Month: June 2011

• My Own You

  I
  Stand around and watch you
  Standing
  Somewhere only eyes can reach
  And
  You bother to look back for noises
  But
  Not for my stare.
  That
  Seems fair; I’m not important
  To you;
  I just watch you, alone,
  Counting
  The nights, but always starting over
  When
  I forget/–did I count one for the last?
  
  The shoulders are but barriers
  To your smile, your scowl, your
  Changing of your skin to mimic
  Those you’ve seen before feeling
  The way you do– or so they say.
  I place a face on you, your neck
  Balancing so gracefully the entire
  Beauty of this small, 4-walled world.
  Don’t worry, I don’t want you–
  You’re taken, I can tell. The ring,
  The stolen glances quickly given to the floor–
  I see you with their arm around you;
  You call me, “creep,” and look away
  As though my bolts ‘ve shown through,
  Or my snout came out. ‘Is the way
  Of things we don’t care for– humility
  Is lost and finds its way to the other side
  Of the room, where I am, and waits
  For my eventual realization that
  To look is to touch with eyes, and
  Touching is a very personal matter
  Best left to lovers, not observers.
  I wish you knew I don’t care about you.
  You mean to me as a magazine cover
  To a teenager saving up for their first car.
  You are but an image, a way to know
  I can find my own you, no matter
  Who you are.
  
   

  I
  Live with myself and try to
  Live
  In as much as doing of a word can be
  Done,
  But I only live when my mind can’t continue
  Trying
  To find my own you.

  June 22, 2011

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• I hate them afterward (read of shame).txt

  I tend to marvel at my own writings shortly after they’ve been saved, despite always later wondering what I was thinking, and letting them fall from favor upon my remembrance of the idea that I am older, wiser, if by seconds. And, let’s face it: seconds mean a lot when a mistake takes a batting of the eye, or the misstroke of a key.

  June 22, 2011

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• The pregnant silence eats random amounts of time, waits until you’re in bed asleep to ask your attention, and always makes you try to listen for a kick.

  June 22, 2011

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• We are a lot like the moth

  We’re a lot like the moth trapped on the inside of the door. Hands are there to help us, carry us to freedom, let us fly once we are safe enough to do so. But, we, like the moth, fight these hands. We know not what the lips behind them say, we know nothing of their intentions; so, we fight. We flap our winged gums, we flail our hands and feet wildly, and we stop only once we’re spent and cannot move without fear of falling. In that flapping and flailing, we forget about the hands. They’re a backdrop to our reality; they become but a secondary concern to the feeling of not persevering. We fear failure and panic in our anxieties of what we are not able to do. But, those hands remain. What seems like an exhaustive lifetime to the moth trapped against the door is but a second to the hands and their lips. We have just preserved ourselves in the tired wilting of our bodies. We have not persevered and we have not found freedom. The hands, seeing our tormented selves, is able to lift us from that world behind the door and escort us to the safety of the garden. We, overcome with joy and seeing our escape, leave the hands behind in a show of fantastic and unbridled victory. The hands fall to the side, triumphant in their goal. I say, do not forget those hands. They have saved more than you, and have taken much longer than our own lives to devote to doing so. Be thankful for the outreached hand, even those you fear, even those you don’t understand or cannot see. God will always be where you are; not because He comes with you, but because you are always in His presence.

  June 14, 2011

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• Wife (more)

  So,
  the simple touch
  of a wife in love
  can bring about
  an appreciation
  for a life lived fair.
  And the days
  We look back on
  Mean the most when
  We stop to think about them;
  But,
  we’re not going to bother to…
  And the days
  We look back on
  Mean the most when
  I’m sleepy on a highway,
  Waking with your touch;
  The
  Way it should be;
  And the days
  We look back on
  Mean the most when
  Your hand moves into mine,
  Our fingers walking along;
  The
  Way it should be;
  And we just hold
  On to today,
  As though
  Looking back
  Won’t happen
  Anytime soon
  Because today is
  The
  Way it should be.
  
   
  
   
  We
  can laugh, we
  can love, we
  can throw barbs,
  but we will remain
  in refusal of surrender.

  June 10, 2011

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• Wife

  So,
  the simple touch
  of a wife in love
  can bring about
  an appreciation
  for a life lived fair.
  And the days
  We never look back on
  Mean the most when
  You stop to think about it;
  But, we’ve got to bother to…
  And the days
  We never look back on
  Mean the most when
  I’m sleeping on a highway,
  Missing your touch the
  Way it used to be; And
  The days we never look back on
  Mean the most
  When you keep your hand in mine,
  The way it used to be; and
  We just hold on to today, like
  That sometime when won’t happen
  Anytime soon.
  
   
  
   
  We
  can laugh, we
  can love, we
  can throw barbs,
  but we will remain
  in refusal of surrender.

  June 7, 2011

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