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NearnessWhat can I say to sky eyes like that,
Reaching beyond my skin to deeper brain matter
To still my tongue from a rare full heart?
I am not here most days, nor am I there, but in his native dimensions I am
Suddenly blood red here.
And hands that hold with steady grip;
He is a standing shelter from the cold entirety
That engulfs my person;
why i keep you (on the inside of my head)it’s a big feeling when you realise
how close we are to each other in this endless universe.
what seems so far to us
could be a step for someone else;
like an ant on a daisy
saying to another ant on a daisy but an inch away,
"I am too far away."
we are too small for this sky,
too small, and we look up
and the sight of the space is too much for one of us.
we need to eat,
we need to drink,
we need to sleep,
we need to be close.
(i need to be close to you and this is why i keep you
on the inside of my head.)
still on nights like this, it seems
that the drainage holes of Heaven
make me feel like you are just around the corner
instead of across the deepest sea.
Quiet AnswersIt's God, you see
The muse that makes us all seek our completion
It's the hungry hunter
Searching for his meal;
It's when we put
Our words onto a highway to be ridden
That we realise
The stories could be real.
And for so long
I've held it all inside a bony prison
For fear that others
Would not understand;
But here it is,
The truth that is all that really matters:
It is Love I write,
And Love will heal all man.
From a Great HeightConfused, I sat
on the edge of my mind
and asked, why
do we feel like dying
when the only solution
Half-lightI imagine you here.
When I wake, when I drift,
When I daydream
Or take the elevator.
I see you in the curtain-light of dusk,
And passing through the hallway.
I imagine you sweeping the stardust
Off the kitchen counter, and saying
How strange I am. Your hands
Engulf mine and I imagine
You tracing constellations on my back
As I fall slowly, softly asleep,
three twenty a.m., or misty dawn for you I am miles away from you, and I can’t sleep.
I can’t think straight, either. I have been sick today and everything seems sad and strange and blown out of proportion. I know that I should be trying to rest, but instead I sit in the darkness of my room and listen to the night sounds. Cars pass by outside and cut through wind; their headlights travel across my ceiling, leaving shadows as the sound of their motors lingers in the dim lit air. I breathe and try to remember what night sounds like from your bedroom window. Ah, it comes back to me. The sound of stillness, of moonlight and the Milky Way coursing through the arteries of the sky; sleeping animals and fog creeping swiftly down the summer hill before the first light appears.
Thinking of those things makes my body relax. I breathe again and notice my headache is gone. Sitting soberly with my legs under my quilts, I feel the winter on my hands. It isn't as if I miss your hands linking with mine; no, it’s
we have stars, you and I I have stars on my shirt.
You have stars on your car seat covers, and in your night sky,
And I have city lights and aeroplanes that fly low over my apartment buildings. At least it looks very low from my windowsill. I wave and wonder if, from up there, they can see the plaid pants I’m wearing just like I saw and felt everything when I lifted off from your country.
Life is a funny thing. So is love. So are people. I think we have a hard time reconciling the good with the evil; the happy with the sad; the joy with the hurt; the you with the me.
We lean too far towards one side, and we dream too much about it all. We try to cut holes in ourselves so that other people’s odd puzzle arms will fit perfectly into ourselves and so we can go “Look! We fit!” and pretend that we are soul mates. But that’s not how it works. We cannot expect to find perfection with imperfect people and surroundings. The only thing that ever can be perfect is the God in how we
Home is More than a Nounhome is our souls
and what we do with them.
not the decadent tramp of well-worn
boots on familiar sidewalks,
not the shadowed breath of cool
pine in the summer afternoons,
not the heart-dreams of sleep, not the
safety of curtains
nor the wildness of your lovesick thoughts
like the largest thesaurus.
our lives are what our souls say to each other,
their cores being the the earth
of our purpose, and the roots
of our reason.
so you see,
our home is our souls
and what we do with them.
his name is calmi still have our secret codes
from many, many years ago
the legend written on notebook paper in his
scratchy twelve-year-old handwriting.
but as it were, we had no need
for scribbled languages of our own
when we felt it in the air, and in the electricity
of when he looked at me
and the lyrics of all-too-perfect songs
that i wished i could sing someday.
then like that splintering moment
when you realise that you have dreamt this dream before...
we were sparks in the silver winter, and something of a shooting star;
miles above the earth
and he was the only thing that kept my fires burning.
because he was my safety, my belonging,
familiarity and mystery
all in one.
he was growing up, and
he was the lyrics that i will scatter like sugar crystals
throughout my life.
and i could have spent every hour of my waking day with him,
every hour of sleep-filled night and
still lie gazing at his turned face
as if it were the face of everything.
i could have wasted
time with him
but instead i, in my g
Death isn't a fresh perspectiveI saw my mother
swallowing something small
when I was just a child
The anguish in her eyes
faded, as she told me
it was just a
with a little extra kick
maybe years later,
that's how I convinced
to swallow fifteen,
give me a fresh perspective;
in the end,
my breath reeked
instead of mint.
Our Captain (Robin Williams Remembrance Poem)Oh, Captain
We’ve never had,
A Friend like You.
You came to us as an Alien,
from the Planet Ork.
But through the Years,
You made Home in Our Hearts
We Saluted You over the Airwaves
We Watched You get Sucked in a Game,
And Haul Your Family in the Big Rolling Turd.
You were a British Nanny,
Who was actually their Dad.
A Business Man,
Who was actually Peter Pan.
A Crazy Scientist,
Making a Being called Flubber.
Who Just Wanted to be Free.
You were a Robot,
Made of Rusty Old Parts.
We’ve never had,
A Friend like You.
You became the Man of the Year,
And the Wax Figurine Exhibit
Of the Twenty-Sixth President
Of the United States of America.
You Were the World’s Greatest Dad,
And the World’s Greatest Therapist.
You Had a License to Wed
And be a Kid,
Who Grew Up Four Times Too Fast.
You only Won One Oscar.
But that’s okay.
We Love all Your Other Works Anyways…
We Will Miss You
fall in love with (splitting hairline fractures)we swallow blues instead
of talking them out. oh,
kids like us are specters,
spectacles: boys counting
rib(cage)s & (de)composing
don't you hate
is a vessel
we're deities or tomb-raiders; no
in-betweens for writers these days
Dark SideThere's another side of me
A side I barely show
It's my dark side
And my pride
The time I showed it to my friends
They were shocked, worried
I will tell you what they said
Decide for me
If these are what you call
One said 'just be happy'
One said 'that isn't true!'
One said ' but I've got it much worse'
One said 'don't be annoying'
One said nothing at all
Only One listened
That could be you
This is my dark side
The one that tells the truth
It makes me write
It keeps my dreams
It is everything I have
But no one knows
DoormatI let you walk
All over me
Like the floor
Beneath your feet
And I never complain
The floor doesn't
If the floor complained
When you walked on it
You would be very annoyed
And you would probably
So I don't complain
Because I don't want
To be replaced
And I let you
Push me around
Like a cart
Through a shop
And I never push back
The cart doesn't
If the cart pushed back
When you pushed it
You would get hurt
And you would probably
So I don't push back
Because I don't want
To be left alone
Now, and forever more
Who lets you
Wipe your feet on my face
I love you
But I question
If you love me back
Because who would love
A dirty old Doormat?
I died todayI died today
Took my own life
I was tired
I was desperate
And now I'm dead
People never cared
So I left them behind
Now a new life awaits
Beyond the gates of Hell
SkinnyI wish you'd believe me,
When I tell you you're pretty,
That you don't need to skip a meal or run 7 miles,
Just so you can be skinny,
You talk about how you hate yourself,
You wish you could be stunning, beautiful, gorgeous.
You think that if you looked like a model,
That you'd never be lonely,
Everyone would love you.
You think you d get that guy you ve been dreaming of,
Maybe mommy and daddy wouldn't be so harsh if they had a pretty little girl.
You re skin and bone,
But that is not good enough,
You need less and less,
And every pound that disappears,
You begin to lose yourself in a vicious cycle.
Until you re consumed and it eats away at you.
I beg you to listen to me,
I want you to know that you mean everything,
But you don't care,
And then when the ambulances came,
And carried you away...
There was nothing more I could say...
I guess you were unaware,
That you were already beautiful.
each kiss carries
context and content,
sad eyes pour into mine
like a swimming pool
being filled with angels’ tears.
i cup her face in my hands,
trying to hold all of the water
that escapes her
as i gently kiss her forehead.
i will cradle her cerebrum
and maintain our composure.
i will protect you.
refers to the hands on a clock,
as well as the anatomical.
and this kiss is subtle,
but it represents our passing of time.
i started this with my mother at 13,
and only a few embraces away from 18.
with our fingers locking
themselves to adolescence.
i never have visibly blushed,
but i swear my flushed cheek
burned where your left your lips
for nearly a lifetime.
at least that’s what it felt like.
i kissed the blinds
that covered the windows
of your soul
to let you know
the sun still shone
even if your eyes were close
a sensory afternoongolden-turning,
bare skin, muscles aching...
we closed our salty eyes
and feeling the sun, spread our l i m b s
on the surface of the echoing blanket
while leaves dappled the amber of the long, late day
the smell of petrol and strawberry-marmalade
washed over us,
after warm, sleepy wave
a caramel jawline, caught in the corner of my eyes
spoke to me of a hanging mid-afternoon, sad and sweet
like a decade-old song in the air.
but our fingers were long and limp on our laps
through lines of flushed rhythm, my seafoam blood was smiling,
my heart a wine-press,
my eyes shutting their flicker lenses
to paint this skin-glowing picture
with drowsy, syncopating brush strokes
on the september backseat we sat...
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