the color of an afternoon just like when you were 5 years old the moon over the ocean i’ve seen from a island evening progression that starts to lose its meaning if we have spent most of a lifetime dreaming then dreaming is the state we shall keep stories of our solitude will sing themselves to sleep and we will sing to everything the stories of where we have been the history thats coursing through our veins no, nothing factual is written on a page
so surely and so steadily a slowly moving cloud will whisper “i am but for hours born to last” your sogging soaking future is my foggy fading past and so now if you want to wish upon me, wish upon me fast whatever can be held in your heart is surely yours to grasp so you wish for a picture of all of the people you have had the pleasure to know or a postcard from all of the places that you ever wanted to go saying “you are here now on this magical night” the sun and sky at sunset, well, its such a stunning sight you can sleep safely and soundly and you are loved
and nothing ever does begin like nothing ever ends ask every atom in your body and they’ll surely tell you “friend, i am old as time and older still” and you are made of everything you love, you feel, or kill i will outlive you, and forgive you, and be just a baby still
you spent half a year on the verge of tears just because nothing ever feels like it did before so now i understand if you’re bitter frankly sometimes i do feel the same it’s amazing how in your own homes how the comfort and the pain well they just grow
Tell me not to fall in love with you And frankly my friend I think that’s the sweetest thing you do
Summer in my town is nice, my front porch is my paradise and I can sit here every night, yes I can watch the world go by, and know that I’m in motion to occasionally think of you and just hope that you realize that when you sit here by my side whatever that implies will be just fine
My heart beats like a tambourine that plays along in time.
I want to write 500 poems
and I don’t want to write any poems, ever.
I want my friends to invite me out
and I want people to stop talking to me,
to stop caring about me.
(Please delete my number.)
I want to visit everyone I know
in every new place they’re in,
run my hands over the dirtied walls of their bedrooms,
congratulate them on doing it, on finally doing it,
on having their own place,
on nights going as late as they’d like,
on no one telling them they have work in the morning.
But then I also want the stillness of the womb,
the stillness of the tomb,
the stillness of a throat so hoarse
from screaming all-night into a pillow.
The still-horror in my reflection
after I have punched myself so many times
in the cheek that I cannot close my jaw.
I want big crowds, big lights,
let’s go let’s go, excuse me miss can you please walk a little faster,
or no excuses,
just a shove, a push, a kick to the ground.
(This is the big city.
There is no time for introductions
when you’re trying to be somebody.)
I want no politeness, no kindness,
no forgiveness when you’ve got somewhere to go.
But I also want:
soft touch soft touch soft touch soft touch soft touch,
forehead kiss, hands careful not to bruise,
hands so soft, touch so soft
(soft touch soft touch) that it wrings out tears.
I want petals plucked,
blossoms on your dining room table,
a stem wrapped in a paper towel and aluminum foil
and I want
gardens full of thorns,
galleries full of thorns,
my head filled with thorns,
all thorns to replace all poems
to keep sweaty hands
(Please delete this poem.)
If Anyone Gets It I Think It’s Nana Grizol | Lora Mathis
we were ourselves but blended at the edges like it should be and now separated your color now shines on my sleeve with my parents, favorite teacher, first ever pen pal and me and the more that we share i guess the more that we grow and we all became tiny rainbows.