I’m a long way from the ocean.
For salty air,
I renounce my despair
and end up among the waves.
I can’t whisk away
every time I have a day.
Some days, I’m alone,
even though you promised I would
-how do I stand beside you when you’re always at the ocean?
we’re spinning round
brings us to the ground.
I have the heart of a musician but cannot stay in key to save my life. For years, I was distraught knowing there is a passion that I cannot fulfill, but then I met you. I have the heart of a musician; I hope he doesn’t want it back.
-the right key
He says that I have been making so many metaphors that I am starting to look like one.
I fall in love with those words, before asking for an example.
“Which metaphor am I becoming?”
And to my dismay, he can’t think of a single example.
It seems I’m always intrigued by the ones that say the right things,
but I’m also a sucker for things in writing:
Right now I am sitting in my car and wondering to myself:
Do I want someone who thinks of me as art
Do I want someone who makes me into art?
In case you were wondering, I finally cleaned the yellow glass lantern off my bathroom floor. I learned to love that metaphor, but not as much as the relief of trashing each broken piece. Today, two similar -yet unique in color- lanterns reside in the same place. They hold light and I’m sure they won’t break anytime soon.
I hope they won’t.
-more than a metaphor // refer to 12.03.17
Ripped, retro, ready,
she slips into her kicks.
You see, girls used to be pretty in pink…and heels, and
whatever else they say-
but today continues a new age:
one where rules are made to be broken and
fashion is whatever feels best on your skin.
My momma always says,
“Never leave the house without lipstick.”
I used to laugh before I realized:
some rules are not spoken to be broken-
and your momma is almost always right.
-pretty in pink lipstick
“Eat a hamburger.”
“You need to put some meat on your bones.”
“You’re the size of my thigh.”
“Do you eat?”
I hope I am more than my body and that no one makes you feel uncomfortable in yours.
Judith wears an old school heart.
She’s an empathetic record on repeat,
replaying each tune like it’s never been played.
Her vision presses far past the moonless,
rebuking every cecity.
And if you look in her eyes:
her old school eyes,
I promise you’ll always find something new.
-and so will she // Happy Birthday, Judy
Here it is Tuesday, December 5th,
perhaps it is where you are too.
Lately I’m not where you are.
I haven’t been paying much attention to calendar dates
or what time my head meets my pillow each night.
I say “Goodnight” but
I can’t claim I sleep at night-
unless night is just another word
for the start of an early-riser’s day.
I’ve been sleeping at 5am
and I only know this because you
have been too.
As far as I know we are together,
unless I know nothing.
But, if I know that I know nothing: that is still knowing something.
I know it’s raining outside
and you love the rain;
I wonder if you
love me like I love the rain.
If we were together
-paradox is your favorite word, right?
For the last few months
lay a yellow glass lantern
broken in the corner of my bathroom.
People seem to throw away glass once it shatters.
Something, once whole,
now far too broken to piece back together-
but we don’t throw away broken people,
…unless we do?
I realize this is a faulty comparison.
What could I do with a lantern
that could no longer fulfill its purpose-
one that could no longer hold
There isn’t a chance for restoration-
Unlike a human.
Scratch that metaphor.
I will look at the glass as a reminder that
Whether I decide to keep the glass or toss it,
I cannot bring it back to what it was.
I can see it, I can touch it,
I can let the shards shred my skin if I wish…
I can recognize what was
and make room for the next lantern to come.
-I have a problem of making everything into a metaphor.