Aside

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“So Unsexy”

Oh these little rejections how they add up quickly
One small sideways look and I feel so ungood
Somewhere along the way I think I gave you the power to make
Me feel the way I thought only my father could

Oh these little rejections how they seem so real to me
One forgotten birthday I’m all but cooked 
How these little abandonments seem to sting so easily
I’m 13 again am I 13 for good?

I can feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful
So unloved for someone so fine
I can feel so boring for someone so interesting
So ignorant for someone of sound mind

Oh these little protections how they fail to serve me
One forgotten phone call and I’m deflated
Oh these little defenses how they fail to comfort me
Your hand pulling away and I’m devastated

When will you stop leaving?
When will I stop deserting?
When will I start staying with myself?

Oh these little projections how they keep springing from me
I jump my ship as I take it personally 
Oh these little rejections how they disappear quickly
The moment I decide not to abandon me

 

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Anonymous

These frequent little dips in time, that I know how to fix this from a logical, textbook standpoint seem to scare me so much. I don’t like the person these sweating thoughts make me.   Someone stuck somewhere in the past, can’t get over something- Something or someone is buried and it’s trying to bury me. Did I block something out? They tell me they believe I did. I’d have to deal with it either way. But I don’t know how.   All these minor distracions keep forcing me to transfer my thoughts to a world somewhere other than here I always have something to deal while I’m hiding from the mirror. Should I not feel this way right now. I’m mentally impaired. ——————————————————————————————————————————


Lots wife was told not to look back, if she looked back she’d crumble, wither away with the blossoms of coming old. There’s not abnormality here- I think we’re almost driven to engulf ourselves in something- And It’s just so human, I keep looking back and turning to dust


———————————————————————————————————————- In the forest here all is quiet And flattened leaves with their waterproof coats fall in swivels like gliding tortoise shells Spinning Piling onto the ground Where no one notices The tree ultimately Has to watch itself it’s whole life Seemingly at peace with it’s role And while it may not understand a beating heart It’s energy changes with the sound of a sweet voice The tree understands This world expects nothing of us other than our breath and probably feels bad at how much we forget how to just be. fading elements in time


Before Audrey Hepburn died she sat outside in cool crisp air and gazed upon the icy mountain tops painted upon a not so distant place- She tilted her head to the sunlight and smiled, “Mmm, that’s delicious,” She said.

Aside

He rests his head on the steering wheel While the car is running

The rain outside pounds the beat of a strange funk

He’s tired of the disco.

Outside lights spin blood red and Christmas tree green with an occasional yellow

The yellow doesn’t visit much anymore

We’ve forgotten how to slow down We’ve become too busy swaying round the puddle graced floor.

The time is five and the morning fog hasn’t lifted a lazy finger except to shake me awake.

I’m here, sitting on the shower floor Watching the light pour in from

Behind the rippled glass of a frameless door

The water forms a fall when my palm sides kiss and my wrists are attached at the hip

I know they’re right outside

Sleeping soundly in the warmth of their blankets

Times like this their laughter lingers But the whole world empties except for myself

And this running water

Everything is beyond me

In a thunderstorm of beauty

So simple

I’m tired of the disco

But he assures me

We can leave

That this will require patience

It’s important just to breathe

So I do

The world is alive again.

Twine

There’s a man in lusterless denim and knit hat

All the shades of blue fall from him,

onto the woman on his shoulder.

His 5 o’clock shadow rests inches below

sweater button eyes in teardrop sockets

 

The world can see

All of her pale memories surface,

under a nest of curls

the hue of an inflamed Raggity Ann,

then are pulled out by the draft

of his sure and revering breath

 

“See? It pays to be sexy honey”

He spins her with a thread of his pride,

her giggle, a charming snake

which slips out of her mouth

to weave about his once sun burnt neck

“It sure does baby, it sure does,”

She swoops a paper cup up

with the dip and rise

of an expert seamstress

and they hustle off to other places

for its Monday and the Lord knows

there’s work to be done

plans to be made;

there’s still life to be spun

until its honeyed thread runs out.

 

Magical Mystery Parade

If I drew the back the velvet curtains here,

You’d see,

The remnants of a wall where

A grandiose canvas used to be,

 

And the magical mystery guy

Stands up at the front

To sell you a ticket and take you inside

The organs holler and the children scream

Inaudible muffles from a fortune queen

Stripes and dirt of a desirable dream

 

The gypsies dance while the hems of their skirts

Create whirlwinds of sand and kick up the dirt

Glimpses of thoughts

Homes sitting on wheels

Drifting along towns to

Beg borrow and steal

 

It’s a hocus pocus

White rabbit in a magicians hat

Smiles happen often

So they don’t mind telling you that

With a life on wheels

Contentment doesn’t dare stay

And the curtain that close

Try hard not to bestow

One hell of a gloomy ass parade.

Sure

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The young cambodian boy must be about seven, 

His big black almond eyes peer over his sausage sandwich and the morning shine outside casts shadows the shapes of willow branches over his face.
 
His dad wears knuckle sized, thick rimmed glasses, his eyebrows are sleepy caterpillars, and he dresses in Saturdays nice khakis, fleece, flip flops. 
The boy flashes a half moon of crooked teeth up at his dads grinning face. Everything dad does, bite for bite, he copies- his hero.
 
One day perhaps, he will wear flips flops and khakis, his sight quality will fade, so he will sport dads bottle-top glasses. All the shining stars in his half moon smile will align perfectly.
 
Or maybe he will look upon his father, one day, and see him in his rawest state; as a man, much like himself, with faults, prone to strength and error, simply trying his hardest not to pass on anything but the best to his son.
 
Not a demi-god. Just a man, in affordable fleece.
 
And maybe he’ll turn out as someone completely different, and that’ll be okay. Because life is this way, and such is life; as salty and as sweet as a sausage breakfast sandwich from a tiny worn down donut and bagel shop. And Saturday, is just another day to hang onto.

 

Shadow

There’s this firefly, who resides near me on the porch

As I swing from the rooftop.

It’s more luminescent than the others of its kind,

Yet lingers in its modesty.

& I try to forget it, because it feels so out of bounds.

Preoccupy myself with the other soaring lights that come around.

But it’s no use; there isn’t another creature like it-

They don’t measure up, nor can they see the hidden pieces of me that the distant flyer sees;

The mere presence of it somehow puts me at ease.

It gets so hard to lock these thoughts up, and wait for my lingering feelings to fade.

As I continue dangling in the night

Careful not to get too close,

I am the murderous blue light.

Aside

Don’t be attached to the past.

Don’t be attached to possessions.

Don’t be attached to an identity.

Don’t be attached to a place.

Don’t be attached to a person, “my mom, my brother, my friend, my boyfriend,” they aren’t
yours” they are their own.

Don’t be attached to life, or a religion, or a philosophy.

Things change, people change, life changes, these things are not permanent, they have a time limit, be happy to appreciate them they they’re there for you’ll have to eventually let them go.

And in death don’t tell them don’t go, if anyone ever has to take on their own path they have to go, and if you love them you’ll be happy for them, not create more pain out of selfishness.

Things are liable to change.

They’ll go, they’ll come, let it be.

Aside

Hands grasped mine- then gave way

Something I tried so hard to not dread

Unfolded and then folded again

To be re-opened, peaked at every now and then.

I’m not sure what I’m doing here with

my hands held back out

awe-sticken at

history repeating itself

Somewhere where that brain ticks in an upperhanded manner

On the face of a clock where all it seems is well

Peace will set itself in

and just like clockwork

These anxious feet take off running

blind

mad

distant and saddened at the dull grey matter of fact that…

I’ve abandoned all hope before giving anything a shot

I’ve been

All out of sorry’s.

The Ten Month Rewind

I wanted to be the north star in your sky

The one we

couldn’t find that night

Stargazing in the midnight; so many months back they almost spill over the count on my ten fingers and toes.

I wanted to teach you how to soar across the silver crescent in the autumn sky,

The blood in my heart broke a vessel working hard to try and help you see that you might get it down right,

Because I felt indebited to you for delivering me from a more broken state of mind,

I soared with heavy wings all the way up there

but a feathers length away from where gravity could reach me no more,

Then I started to fall,

And as the land neared my weatherwithered exterior

You withdrew the arms you promised in which to catch me with

Since then it’s never been the same-

You ask me to teach you how to fly,

You tell me you want to sit on the moon and talk with the stars

The countless times I’ve considered-have only resulted in countless times of taking another daring step away in a different direction.

I know that keeping my feet planted here next to you gives you a sense of possibility and light, a lovely thing to uncover-

But inside me stars are dimming,

A taking of florescence with an unpromising return.

There is an error which comes with a reliance upon wishes;

Wishes so often refuse to come true.

So here is the beforehand, “I’m sorry” for walking away.