1
4 0 4

dust

 

dust,

dirt and dead skin cells

coating the surface of

anything and everything,

easily wiped away

with the swipe of a finger.

 

why then,

can i not remove you?

why are you still stuck on me?

have i not tried wiping you away?

have i not spent hours

upon hours under scalding water

with blistering steam

trying to scrub the traces of you

off of my skin?

my skin is run raw,

washed of color; but not of you.

you are painted;

no, plastered;

no, you are cemented onto my flesh.

all that is left of you

is dirt and dead skin cells,

dust.

 

why can't i be wiped free of you?

1
8 0 8

Voice in the Wind

I wish I could talk with you right now.


Today was a really
fucked-up-shitty-day.
And I want to tell you about it
so you can tell me,
"Sshhh.....
Everything will be ok.
Be strong.
Remember who you are.
Relax."

But your voice escapes me
in the wind;
and your face is something
I cannot see.

So I'll keep plugging along and hope that tomorrow
is a better day...

2
7 1 6

Beneath their beautiful eyes

This post is not available to guests, please login or register to view this post.
1
1 0 1

the shadow of the spotlight

he always stood in the shadow
of his older brother.
never able to outshine him
because he wasn't as blessed,
athletically, as his sibling.

the elder moved on,
graduating into life,
as life takes us into her grim reality.

the younger saw his chance,
his opportunity,
and he worked hard to put himself
in the best place,
in order to be the one to shine.

concentrating and working
shaping and reshaping
tearing down and building
constantly rebuilding
until everything was right...
...or so he thought.

early on,
it appeared as though
it would be enough,
but he was finally run down
and beaten.

his place in the team...
lost
torn away
taken

not because he didn't work hard enough
not because if politics
not because he doesn't deserve it
but because he just wasn't fast enough

so now he runs with a chip on his shoulder
working that much harder
working that much longer
working that much more
to earn that spot back
and to get that spotlight back on him, again.

2
7 0 7

A Toast for Your Wedding

the two of you make me want to believe in love. you’ve told me how you make each other feel, and by god, that’s great, but hearing it is one thing. i want to feel it. i want to believe it. i need to believe it.

i want to be believe that people are able to love despite distance and appearances and every other petty thing that comes in the way of really, truly knowing and appreciating someone. i want to believe that love transcends all boundaries and is an all-encompassing, unapologetic force that wrecks cities and moves mountains and shakes the ground. i want proof, proof that love is a natural disaster separating the earth beneath our feet. i can’t possibly know or believe or sing the praises of love without that. i need to be able to stand up passionately and push over chairs in a fit of rage in the middle of a dinner party because other people just don’t understand what i’m talking about.

love has never been all-consuming with or for me. i’ve never wanted to spend the rest of my life with someone because i felt like i would perish the instant they left my side. i’ve never needed to hear someone’s voice to know that somehow, the world was still turning. i’ve never relied on anyone else for comfort in my darkest hours that i could not provide to myself.

all i’ve known of love is the fleeting moments, like waking up before the person lying next to you does and feeling that quivering smile creep up your face because god damn, they are beautiful. like kissing the eyelashes of someone who you’ve just met, although you swear you could ghostwrite their entire life biography because the way they look at you through those eyelashes is something that only you can dictate. like running your fingertips along the bare skin of your lover, tracing out words and promises you wish you could keep, knowing that they’ll never be able to translate your touch.

i imagine that in those moments i’m falling in love, i’m feeling love, i’m knowing what love is and what its favorite color is and how it likes its eggs and if it will like it better if i wear the floral skirt or the jeans that make my body look like it’s good enough to be eaten breakfast off of. those moments fade quickly, too quickly, and i’m left again with just the uncontrollable want that no person or thing has ever managed to suffice.

in my experience, love is the most beautiful person at the party, the same person who kept its lips closed when i introduced myself. i found love alone in a darkened room, moonlight illuminating its profile. so many times i tried to initiate a conversation. i bought this dress because i heard that you adore the color, love. or hey love, did you hear that so and so is playing at the so and so because i know you’re into their last album. despite my attempts, love turned on its heel and walked through the doorway toward a larger concentration of people. at the most, i’ve overheard it’s hushed whisper with another person in another room, where i can hear it’s voice but not the words. i just want to stand on top of the catering table, one foot on the hors d’oeuvres and the other in the punch bowl, and scream i shaved my legs for you, love! why won’t you notice me? yet, when i gaze longingly at love across the room with my back against the wall, we make eye contact. love stares me for a moment and finally acknowledges my presence with the slightest start of a smile before walking out the front door, its hand interlaced with another.

i want nothing more than to believe you when you say that love is an earthquake strong enough to end a european empire, but i’m sitting alone on a beach in california, mistaking the aftershock for grains of sand rumbling beneath my feet.

please never stop feeling the tremors. please never ever let love leave the party with someone who will never call it back or appreciate it or make it soup and sandwiches when its sick and watch terrible movies you can’t stand but you watch anyway because love wants to. please, for me, for all of us, hold on to that.

congratulations.

2
5 0 5

the good fight

 

people fight

for their ideas,

for their values,

for their honor,

for their families,

and for their nations.

 

others also fight;

but, they fight

for their next breath.

1
6 0 6

A six petal rose

I can’t believe I’m doing this, he thought wryly. If someone was filming , they could make a straight-to-tv, midday movie from this tripe. With a smile, he shook his head slightly and pulled the first petal from the long-stemmed rose in his hand. It was a yellow rose, chosen not because of preference for colour, but because it was wilting and had been marked down for quick sale at the florist. Frugality was not a part of it either, he had simply chosen not to waste a healthy rose on what he was about to do.

He was looking out over the ocean from a cliff edge high above the frothy white  mess of wave meeting rock. It was a long drive to get here, but the location had come instantly to mind the moment he decided what he was going to do. Isolated, unblemished by human touch, and windy enough to let nature bite him while he admired her beauty.

He placed the rose petal on his upturned fingertips and stretched his arm out over the edge. An up-draft from the sea below quickly grabbed the petal from his hand and carried it out toward the horizon.

“She loves me.”

First contact, shy smiles. Eyes meeting in glances of ever-increasing length. Cheeky grins, playful jests, fingertips stretched to touch for the want of touching. …


The second petal came away from the flower, he thought it offered more resistance than the first, but it was captured by the ocean breeze just as readily.

“She loves me not.”

First cracks, fears spoken. Worries planted, differences sprouting. Words recited, well meaning, true meaning, hands still held for want of gripping. …

The first petal was lost to his eye now and the second yellow fragment had fallen straight to slide and tumble its way down the cliff face toward the water. A third petal sat on his outstretched hand, moving in circles, caught in an eddy above his palm. He blew toward it until it began to fall.

“She loves me.”

Flowers blooming, smiles warming. Fingers clasped when not running through hair. Laughter resounding, hot breath on bare necks. Heart stopping words whispered in ears tensed and waiting …

He had closed his eyes and was smiling, arm straight out in front of him as the wind grabbed his hair and flapped the folds of his long sleeved t-shirt.  Without opening his eyes, he plucked another petal from the remnants of the yellow rose. He felt the the wind lift it from his fingertips.

“She loves me not.”

Panic growing, worries taking root in fertile soil. Soft skin flinches from attempts to touch. Words spoken, by rote, meaning lost to repetition. Labels used for sake of labels. …

His eyes were closed and arm still outstretched, but the corners of his mouth had fallen with the last petal, leaving his lips compressed in a thin line. His arm fell slowly to his side and he looked down in time to see the yellow petal’s flight brought down violently in the a puff of sea spray. Only two wind-crumpled petals remained on the rose, and that soon became one when his fingers deftly plucked another.

“She loves me.”

Perfection. Uttered in disbelieving gasps of simultaneous ecstasy. Lucky, blessed, gifted, and loved. A warming connection even when hearts met distance. Perfection, lived and believed. …

He was smiling again, but his eyes were open now and the lack of light in them gave away his smile’s lie. Gaze fixed on the final petal struggling to remain attached to the decrepit rose, he tossed the entire thing over the edge, watching it plummet toward the rocks below.

“She loves me not.”

Distance manufactured, voices muted, whispers silenced. Cracks sprouting forests, words spoken known for lies, worries carpeting fields of green, brown now from lack of light. Drop outs, drop off, drop. …

“She loved me not.”

His face had split into a delirious rictus as he looked at his empty palms. He shifted his gaze to the female body at his feet.

“The flower says you loved me not.”

He kicked the corpse from the ledge and dived off the cliff before the body was halfway to the rocks below.

1
5 1 4

starting over
yet to continue on
along a path long ago set
set in stone
looking for something
more
something missing
brings me to you
here
let me one day find my resting place
a place to settle
to lay my head
and a place to set my pen
upon my paper

one

last

time 

2
5 0 5

The Path to Purpose

This post is not available to guests, please login or register to view this post.
2
7 0 7

The Light and the Sound

The first thing that hit her was the smell. The scent of warm tar and burning rubber and spilled gasoline set fire to her nostrils. The fumes overwhelmed her, causing her to sneeze and involuntarily throw her head back into the headrest. Her red-rimmed eyes glistened as she tried to wipe at her nose, but found that her hand had not responded to her request. She tilted her head to look down at her extremity but found that she was looking up instead.

Her eyes were wild then, trying to comprehend the scene around her. She drew her bottom lip into her mouth to bite it. It was a nervous habit that she had developed in middle school, when faking stomach aches and menstrual cramps had stopped being viable options to keep her from the anxiety that plagued her between the hours of eight in the morning and three in the afternoon five days a week. Her mother had always scolded her for her anxious gnawing, but there was something soothing in the act of it that dissuaded her from heeding her mother’s complaints. She was used to the faint metallic twang of blood on her tongue after chewing on her lip too frequently or fervently; however, she wasn’t used to the amount that she found pooling in her cheeks in that moment.

She spit her lip out of her mouth with a spray of blood, covering a mosaic of broken glass around her head. Tears fells up her face, making a rolling ascent from her forehead to the strands of her hair. The glass had come from the fractured windshield before her, translucent red and glimmering from the light of the fire.

I am going to die, she thought. I am going to die today.

There was a flash. Even behind her thick curtain of eyelashes, she saw a bright light shine out from the darkness, if only for a moment. Her eyes fluttered open, turning their gaze toward the source of the brightness as the nylon fiber of the seatbelt cut into her collar bone. A woman was upside down in front of her. No, she remembered. I’m upside down.  The woman was kneeling on the pavement, leaning towards her. She tried to speak but her voice had failed her.

“Please,” She finally sputtered, her voice a whisper on the breeze. “Please help me.”

The woman outside reached toward her with a clutched hand. Her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of it. Before she could muster the strength to utter another word, she heard the familiar click of the shutter on a camera phone. The woman stood and pivoted, walking out of her peripheral vision. Her mouth agape, she felt her sobs begin to stampede through the tightness in her throat. She turned her head to better see the flames licking at the street beside her, but her eyelids pulled themselves shut almost immediately.

 “Miss?” A voice called out. “Miss, can you hear me?”

She drew in a ragged breath before opening her eyes. She saw a fit of unruly hair before anything else. Her eyes focused and saw the man, lying on his belly on the pavement outside of her broken window. He tilted his head, his eyes desperately trying to make contact with hers.

“Can you open your eyes for me, miss? Can you hear me?”

Her mouth tightened as her eyelids slowly trembled open. She searched his face frantically.

“Yes.”

“Atta girl,” His smile took hold on his lips and in the corners of his eyes, wrinkling at the sound of her voice. “Someone already called 911, the paramedics should be here soon.”

“Who?”

“The paramedics. They’re going to g-”

“No,” she cleared her throat, wincing. “Who called 911?”

“The cashier at the deli right behind you,” he said. “As soon as that guy side-swiped your car, she was on the line with 911.”

“Where is he?”

“The man who hit you?” He asked, his tone somber. “He took off.”

 “I don’t know what’s worse,” She laughed. “That the man who did this drove off, or that some bitch just took a picture of me for her Instagram feed.”

 “Well, at least you’ll be internet famous by morning.” His face softened, offering a smile. “Some people kill for that kind of publicity.”

“Lucky me, all I have to do is die for it.”

“Hey,” he reached inside the driver’s side window and grabbed her limp hand from its place between the seat and the center console. “Don’t say that. We’re going to get you out of here and you’re going to be fine.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” She said, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.  He couldn’t help but laugh. His hand continued to rub circles gently into hers. “You know how I know you’re wrong?”

“Sweetheart, I’m never wrong.” He smirked at her.

“I’m willing to wager that there’s a woman around here somewhere who is absolutely tired of you saying that.”

“You’d win that wager.”

“I’d also wager that you’re wrong this time.”

“How do you figure?” He said, his voice playful.

“Because I can’t feel that,” she said, her eyes on his hand. “Or anything below my neck.”

His face fell. He brought his free hand up to her cheek, stroking her skin with his thumb. Her eyes pressed tight and her lip quivered, her head shaking from side to side.

“You’re not going to die in here,” he said authoritatively. “You’re not going to die in a piece of shit Honda.”

“It’s not that bad.” She said defensively. “Besides, it could be worse. It could have been a Toyota.”

She smiled but found herself unable to stop crying. His face was pained, looking over his shoulder as if he could simply will the ambulance to arrive. “Tell me something,” he pleaded as he continued tracing patterns into her lacerated knuckles. “Come on, tell me about yourself. What’s your name?”

“Kate.” She managed between dry heaves.

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Kate.”  He said. “I imagine I would have enjoyed it more had it been under different circumstances, but you’ve got to work with what you’ve got.”

She could feel her head growing lighter and her vision began to flutter around the edges. He noticed a dark drop of blood gather on the corner of her cracked lips before it dragged itself up and off of her cheekbone onto the car’s fabric roof below her. He reached with fumbling hands and tried to wipe the blood off her face, but accidentally smeared it instead. She pressed her face into his hand, her eyes closed tight. He used his elbows to pull himself further through the fractured window, glass crunching beneath his bones. A faint sound whirred outside.

“Kate, do you hear that?” He asked.

She opened her eyes one last time and studied his face. He was older than her, but not by much. Maybe he had a high-end job, maybe he had unruly dark-haired children, maybe he had a mother-in-law that put too much pressure on his marriage – whatever it was, it had left him with two distinct gray streaks in his otherwise coal black mop of hair. She could tell that he had shaved his face this morning, the lingering scent of aftershave filling her nostrils.

“What’s your-” she started.

“Ian.” He cupped her face in his hands. “My name is Ian.”

 “Give me your business card or something,” She pressed her dry lips together slowly and formed a weak smile. “If you’re right and I somehow don’t die, I would very much like to kiss you on the mouth.”

 “You can kiss me now if you’d like.” He beamed.

Howling sirens blared from around the corner as a parade of emergency vehicles began to line the street around them. The back doors of the ambulance slammed open against the rig and a man and a woman in dark blue uniforms jumped out of the back and began to run towards the flipped car.

“What’s that sound?” She asked, her eyes closing involuntarily.

“Sir, we’re going to need you to get out of the vehicle!” A voice behind them shouted. The sound of glass being crushed under heavy footsteps surrounded them.

He held her face between his hands and pressed his lips to hers, tasting her smile-stained lips.

“That,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Is the sound of you living.”