like

my eyes feel heavy like

they're weighing down my face

it was like the bags

under my eyes

were full to bursting

and my eyes

just resting there

like elephants

on water balloons

I've been so angry lately,

like I just want to hit you,

like I just want to rip you open

and squeeze the life out

drip by drip - 

But I can't.

And my fury turns inward.

[written 10 & 17 September 2013]

bones

Ancient bones
grown fresh beneath the flowers
crumbled legends for Spring's new love.




[for Magaly's 4th Blogoversary party: Witches in Fiction 2013... to the Bone]

Let's make a Deal.

All here - All gone. 

It's one or the other. 

I'm an all-or-nothing kind of girl. 

No misspelled names on my Valentine's card,

no forgotten promises to call,

none of that I-got-distracted bullshit.

Be Here

or Be Gone.

I've got no more patience for in-betweens and maybes.

I'm Here, or I'm Gone.

cycles of hurt, expressed

It's futile. I'm futile.
Racing, racing to rise
to meet the grade
to see the light
reflected in your gaze.
Racing my shadows
I stutter in your appraisal.
Futile.

Not good enough.
Not fast enough.
You love me,
but not enough
 to see through my faults
to care about my pain.

Your warnings
- I'm not enough -
all you deign to share.
I'm overwhelmed.
I stumble.
I'm futile
in my tears.


~

Don't try to save me. I'm happy where I am. Your comfort comes with chains that can't be shaken loose. They keep you free from life, which I would rather savor.
I wish you could taste it with me. It's not so scary, after all. The colors are so much brighter
when you're not hiding in the clouds.
Don't be so afraid to fly.


~

Here I am
trying to find you comfort in your relics.
You're so far away
all I can feel is your back
walking away
beyond time,
beyond hope.

He asked me a question...

...and then there was Silence.

Silence was met by the sleeping Cold.
Loneliness sighed - she sank to the floor;
Hope shattered, but gamely tried to keep his feet.

Shackled, they sang.
They sang to the Silence,
they sang the Cold awake,
they sang their tears to ice.

Hard, so hard, they armored themselves;
wrapped in frost and pain,
waiting for warmth, waiting for another song.

I wear yellow in the Winter.

My speedometer tells me more
     about how far I've driven
          than how fast I'm going;
it's very optimistic.
I wear yellow in winter;
     surrounded by blues and grays and purple.
They tell me I'm depressed;
     or maybe just an introvert.
Maybe they should just mind their own damn business.
I'm not a fucking statistic;
     75% white bread, bleached-flour whiskey-drinker
with two dogs and a cat.
          The cat has three legs.
Someday I'll buy a house with a heater and
     a real foundation;
an old house
     with stories of its own,
          footprints of the past hewing it together,
and Warmth,
Warmth that has nothing to do with mechanics
          and everything
     to do with color and touch and texture,
and wearing yellow in the winter.
Someday seems so far away, but closer every day;
     I'll know how fast I've gone when I turn to see my story,
stretching back from the aged threshold of home,
          thirteen legs making tracks behind me:
two dogs, one cat, and one girl.