i dare not reach out
though the temptation extreme
this resolve pains me
Category: Writing
stir-crazy
my fingers twitch
an itching under the tips
a nervous searching
for the smooth feel
of the skin
across your cheekbone
they tap
impatient and out of sync
a restless dance of
digits
unable to sit
still
my mouth
a continuous
phantom tingle
tickling
my lips
so i keep them
pressed tight
to dismiss
them missing you
because
they are not kissing you
the memory
of that
the faint brush
tender touch
of lips
lingering soft
but urgent
against yours
sharply inhaling
the exhale
of
your breath
wistful
the days
slowly yawn on
while
i yearn
for that
blessed moment
when
we were one
Sunday
It is Sunday.
Just another day
which was supposed to be ours.
Yet
Here I am
Alone
Realizing that
Days don’t belong
to anyone
They are just
measures of time
fading into the nothingness
of the
eventual forgotten
Still
it is Sunday
Just another day
Yet
I haven’t the Heart
The Desire
Nor the Wish
to share it with
anyone else.
nonsense
after all this time
have you ever known me
the answer is saddening
but not surprising
for it is
unequivocally
no
but how could you
even if
i am whom i’ve always been
a quick scribble
the key half broken in the lock
soft drizzle through sunlit clouds against the blur of blue
a platypus
i speak
words tumble out faster than thoughts can catch
confusion
misinterpretation
a picture taken in the dark
without flash
i have attempted conformity
normalcy
complacency
rigidity
resigned myself to abnormality
(what a misnomer)
unapologetically and with zero malice
i am who i am
whom i’ve always been
fine wine and cheeto dust covered fingertips
technicolor costumes
against grayscale scenery
loud, unafraid
quiet, guarded
polka dots on plaid
silk sheets
sandpaper
mostly nonsense
and you’ll not be the one
to make heads or tails
of me
Haiku for a fool
Her cries to the sky
Agonizing against
The aching goodbye
Too Much
Brilliant and glowing
A star
A Sun
And you,
blinking,
wandered towards the warmth
the brightness…
this was new
and for a minute
you were happy
But the heat
The sweltering heat
What once soothed
now scorched
What once gave soft light
Now blinded
It was too much of what it was
And not enough of what you wanted
Stars burn until they don’t.
And one
cannot hold jurisdiction over stars.
the rain
it’s raining and i miss you.
i wish you knew how extraordinary a thing that is.
the rain talks to me
softest pit-pat of drops against the glass pane
like
a gang of cats jogging across hot summer pavement
too quick to count
slightly silent
save for the rhythm
a staccato in unison
what a paradox
but it’s singing to me
and i think of you
your voice
(sweet songs kissing my ears)
your words
(drowsy mumbled love notes late at night)
and echos of
your laughter
(the happiest of dreams)
it’s raining and my arms feel empty
(where are you)
my hands restless
(i need to touch you)
the gnawing ache in my stomach
(i am empty)
my body is in a frenzied disparate hunger
one which cannot be easily sated
appeased
quelled
so
alone
i listen to the wind
whipping water
at my window
imagining
it’s you next to me
speaking to me
singing to me
whispering to me
instead of
the rain
Damned
I didn’t want to talk to you.
Receiving your messages before, I shrugged them off.
Curtly. Succinctly.
And I owed you nothing. Not a damn thing. I didn’t have to call you back.
But I’m not built that way.
I’ve spent far too many nights reaching out to empty bottles and lonely walls echoing my wretched breathing and the staggering pace of a sickened heartbeat.
I’ve played the part of functioning human while all were none the wiser to the inner cataclysm that just seemed to be on a never ending loop of emotional implosion.
No. I didn’t want to talk to you.
But I didn’t want you to be lost in that all too familiar gaping void of isolated solitude, either.
Begrudgingly, I did what I had promised myself I would never do again.
I let you back in.
Gods curse my caring heart.
Imprisoned
Pouring regrets,
mistakes,
guilt,
into this
rocks glass
*neat please*
it’s the way…
the road
to perdition
a constant
hell
of one’s own making
exoneration
is a
pipe dream
as lucidity fades
culpability
becomes
a
faint tendril
disintegrating into
the dawn
forgiveness
teasing
with the
rising
of the sun
self-delusion
as it
diminishes
returns
to the
blurred
and sloppy
self-loathing
as the
exhaustion
of BEING
becomes a dense,
thickened, hairy
weight
on the
soul
all that is left
for respite
is sleep
only to
repeat
on the morrow
Dominoes
The ones I loved
The ones I wanted
The ones I lusted
All could give a
flying fig
for me
a history of
chasing men
who had been
nothing but
back alley
beggar boys
sneakily dressed
in much
fancier clothing
just
(faintly squint)
a tiny bit
too large
for their
diminutive
frames
all whilst
my woman’s heart,
devotion,
and
hunger
had remained
far more feeling,
staunch,
and ravenous
And like dominoes
I kept queuing
them up
Each had
been
placed
and
balanced,
precariously
forming that tenuous line
of repeated
fowls and
heartaches.
the fickleness
of the foolish
a test of my
patience
Until I
came to realize
this was
far more trouble
than it
was worth
weary sigh
head tilted
my finger gave
the smallest
poke
to the very first
pip
and
The quiet rhythmic
clacking
soothed
the
*click
*click
*click
of each
falling into the
other
closure,
leaving
a flawless
mess…
a pile
of ivory rectangles
pieces
with no
discernible match
Gingerly,
with care
and reverence
I placed each tenderly
within the case
This was a game
I no longer
cared to play.
But Otherwise Fine 