Feb 09

Ceiling Paint

My happiness sticks to the ceiling
like it was glued there
when the house was built.

Almost as if it was meant
to float to the sky
but instead got caught tightly
in the hands of reality.

I peeled it off today. 
You like the look of clean white paint
so close to the sky.
And, I'll admit,
it does kinda look like the clouds...
I might actually like it. 

I'm not sure you understand
how good it feels
to have that part of me
back in my chest. 


 
Feb 08

Tidal Wave

This is the feeling
I get when everyting
falls to pieces...
a sort of great shattering
that reverberates through my body,
down my spine,
out the tips of my fingers.

You sound hurt
on the other end of the phone,
stuffed up and lost,
like no one ever
looks
at you anymore.

It's not true... I do.

I hope you know that sometimes
I shatter too.

I don't smile,
can't seem to remember
how to breathe.

I know that's the way
you feel now:
suffocated,
snuffed out,
almost to close to the ground
to drop anymore.

"How do you do that,"
They ask.
"how do you shatter so much
you forget where to fall?" 

But, I don't choose which way I fall...
it just happens. 


 
Feb 05

Learning to Fly (don't mention my wings)


There are times
I question my very existence.

I know it might sound cliche
but I hope you learn
it's not.

And, it's as far
as one can get
from lying. 

It starts often,
when I look in your eyes.

I don't know what triggers it,
just something in those circles  
of deep, brown
(almost like my chocolate milk)
that makes me think 
"Hey, why are you here anyways?" 
and I'll always shoot back 
"Well because you are... duh." 
but it's never quite that simple,
nothing ever is.

Not even your smile,
the purest thing I have ever known,
is that easy to figure out. 

Even you can tell 
we're not all here
because we were chosen
by some God or greater power...
we're probably here by accident. 

After all, why else would I be alive,
experiencing all this untamed
(accidental), 
Feb 01

Too Hard To Hate


I cant stand to listen to you.

Your eyes tell me things
I would rather not hear.
But, it's not just your eyes
that hold too much
for me to ever understand.

It's your hands.
You seem to think I don't care
about the broken parts of you... 
maybe that's true,
after all I do hate you, right?

No... (wrong)

Can't you stop?
Please look away. 
I like the secrets in your eyes too much...
I love the scratch on your wrist
and the small smile
you always hide from me.

I won't look away this time.
I don't miss the solitude. 
Please don't make it so easy
to love you.
Jan 23

That Valley, Too Far From You

(photo credit: a friend, over the summer)

I noticed today,
out of the foggy
car windshield 
just how 
much this valley
and those fields 
have somehow become part of me.

I like the way that earth 
can’t blow away with the rain. 

I like the way the grass
smells in midsummer;
sweet earth in clean hands,
dark soil on barefeet. 

I like the way my hands
get just numb enough with cold:
slip them down the back
of your shirt it sends
lightning down your spine.

I like the way you smile
when the first snow falls,
almost like you forgot
it would come at all.

These mountains always look beautiful
against a sunrise...
(even if I won’t admit it) 

This valley might be small
and it might be in the middle
of absolutely nowhere,
but I also might like it.

Almost might like this corner

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