Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Decode me;
I'm a box, much like a photo album,
only I use shortcuts,
and sparks like a computer,
except, I hide my stash,
so my parents do see
and my friends can't find
what I hide,
cause its mine
And I can never erase
the days
though I try,
And when I spill my drink,
everyones face seems to fade
and create just one, dull, person;
but when I decide to dry them,
I can make out faces, just barely,
and these pictures bring out the best qualities
of everyone; I've ever met;
My books are right there next to them--
so everything is relative. I hang a crucifix next to my bed,
my bed though is secondary in this equation; mix and match,
choose the words carefully-- swear to me, haha, playfully yes yes, okay alright.
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1 comment:

  1. maggiercJuly 29, 2009 at 3:24 PM

    "When Everything Was Crooked"

    Mother,
    I am afraid of my emotions,
    of loving someone
    who will someday die.
    The future is inevitable.
    If we stay cold we are safe.
    How cautious have I been? I'm so sorry.
    I miss cool tiled floors, shadows swaying on my carpet, bare feet burning on the driveway.
    Life was solid.

    I'm letting time slip through my fingers.
    My memories have no temperature.
    Skirts, colors, sounds.
    Feet shuffling through St. Peter's, your lullaby, whistling,
    yelling echo on the lake.
    When I was seventeen
    I woke up in a field.
    I woke up to singing in Germany.
    I forget the weather.
    The past is distant, intangible.
    This is unsettling.

    Our will can be surprising, our wants maybe more.
    I was my own hypnotist for years.
    The fallacies I fed myself, repressive at best.
    And each time you hugged me
    I held my breath to hide my tears.
    "I'll miss you so much."
    Apathy is easier than pining.
    "Yes."
    Mother, I could barely stand to touch you.
    Your warmth was frightening.
    Your embrace, dangerous.

    False Messiah,
    I took advice once from you:
    "Guard your heart, don't block it.
    I learned to build trenches.
    I learned to sabotage my own fortress.
    Feeding on deception, seduction, adrenaline.
    We taught each other insecurity.
    Sweet words were only sounds that summer.
    Love was warfare then.

    Lover,
    Yesterday I rode the C.
    I saw the future on my hands.
    I own my life. A nutmeg purse.
    This oriental scarf. Our slanted staircase.
    I never regretted living with you, but,
    where were we going so fast?
    Our truths come out in dreams
    I first said "I love you" half-asleep.
    You answered me with questions,
    asking, "Why?"
    And so I know how it feels
    to cry on Christmas. My birthday.
    To cry myself to sleep.
    To wait for devotion.
    To fantasize in blood.
    Have you survived betrayal?
    Have you loved and hated simultaneously?
    You've melted me with so many questions.
    We are tired, but we are trying.
    We'll look back on this and say,
    "when everything was crooked."

    Let me rewind.
    I fell in love with Robin Hood at six.
    I fell in love with outlaws at sixteen.
    I missed the part on charity.
    Sheltered danger, desperation.
    Do you know what it's like
    to kiss a mouth who longs for someone else?
    I have twice.
    People circle back.
    We unravel, we return.

    Dark-eyed lover,
    What let you to me?
    The night I met you you looked familiar.
    You filled my trenches before they were dug.
    We must surrender our games in order to feel.
    In autumn you helped me to cry again.
    With your hand on my back, I melted.

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