Monday, November 13, 2017

how to be a brick wall

Stand straight up. Maybe you're made of a lot, but most people will just see you as a whole, so be strong and hold together. Remember that when people look at you, if they do at all, they can't see your other side. Be tall. Whatever it is you're protecting, or hiding, whether it's important or private or ugly, be taller than that thing. Most of the time, people won't notice you, but try to remember that you're important. Stay in one place. There might be someone who needs you--maybe a little girl who cries against you. Her hair falls down her back and you look down at her big blue eyes, but she doesn't see your feeling. Hold tight, be supportive. She'll keep coming to you when she needs you, for a backrest, a cold friend. And every time she comes, stand still, and try to keep from getting too attached. Because, remember, if you need her, you can't move to her. She'll leave you and go about her everyday, and she'll come to you when her mother punishes her, or when she gets teased by the older girls at school. She'll take her Instagram photos up against you, and bring her favorite books to read next to you. Her first boyfriend will press her up against you and her children will skip hopscotch next to you, but you must be careful to remain discreet, because if you try to move towards her, you'll break. And when you do, when your bricks start to fall, she'll tear you down. She'll replace you with a newer, sturdier wall, one that will look better with grapevines or soak up the rain less. Your job is to watch, to be, to stay pieced together so that you'll be there for her when she needs you. And when she doesn't, she'll forget about you, and you can't be bothered, because if you are, she'll take you down and you'll stop existing altogether. 

Friday, November 10, 2017


drips of sunlight color her hair,
laughter ringing in her eyes
her smile promises love and life
beyond discretion

wait, her lungs cry out
oppressed by image
clear to everyone but herself
blurring her sweet eyes with fire

tears carve my heart out
eating like maggots at its flesh,
one two, one two
my arms reach to hold her

but she's not there,
her tiny fingers shaking,
her body stiff, eyes open but unseeing
dead, or wanting, I'm not certain

one two, one two

Monday, October 23, 2017

blue lights

it's the blue light,
glowing, haunting, 
undershadow of existence. 
the mind-numbing reality 
until you grow into a pot of grey jelly
jiggling about with every move and 
every tremble in the floor
She holds it up and 
I'm emotionally blinded,
only for a moment,
and the sun-spot stays in my periphery 
until I can sleep on it, 
and sometimes it's still there when I wake up.
oh, to control,
to hold, to direct,
weaving and blending them together 
until they become an unreasonable plaid
with no distinctive colors
an army of tartan.
who's behind it all?
is it her? is it the light?
who's at the helm of this massive magnet?
blinking at me, shining into my chemistry 
and burning a hole in my trust. 

Sunday, October 15, 2017

my mind is playing tricks on me

my mind is playing tricks on me
I thought I was so alone,
but her tiny hand sat in mine the whole time.
I threw it down, and it hung limply at her side until I picked it back up again,
throwing it down again,
and again,
and again,
picking it back up
until now her arm is bruised, broken,
arm pulled out of her socket,
she looks up at me with tears in her eyes,
pleading for me to keep those tiny fingers in mine,
pleading for me stay,
but my mind is playing tricks on me,
and I can't feel her hand anymore.
I realize it only later,
and I pick her arm up and hold it in mine,
apologizing, promising to never do it again,
my heart as broken as it feels now, and she
trusts me, puts her little hand in mine,
waits for it to heal,
and I, the demon, the villain,
slam it on the table once again,
and yell that she doesn't understand.
my mind is playing tricks on me.
I never wanted to hurt those tiny fingers,
I never wanted to bruise her ivory skin,
I thought she couldn't feel it,
I thought she was immune,
I was wrong.
I was so wrong, and this time, I see it.
I can see her arm, hanging limply without a cast,
without a wrap,
and I'm crying because it was me who did it to her,
the one who just wants to hold her tiny fingers,
the one who is begging for support,
but I've broken my support now,
and she's dying,
and I can't save her.