Afterthoughts

Is it true you kill your own expectations?
Raising the bar
after she's already jumped it?

Don't idealize the race,
don't make a life
out of embellishing a pedestal
till no one can stand on it.
Why would you want her on one anyway?

Don't keep her there.
Keep her in your hand.

For all the loving -
love has found you wrong, I see.
I think.

You have to want her
as more than just
a place to keep yourself.

I wish I could find for you
the piece that you are missing,
that thing to complete your heart...

But I can't.
You continue -
and I, I can only watch
and be.


Longer

In all our late distance,
there are moments I catch you closer -
some burning shovelful
is flung into my face.

Can't you feel the changing?

On the wind I snatch
whispers of what's passed me by.

I seem to collect them.

I have pockets and and fistfuls of dead leaves.
Of proof I could have blown away.

So we'll sit,
and talk in patches.
Some awkward detachment
unties our little knots
with brittle fingers.

Can't you stop the slipping away?

Or do even I
mean that little to you?

I would call,
if I heard you listening.p


(untitled)

I would beg you
to stop me from digging this hole.
I am hurting,
and want to bury it -
but this is not the way.
Remind me why I know you,
like no one else.
Remind me why
it counts so little.
Am I distant?
You didn't pull me closer.
Am I different?
Perhaps.
I couldn't be enough,
I had to change.
I'm sorry if I let you down.
I'm sorry if I left you down.
Leave something like a tear
the next time you find yourself
in places where I lie.





GAH! I LIKE HIM AND IT'S MAKING ME NUTS!

Well, not really nuts. I don't want nuts, made or otherwise. But still. There's this guy, who I, well....like. A lot, and it's making me stupid and dumb and very tentative and stand-offish because I am SOOOOO convinced that he doesn't. like. me. Because, number A: I. Scare. People. Mleh.

So, yes, in lieu of not being able to put that in a poem and have it seem remotely poetic, I had to explode for a moment there. Thank you.

Poem Translation:

Boys are dumb,
because I am dumb.

I hate their silence,
because I am silent and so unsure.

All this liking
makes me a scream,
a writhe,
a sad batch of love songs
from headphones in a dark corner.

There's nothing to say
that we would work,
and in all my hinting,
I catch no hint.

Perhaps he's waiting for me to say it,
that he sits there knowing,
and somewhat amused.

Like him laughing at me
is going to loosen my lips.

I hate that I crave and loathe his laughter,
the difference between with and at.

Someone hide me
from my hiding,
and find me a place more warm and dry.

Turn off the music.
Take of the headphones...

Find me in the light.