trusting you
to take me away
keep me sane
hold my thoughts
you’re catching my tears
with the notes
making an ink stained mess
no matter
the thoughts look now
how they felt inside
there’s a river
moving swiftly
with my words
you won’t be able to avoid them all
but I’ll let you distract me
with your eyes
telling stories
outside my head
visiting yours
a new view
for me to see
I forget now
why I cried
when it’s all so terribly
wonderful
I was right
to trust in you
missing you
missing you more than I thought I would
more than I should
taking time to wallow
is certainly dangerous
it’s not the obvious
the signs of life
the warmth of the pillow
the breath on my neck
the fingers grasping mine
no, it’s none of those
it’s the sweet quiet
after
it’s the look across the crowded room
speaking better than any words
it’s cleaning up after a meal
and making another mess
yes, it’s the signs of you
lurking in the corners
missing you and our time more than I knew I could
more than I should
holding you as sacred
in memory is certainly a danger
Softer
Sometimes we expose our softness
reveling in sensations
joyful, light, full of promise
and we get beaten to shit
hammered and cut and ruined
So we create a shell like an animal
doing everything to hold something
tender inside
while bruised like unwanted fruit
we become hard to all outside
letting peripheral hurts be deflected
If we’re lucky, something soft remains
letting in light and love
laughing in the face of anguish
pissing in the stream of tears
We write hard and talk hard
and maybe even live hard
but inside
we retain the softness
the precious that we entered with
we may take with us always
Visit Yareah while surfing today, net friends. Oh, and a poem of mine is there too.
http://yareah.com/2013/10/2295-memories-lingering-goodbye-word-rummager/
Acclaim
They had their roles to play
with no understudies they were pressed to perform
no matter the circumstances
The dancer with a sore toe
The singer gargling warm saline
The writer with a broken pencil
All had to carry on
finding new ways
to perform without conforming
to express without regressing
to satisfy without feeling sated
When the lights dimmed
critics would come out of their slouch
and pick and mangle and scoff
since they were unable to do more
The roles would be filled again
by new artists the next day
and those with acclaim as well as not
would all be forgotten just the same
