How I want You!

I wish I didn’t want to sink my teeth into your moon white skin.

I wish I didn’t want to wrap your hair round my fingers.

I wish I didn’t want you so damn much.

Because I know I shouldn’t.

My brain screams “Don’t you dare!

Don’t you remember last time?

Don’t fall back down there.”

But I do.

At least a few times a month

I find myself looking down that pit

And thinking

“Ohh baby

How I want you!”

Poem Four Hundred and Fifteen

All day I had a fire storm buzzing in my brains.

Had your name on thoughts

Tagged like all the posts you never manage to have the time to read.

And I was furious with the world.

Furious with you for breaking things you didn’t know you had your fingers on.

And I tried worshiping at the feet of great poets.

Tried breathing in their words

In hopes that my next exhale would sound half as good as theirs.

I was sick of being ignored and tossed in the back

Like the fourth child of a family that was tired two children before.

And then I saw it

The glimmer of light on my horizon

That signaled these stormy clouds

Were far from my bed.

Something so messed up

So discombobulated

My sleeping pill drowsy eyes couldn’t comprehend it.

And I don’t care if it’s just the pills kicking in

Or if it’s truly something I can’t understand

But it reminded me that even great poets

Write slop.

That even my worst poems

Are worth writing

Because the bad poets

Are the ones who stop writing.

So you are still a great poet with your misconstrued words I can’t understand.

Take no offense at these slurred syllables.

Do not think them stones tossed to tear you down

No arrow has left my bow aimed at your heart.

Just know that just because I’m brave enough

To throw everything I write

Up onto a screen for people to read

Doesn’t make me any less of a writer than you.

You may have the skill

You may have the experience

You may have the fan base

But I

I have the heart to weather the storm.

By the way this is the 415^th poem I’ve written in 287 days. 

Mr. Mosaic

I still see pieces of you in the world.

Like a giant mosaic

Created just for me.

Drawing seams between that mans walk

And this grin that I saw.

And each time I see a little piece

I miss you.

But I don’t love you anymore.

And these mosaic pieces

They serve to remind me

Of who I was when we first met.

And who I was after.

Who you were when we met.

And who you broke into.

And each time I trace my fingers against the seams

I see a little bit of the beauty from a distance.  

Love in the Grandest Sense of the Word

My stomach still hurts when I think about you.

My head and my heart don’t flutter and miss you.

But there is a deep dull ache.

An ache that I wish I didn’t have.

But I think that’s how it’s supposed to be with all first great loves.

Your bones aren’t meant to heal over all of a sudden.

With glistening new stronger bone.

No its supposed to hurt.

To prove that it was worth it.

To prove that what you felt was real

Regardless of how it ended.

You’d think I was silly.

Dumb for letting this heart of mine control so much.

You won’t admit it

But you’ve waltzed round in your own heart’s shoes a few times

And you’ve just come to the point

Where you’re not willing to admit you fell off the cliff.

But I will.

I’m willing to admit that I can’t look at you anymore

Because of the way it still hurts.

Eventually it will wear off.

Eventually we will just be the friends we started out as

But for now

For now I’m still seeing the way it ended when I look at you.

I’m still seeing the way you didn’t have the heart to say goodbye

And neither did I.

Just half shouted sentiments through thin walls.

I still see the way you tugged at my strings

Till I fell apart.

I still see the over imaged poems I wrote about you.

I still see the way we bickered and debated too much that last day.

I liked our banter

But that was too much.

And now I still see you every now and again.

Our mutual friends discuss you and let me know how you’re doing

But I don’t have the heart to look at you yet.

Because great loves always hurt.

And you cannot deny that I loved you in the grandest sense of the word.

I was your footstool and your mouthpiece

Your disciple and friend.

Your enemy and companion.

We both knew it would end.

Waiting for the fall out of the atomic age.

But I didn’t expect the radiation to last this long.

Didn’t expect the buzz of those last few moments

Spread through my life.

Even now I still get an ache in my stomach when I hear about you.

I still get that pit when something reminds me of you.

But I expect that to last awhile.

Because after all

Aren’t all first great loves supposed to hurt?

Getting By

We get so used to getting by.
Barely hanging on by fingertips,
Praying to God that we don't fall over the edge,

That we forget what it is to succeed.
What it is to feel whole and complete.
What it is to feel right.
And as we get by
As we cling to a decent life
We slowly slip into the indecent.
We slowly fall down into the pit.
We lost sight of where we once were
And only stare down at our own feet as we walk in circles.
Slowly descending down to where we swore we'd never go.
And it is only the big things
The shocks of life
That wake us up.
Deaths
Weddings
Graduations
Births
It is only when we feel the wave of something
Ripple through our life
That we stop getting by 

And we live.

Once Time Lovers

Remember the time I spun you round my fingers?

Wrapped your spine around these sausage appendages

And whispered lullabies to you?

Remember the way we felt warm?

Knowing we were just using each other.

Pulling the skin off each others bones

Just to heat ourselves a little longer?

Oh the innocence of broken hearts.

Oh the magnificence of completely understanding a moment.

Oh the delicious sickly sweetness we found in using each other.

Two broken people

Clawing at darkness .

Trying to wrap our fingers around something

So we knew we weren’t alone out there.

Remember what I told when you left?

That I would never hold you to this?

That I would never nail you down

To a wooden cross made out of the street signs where we met?

How I would never whisper words of this

To friends as if to leave little bread crumbs

So someday when you’re hungry again

You could find me wherever I wandered?

I wish I’d never made that promise.

I wish I had never stuck to guns

Denying ourselves something

That though delicious and fruitful at the start

We both know would blow up.

Sometimes I wish I were brave enough to face the shrapnel.

Open the blaze with welcoming arms.

Enveloping in gas and wrapping myself in fire

Just like I wrapped my bones in your old skin.

But I haven’t heard from you in many months.

Haven’t seen your face.

Smelled your skin.

Heard your lisp.

And that’s okay

Because I’m living up to expectations.

Peering down into this cup

Not wondering when you’ll be around.

Not wondering when I’ll see you next.

Not wondering if I’ll ever find you again.

I am just thinking of the time

I wrapped your spine around my fingers

And I whispered lullabies to you.

Keeping warm by the nuclear implosion of each other’s hearts.

Angel Child

I saw an angel child on the train today.

Eyes full of the light I’d given away.

Singing and talking

Hands covered in little black mittens.

Little hands that danced and swayed

As if conducting music that I couldn’t hear.

They danced over rainbows and trees

As he explained things I’d lost sight of.

He told me about what it was to be a child.

What it was to see through his eyes.

And then he looked at me.

He looked me right in the eyes.

Looked at me and I’ve never felt more solid.

More present.

More planted to this planet.

I’ve been looked through a thousand times.

Seen as bits and pieces.

Seen as a good daughter

Seen as a bad lover.

Seen as a decent teacher.

Seen as a slacker student.

But it’s been awhile since I’ve been whole.

Since I was seen for everything I am.

Since I was put together by someone and they didn’t dash it all back to pieces.

And he looked at me.

He looked at me and didn’t shrink back.

And I felt whole again.

And then he left.

Dragged along by his father

Clasped onto by that little black mitten.

And I was left on a train of strangers

People either seeing bits and pieces

Or simply seeing through

And I wished my eyes shone.

I wished I had little black mittens

Wished I could make them dance

and tell the man across from me a story of giraffes and rainbows.

I wished I could fill my whole body up

With the love of the world and everyone around me.

But I’ve had too many holes poked through this skin.

All my light shines out

Escaping to the dark places I’ve frequented.

Golden Moments

They lied you know.

When you were little and they told you what life would be like.

They lied.

The sold you a lemon.

Something everybodys buying so you might as well have one.

They lied.

They told you that you’d be happy.

That you’d have a great job, a family, a dog.

They told you you’d have those moments.

Those golden moments of perfection.

And that if you lived your life right

Every moment could be that way.

But they lied.

You don’t love the people you work with.

You are not best friends with your boss.

You can try your absolute best and finish dead last.

You can put every ounce of yourself to work

And still never have one of those golden moments.

When you were growing up you bought it

Had a 3 year return warranty

But that was a decade back and now you’re stuck with it.

And you don’t have everyone you love

And you don’t smile.

And you never get enough sleep at night

And we never found the rainbow connection.

No, it’s not like they told you.

They lied.

And some days that lie is going to make you cringe

And you’re going to hate everyone who ever spread it on

Like playing telephone with the whole world

And you were at the end

And they told you things were going to be great.

But things aren’t great.

Things are far from great.

Things are grimy and dirty

And broken and used

And everyone is pushed under this pressure of the social pressure cooker of society

And we’re all screaming at the lid

Screaming that this isn’t what they told us.

This isn’t what we were sold

No we want our money back!

But some days

Some days aren’t so bad.

Someday you see a friend you haven’t seen for awhile.

Some days you drive in the rain.

Some days you hear your favorite song

Some days you’ve got someone who holds you

And those days are nice.

Those days make you a little glad you bought this life.

A little less pessimistic

A little less socially disturbed with the way things turned out

And you hold those days.

You wrap them round your toes and up your legs

Hide them under pants and skirts

And someday when you’ve had enough

You’ll wrap them around your ribs

And they will look like the sweaters your grandparents wear.

And someday

Someday all the bad will fall away.

Someday you’ll have had enough of the alright times

To forget all of the garbage you walked through to get there.

You’ll ignore all the pain and suffering you had

And had to witness

Just so you could have those moments.

Those moments where you weren’t infinite

But you weren’t finite.

The moments that you felt you were human.

And you’ll wrap them round you into a gold cocoon

And you’ll call them your golden moments.

The golden moments.

And your grandchildren will clamber around you

And ask for the story of your life

And you will tell them only the golden things.

Only the things that will make them smile

Because growing up and learning that it isn’t all that great

Is part of being human.

And they will have to do that too.

Comfort in the Lonely

I once sobbed about you.

Sobbed that I was alone again.

Sobbed I had no one to cheer to and to joke.

I thought I was built to live in at least a diad.

Never alone,

Never lonely.

But you urged me to find the pleasure in the singular.

To find the peace within myself.

And then the storms came.

The boat rocked.

Hurricanes turned my world upside down.

I was in a boat alone upon a sea of complete destruction

 And I had to try and work the sails singularly.

I made it through.

My ship made harbor.

But my muscles have been toned.

My fingers have grown taught.

My sea scurvy beard grown out and thick.

And I stand upon this new found solid ground and I still miss you.

But my heart doesn’t break because I’m alone.

So thank you.

Thank you for pushing me out to the sea.

For sending me out in a bucket barely making it

Because I have returned a seasoned long horn.

A deck hand of my own sweet deck.

But I will never find the comfort in the lonely.

I still itch and hope for someone to stand beside me

But I no longer sob.

I’m fine without the lot of you,

But that doesn’t me I don’t miss you. 

I Want You to be Happy

I am not the bitter kind.

Not the one to hate you.

To fall into a teary weepy state at the thought of you happy.

Addendum: happy without me.

No.

In fact, I want you to be happy.

I want you to be happy so much.

So much so that sometimes I imagine coming to see your family.

Some little ramshackle house in the middle of a sprawling breathing explosive city.

You with your antique mind and constant fingers

Raising new daisy sunflower minds.

Having found some woman who could handle you.

Who could whisper you to sleep when your mind raced and ran.

Who could assure you of your goodness when you get in these moods that you seem to find so often.

Moods that tell you that you’re not worthy enough of the happiness and the joy that wormed its way into your life.

Someone to soothe your crazy hair and wild eyes.

Someone to be the anchor to your wayward adventuresome ship.

And I will be a lone wanderer.

I will be the ship without mooring because I do love you.

But I love you enough to know that I am not what you need.

I once was, but I am no longer.

So I will come and visit you

Whenever I blow through town.

Your wife will smile quietly and usher me to the spare room waiting.

She’ll say so good to see you with those kind soft eyes she uses on you.

And you’ll come in rip and roaring from the garden with little you upon your shoulders

And you’ll smile and place your boy upon the ground

And gather me up in your arms.

I will smile and breathe in the smell of your cotton shirt

And know that you are not mine.

I will laugh and joke and talk with your family.

Your children will sit upon my lap as I tell them tales of my adventures.

But then I will pack up.

I will leave and drive away.

And when I look in the rearview mirror I will cry.

I will cry not because I hate you.

Not because I am envious of your wife.

But because that’s who I could’ve been at one point.

I could’ve been that woman comforting you.

And I could’ve been the one holding you down when the hurricanes of your creativity sweep across you.

But that’s not who I am now.

I am more myself and I love that.

So no.

I do not cry when I think of our lives on separate tracks.

I do not wish you the worst or only pain.

I love you.

And in that it means I want the best for you.

And I know now,

That’s not me. 

Paranoia

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry if perchance I’m pissing you off, bugging you, or not really your friend.

I’m sorry if you don’t think I belong here, I am cool enough, or that I’m intruding.

I will back off. I’ll disappear. I’ll fade into the background.

You don’t need to worry about me. Don’t worry about me. I’m gone.

But in the off chance that you aren’t thinking any of these things

Let me know?

I mean we’ve all had our fair share of knives in the back

but if you want to see a map of them mine are fresh and many.

I’ve got new ones cropping up every day and so I’m a little gun shy,

Or rather knife shy.

So I’ve got some major trust issues.

Coupled with some friendship paranoia.

I know I may seem rough and rude,

but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be friends.

In all honesty in means I need you more.

I need you to stay.

I need you to say I am here.

I need you to have patience with me.

Because my eyes will go wide.

My mind will race

and my heart will be out the door.

I’m sorry I can’t just look at you and know we are friends.

No I look at you and see knives large and small.

I see all of the ways you could hurt me.

But I’m still here.

Still trying.

I hope you are too.

Pictures

I saw a picture of you today.

A picture taken with your new friends in a place we never went to.

I didn’t miss you.

I didn’t feel possessive.

I didn’t feel betrayed.

Instead I just felt sad.

Felt sad for the times we never had together.

Felt sad for the way we ended and for the way you refused to respect me.

We had once been the best of friends always talking, always one in love with the other.

But you grew bitter and angry at the world.

I stayed happy and go-lucky.

And by the end of our years penned together we were strangers sharing a sandwhich.

So I saw a picture of you today.

You looked happy.

I was glad you were happy.

I was glad that maybe you had found something or someone to make you feel whole.

I’m still me.

I still believe in Jesus Christ and I still go to church.

I wonder if you’d understand that now.

I wonder if you’d respect me now.

I saw a picture of you today and I wonder if you see the pictures of me.

(2/2) From the Musician to the Poet

I don’t want to break your heart.

I don’t want to say things that mean nothing to me but everything to you.

I don’t want to lead you on and tear you apart.

because I know you’ve had some hard times.

I know you’ve had your share of broken hearts.

And so have I.

And thats why I’m peeling back this duct tape as gently as I can.

So you don’t return home with cuts and bruises in the shape of my name.

I don’t want to be the one to hurt you,

But I can’t be the one to save you.

I’m sorry honey I’m not the one.

I’m not mister right.

Or some blazing example of perfect.

I am not the one who will heal you.

I am not the one who will complete you.

I am not the one who will love you.

So write another poem about me.

This time take the words your brain has been screaming,

the ones that say he’s a ruffian, a hooligan, a street rat.

Take those words and write them down.

Keep them safe and keep them close

Because every time your heart leaps out of your chest after me

Use those to tie it down.

Lash it with the impossibles.

Wrap it in the never gonnas.

Lock it up with the wouldn’t works.

I promise you that I will never write you a song.

I promise you that I will never rhyme something with your name.

I promise you that I will never calm this wild mustang heart for you.

So I’m sorry but I will never

I cannot

and I won’t love you.

I'm Busting Out

Listen for the sirens, cause I’m making a prison break.

I’m kicking down this door and heading west!

I’m leaving this one stagecoach town behind

and heading for something bigger.

Somewhere I can stand and scream

And no one notices a thing.

Somewhere I can express my views

And no one thinks its front page news.

Somewhere I don’t have to guard my mind

from the monotonous drone of all the worker bees.

Somewhere that is bigger than this town.

Yeah look out for me.

Outlaw on the run.

Dust flying up behind my mother’s SUV.

Farewell Idaho.

HELLO WORLD!

On Dreams

When I was little I would paint grand ideas.

I’d cover the sky from wall to wall with holidays in Spain, adventures in New York and a time machine to dinosaur times.

And with all of my little weakened heart I would pump my very blood into them.

I’d wish and hope and dream for things to align and be perfect.

That somehow I could ditch the life I was destined for and lead the life I wanted.

I’d be one of those kids I had read books about who could manage not going to school.

And then I realized that wasn’t what I was going to get.

That my parents, my siblings, that my life wasn’t conducive to these dreams.

And so I grew up, keeping my little dreams to myself.

Always saying them jokingly, but also hoping they’d come true.

But I’m an adult now.

I’ve got choices I can make.

And so I am dreaming.

I am dreaming big.

I am dreaming of a life in a van playing music and reading poetry.

I am dreaming of a flat in London where I can feel at home.

I am dreaming of a world where I can sit and create art at the pace I want.

And I will make these dreams come true.

I’m not going to let these years pass by when I am young and free.

Every one says “Jump on the chance while you’re young”

“You’re going to let the years pass by and regret you didn’t do this”

Well guess what! I am not going to let this slip through my fingers!

I am not letting these dreams escape me.

I am going to grab ahold of these balloon strings and not let go.

I am going to soar into the sky leave this western world of point a to point b behind

And explore what life has in store for me.

Come along, come join me.

But do not tell me it can not be achieved.

(2/2) Missing

I cry when people leave.

Anyone and everyone.

People I just met, friends I’ve known for yours, favorite characters on tv shows.

And for years I thought if I was good enough I could make them stay.

I thought I could excrete superglue from my fingertips if I opened my heart wide enough.

Like if somehow they understood what they truly meant to me they wouldn’t leave.

But I grew up.

I let that childish idea die

Until you told me to stop missing people.

That I’d wear myself out if I missed at the rate I did.

I looked at my life, with scares and bruises from where people have left.

And then I looked at yours, clean and straight.

And I saw the wild hair and broken grin of my heart and decided I’d rather be me than be you.

I know I can’t keep people near, but I can always keep them in my heart.

I can keep them from being forgotten.

I’d rather feel the pain of missing all of the people who leftthan be left with a silent sterile life.

So my hands have scrapes and scars that I guess could’ve been avoided

But I’d rather have these open hands than your closed fists.