretly want you to).
I want to write your name but I will not write it here and I will not write it anywhere.
I want to own your name but I will not own it now and I will not own it ever.
----
It started in your arms. A cliche, at best, but what can I say? I felt safe. I felt as though we needed one another. When you held me, I felt you becoming stronger as you made me stronger. I felt as though we could be a team and laugh at the world together. I would never have initiated the kiss or taken it further if you hadn't sent me such glaring signals. Only now, the signals have changed and the green light's turned yellow.
Why?
---
Why did I fall for you right in time for your to change your mind?
---
I believe you're torn. You do not text someone randomly, "You looked pretty today," if you're completely ambivalent. Nor do you flirt shamelessly. Nor do you inquire on more than one occasion if something you've done has caused you to "lose points." Nor do you text said individual regularly until she agrees to hang out. Nor do you say and do a billion trillion other things that you've said, done and been doing since I've known you.
---
Sometimes I believe I'm too good for you, but mostly, I just believe we would be good for each other.
How long will it take you to realize? How long will it take you to let go of your fears and reservations? Will it be too late?
Tell me, won't you write my name?
It wouldn't matter really, how I'd write it, as long as it flowed effortlessly from pen to paper as though my hand owned it. As though your name belonged to my fingers. Fingers to body. Body to me.
I want to write your name but I will refrain, so if you Google yourself-- which someone with an ego your size would do-- you won't find this (though I secretly want you to).
I want to write your name but I will not write it here and I will not write it anywhere.
I want to own your name but I will not own it now and I will not own it ever.
----
It started in your arms. A cliche, at best, but what can I say? I felt safe. I felt as though we needed one another. When you held me, I felt you becoming stronger as you made me stronger. I felt as though we could be a team and laugh at the world together. I would never have initiated the kiss or taken it further if you hadn't sent me such glaring signals. Only now, the signals have changed and the green light's turned yellow.
Why?
---
Why did I fall for you right in time for your to change your mind?
---
I believe you're torn. You do not text someone randomly, "You looked pretty today," if you're completely ambivalent. Nor do you flirt shamelessly. Nor do you inquire on more than one occasion if something you've done has caused you to "lose points." Nor do you text said individual regularly until she agrees to hang out. Nor do you say and do a billion trillion other things that you've said, done and been doing since I've known you.
---
Sometimes I believe I'm too good for you, but mostly, I just believe we would be good for each other.
How long will it take you to realize? How long will it take you to let go of your fears and reservations? Will it be too late?
Tell me, won't you write my name?
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Eyelash Armor
I count my eye lashes every night and morning
to ensure they're all still there.
Google claims I'll lose three to five a day,
but I've got none to spare.
They will not succumb to nature.
I will not permit it.
Every day I take a tally,
stroking every trifling fiber
of every soft black strand.
I'm not used to losing things,
and I refuse to lose
my eyelash armor,
when I'm already losing you.
And as my pinkies graze
the shields around my eyes,
I am comforted.
I am indestructible.
They will not
tear off
wear out
fly
flee
float
bolt
die--
I will not allow it.
Every day I count my eye lashes
to be certain
they've not got away.
I hold my breath and only hope
for 200 goodbyes I'll never need to say.
Every day I count my eye lashes
I shake in fear
'cause I see ghosts around my eyes.
to ensure they're all still there.
Google claims I'll lose three to five a day,
but I've got none to spare.
They will not succumb to nature.
I will not permit it.
Every day I take a tally,
stroking every trifling fiber
of every soft black strand.
I'm not used to losing things,
and I refuse to lose
my eyelash armor,
when I'm already losing you.
And as my pinkies graze
the shields around my eyes,
I am comforted.
I am indestructible.
They will not
tear off
wear out
fly
flee
float
bolt
die--
I will not allow it.
Every day I count my eye lashes
to be certain
they've not got away.
I hold my breath and only hope
for 200 goodbyes I'll never need to say.
Every day I count my eye lashes
I shake in fear
'cause I see ghosts around my eyes.
Monday, June 7, 2010
wheels, take 2....and 3.
Another 2 versions- still don't know which is better:
it is 10 p.m.,
and the car-less road invites me
to become a vehicle
and to teach my feet to spin.
i will walk here for some time,
dodging thoughts
and shifting gears
until i tire.
but roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and how long might feet rotate, anyway?
wheels, i know they'll come
eventually,
and my feet won't stand a chance.
and my ankles turn to antifreeze,
as my motor calmly hums
a lullaby my mom would once recite:
"goodnight, sleep tight," it murmurs.
"don't let the bedbugs bite."
"do everything that's right,"
the motor moans, and,
"pleasant dreams," it sighs.
but pleasant dreams run silent
as i tie the tongues of thought,
and succumb to the night sky.
and i am tempted
to park myself right here
sprawl on asphalt
and lose myself in stars--
or headlights?
the wheels are coming,
and i am not afraid.
no, i am not afraid of broken glass,
just that it will shatter without sound.
no, i am unafraid of skid marks,
i am content lazing on the ground.
the wheels are coming.
my feet cannot compete,
and do not want to.
the wheels are coming,
let them come.
i simply do not feel like going.
for the sky is glowing, the air is clear.
let them come,
'cause on a night as fair as this,
i haven't any fear.
that is why
empty roads are deadly,
more deadly than a cairo highway.
that is why
we will end up in a junkyard,
or, possibly a graveyard.
because roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and i know wheels will come eventually.
-------------------------------------
it is 10 p.m.,
and the car-less road invites me
to become a vehicle
and to teach my feet to spin.
i will walk here for some time,
dodging thoughts
and shifting gears
until i tire.
but roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and how long might feet rotate, anyway?
wheels, i know they'll come
eventually,
and my feet won't stand a chance.
my ankles turn to antifreeze
and my motor calmly hums
a lullaby my mom would once recite:
"goodnight, sleep tight," it murmurs.
"don't let the bedbugs bite."
the time is now
the motor says
to fade out of commission
but i only long for a collision
so from a croon
i might explode
into a ballad.
"do everything that's right,"
the motor purrs, and,
"pleasant dreams," it moans.
but pleasant dreams run silent
as i tie the tongues of nightmares,
and flesh begs to be bone.
and i am tempted
to park myself right here
sprawl on asphalt
and lose myself in stars
or headlights?
the wheels are coming
and i am not afraid
no, i am not afraid of broken glass,
just that it will shatter without sound.
no, i am unafraid of skid marks,
i am content lazing on the ground.
the wheels are coming.
my feet cannot compete,
and do not want to.
the wheels are coming,
let them come.
i simply do not feel like going.
for the sky is glowing, the air is clear.
let them come,
'cause on a night as fair as this,
i haven't any fear.
that is why
empty roads are deadly
more deadly than a cairo highway
that is why
we will end up in a junkyard
or, possibly a graveyard
because roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and i know wheels will come eventually.
it is 10 p.m.,
and the car-less road invites me
to become a vehicle
and to teach my feet to spin.
i will walk here for some time,
dodging thoughts
and shifting gears
until i tire.
but roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and how long might feet rotate, anyway?
wheels, i know they'll come
eventually,
and my feet won't stand a chance.
and my ankles turn to antifreeze,
as my motor calmly hums
a lullaby my mom would once recite:
"goodnight, sleep tight," it murmurs.
"don't let the bedbugs bite."
"do everything that's right,"
the motor moans, and,
"pleasant dreams," it sighs.
but pleasant dreams run silent
as i tie the tongues of thought,
and succumb to the night sky.
and i am tempted
to park myself right here
sprawl on asphalt
and lose myself in stars--
or headlights?
the wheels are coming,
and i am not afraid.
no, i am not afraid of broken glass,
just that it will shatter without sound.
no, i am unafraid of skid marks,
i am content lazing on the ground.
the wheels are coming.
my feet cannot compete,
and do not want to.
the wheels are coming,
let them come.
i simply do not feel like going.
for the sky is glowing, the air is clear.
let them come,
'cause on a night as fair as this,
i haven't any fear.
that is why
empty roads are deadly,
more deadly than a cairo highway.
that is why
we will end up in a junkyard,
or, possibly a graveyard.
because roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and i know wheels will come eventually.
-------------------------------------
it is 10 p.m.,
and the car-less road invites me
to become a vehicle
and to teach my feet to spin.
i will walk here for some time,
dodging thoughts
and shifting gears
until i tire.
but roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and how long might feet rotate, anyway?
wheels, i know they'll come
eventually,
and my feet won't stand a chance.
my ankles turn to antifreeze
and my motor calmly hums
a lullaby my mom would once recite:
"goodnight, sleep tight," it murmurs.
"don't let the bedbugs bite."
the time is now
the motor says
to fade out of commission
but i only long for a collision
so from a croon
i might explode
into a ballad.
"do everything that's right,"
the motor purrs, and,
"pleasant dreams," it moans.
but pleasant dreams run silent
as i tie the tongues of nightmares,
and flesh begs to be bone.
and i am tempted
to park myself right here
sprawl on asphalt
and lose myself in stars
or headlights?
the wheels are coming
and i am not afraid
no, i am not afraid of broken glass,
just that it will shatter without sound.
no, i am unafraid of skid marks,
i am content lazing on the ground.
the wheels are coming.
my feet cannot compete,
and do not want to.
the wheels are coming,
let them come.
i simply do not feel like going.
for the sky is glowing, the air is clear.
let them come,
'cause on a night as fair as this,
i haven't any fear.
that is why
empty roads are deadly
more deadly than a cairo highway
that is why
we will end up in a junkyard
or, possibly a graveyard
because roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and i know wheels will come eventually.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
wheels
it is 10 p.m.,
and the car-less road invites me
to become a vehicle
and to teach my feet to spin.
i will walk here for some time,
dodging thoughts
and shifting gears
until i tire.
but roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and how long might feet rotate, anyway?
wheels, i know they'll come
eventually,
and my feet won't stand a chance.
my ankles turn to antifreeze
and my motor calmly hums
a lullaby my mom would once recite:
"goodnight, sleep tight," it murmurs.
"don't let the bedbugs bite."
on i spin
and on it sings
though we're losing steam
we joyride into traffic
to end where we begin
the time is now
the motor says
to fade out of commission
but i only long for a collision
so from a croon
i might explode
into a ballad.
"do everything that's right,"
the motor purrs.
"pleasant dreams
pleasant dreams
pleasant dreams."
there is no fear,
just desire:
a vision of skid marks,
and broken glass,
that shatters soundlessly,
somehow.
it is a dream of dreams
where pleasant dreams run silent
and even nightmares' tongues are tied
the windshield wipers whisper
as they move,
but they are the only things that move now,
and the only things that speak.
i am tempted
to park myself right here
sprawl on asphalt
and lose myself in stars
or headlights?
that is why
empty roads are deadly
more deadly than a cairo highway
that is why
we will end up in a junkyard
though i expect a graveyard
because roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and i know wheels will come eventually.
and the car-less road invites me
to become a vehicle
and to teach my feet to spin.
i will walk here for some time,
dodging thoughts
and shifting gears
until i tire.
but roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and how long might feet rotate, anyway?
wheels, i know they'll come
eventually,
and my feet won't stand a chance.
my ankles turn to antifreeze
and my motor calmly hums
a lullaby my mom would once recite:
"goodnight, sleep tight," it murmurs.
"don't let the bedbugs bite."
on i spin
and on it sings
though we're losing steam
we joyride into traffic
to end where we begin
the time is now
the motor says
to fade out of commission
but i only long for a collision
so from a croon
i might explode
into a ballad.
"do everything that's right,"
the motor purrs.
"pleasant dreams
pleasant dreams
pleasant dreams."
there is no fear,
just desire:
a vision of skid marks,
and broken glass,
that shatters soundlessly,
somehow.
it is a dream of dreams
where pleasant dreams run silent
and even nightmares' tongues are tied
the windshield wipers whisper
as they move,
but they are the only things that move now,
and the only things that speak.
i am tempted
to park myself right here
sprawl on asphalt
and lose myself in stars
or headlights?
that is why
empty roads are deadly
more deadly than a cairo highway
that is why
we will end up in a junkyard
though i expect a graveyard
because roads are made for wheels,
not people,
and i know wheels will come eventually.
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