Rocks
She carries three rocks in her pocket
One is the pebble that led her to a mountain
One is the lump that formed in her throat
One is the boulder of silence that sat still in your mouth
These rocks are heavy
And she carries them in her pocket
So when she finally wades deep enough into the river
You won’t have the strength to pull her back
Again
Skeuomorph
A perception of
what’s real and what’s not is skewed
when you’re all alone.
Skeuomorph - an ornament or design on an object copied from a form of the object when made from another material or by other techniques
Rain Delay Friday With My New Best Friend
a cigarette butt tries to swim through a puddle,
good luck buddy,
I say,
with the knowledge that it can’t bleed,
nor will it suffer discomfort in defeat,
I truly hope it makes it to where it wants to go,
I picture Egypt or Moscow,
dinning on fine fish,
drinking with the best dead authors,
or maybe it will go to my home,
vacuum my rug,
clean the fireplace,
be ready for when I need it,
after making love to the theory of monsters,
but that is if I ever make it home,
this rain needs to stop
cause what if I’ll ever be is a carcass of unsaid words.
truths and longings
that bubble through the head.
never to find their desired formation
never to reach smiling lips
or rosy cheeks.
quivering fingers
or destructed eyes.
festering in the internal screaming pit.
of an unexpressible mind.
of an unexpressible person
of an unexpressible me.
Ana Nuit Noyer to the Two Girls Sitting Next to Her on the Subway on the Way to Work. 5-24-13 4:35pm
the first time he kissed me i knew
i never wanted to feel any other lips but his
for as long as i lived i wanted his taste
in the mornings sleepy while rain falls and rushed before work
right when he got home and in the dark of a movie theater
before bed and to comfort me on a bad day to stop all the sadness spilling from my lips
i wanted him forever
i knew right in that moment before his mouth even left mine
don’t ask me how i knew i just
knew
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
- Lewis Carroll
when panic attacks
make it stop she cried
to the walls
as they closed in
her heart pounding
waiting to jump out of her body at any moment
the panic was a giant
at the top of the bean stock
and she was prisoner
to a beast within her
a manifestation of nerves
trying to escape
clawing their way
out of her chest cavity
like a dozen caged hummingbirds
trying to break free
but she couldn’t find the key
together they were trapped
I no longer need her
Like I needed crisp air
To breathe on those black nights
Like I needed the bite of cheap liquors
Forgetting her was never an easy thing
I forgot her many times
I always loved her after she hated me
Love works best for me that way
She loved me too some days
It’s funny now that I try to forget her every single day
I remember her as if she still dances in the kitchen
As if she dances in my heart
I no longer need her to breathe
I can finally breathe on my own
I just wish I had a reason to
