When a drawer closes

maybe it was my subconscious, but i never put his picture in my locket and he kept his hands in his pocket the last time we talked it was not a real conversation, but an obligatory exchange with silence so strange that i could taste the change. now that naked locket sits in a drawer and my mind wanders back to times of before when hands weren’t in pockets but reaching for more and my heart was open instead of sore. but though things didn’t turn out how i supposed a little bit sore is still better than closed, and when this heart heals it’ll be strong, locket resting against it, inside a picture that belongs.

just a draft

What is there to write about besides love or the lack of, it seems every song that’s ever been sung is about one or the other, rhyming sob stories of the quest for a lover resonating through the airwaves so strongly that we feel them; these feelings make us go reeling til floor becomes ceiling and we melt til we’re kneeling; wait calmly for the healing to carry us away from the place that we don’t want to go. And so it goes til what’s left is A Lack of Love Poem echoing the words she won’t show him, cause now she doesn’t know him. But a poem’s just a draft unable to capture how they once laughed, a fainted outline where once was a painted skyline of a city only they knew of, where they roamed the streets and home was where their bodies could meet, and all fleeting moments were immortalized in smiling eyes that did not look at, but truly saw the splendor in the flaws, in the city that was all theirs. Where they could saunter about or shout and yell four letter words that start with L, cause they knew how to live, and their Love Poem was the city’s only law. The train to take them there only runs after midnight behind closed eyelids, but at least the ticket is free.

bad days

thinking about it still makes me quietly hyperventilate and honestly a little nauseous even, and i wonder why the fuck i still care at all. it's the little tiny things that set it off; usually it's just one word that really hits me. it's realizing that this epic story i built up in my head was over years ago, and no one reads it anymore, except for me.

another poem she won't show him

Your voice, just stay quiet
your choice to lie it
caused a riot
in my mind it
turned my breath into a sigh it
makes me ask why it
should be your words still ring in my ear
like birds that always reappear
just when I heard the coast was clear
I use my voice to drown out yours
my muse, it silently stirs
while I choose my next verse
until your voice in my head is no longer a curse

compatibility

tell me your story and I just might tell you mine
not the watered down version, either
("I wasn't myself, but now everything's fine!")
I could talk, I could listen, or neither
but I have secrets on the tip of my tongue
and your eyes tell me you do as well
there are stories in me that want to be sung
when you look in my eyes, could you tell?
see, I twist my rings too much
am afraid to be touched
and can live on a latte and a prayer
my thoughts are reckless and free
but they're locked with no key
except your curiosity, if only you'd care
so let's sit for awhile til our words form a pile
right between us, perfectly round
our stories no longer separate, all our lost thoughts now found

We are Calendars

I will be Saturday
you will Sunday
count down the days til the weekend

But today I am Tuesday
not a me-and-you day
I had too much to say,
so our weekend blew away

but tomorrow I'm a new day

For Wednesday is a cleansed day
breathe in, hold it, let it out slow
and Thursday? such a blursday
time travels when I let myself flow
if Friday is a cry day
use it, write it, dance it out
cause the week's end is when the weak mend,
only then will Saturday and Sunday come about

one nine

Forget-me-nots
Regret the knots
But no matter what’s said
We’ll share a twin bed
Cause laughing, dancing, just being with you
More than fills the spaces in my head
Too much ahava for one bunkbed to handle
So we’ll separate like flame and candle
A thin wall apart
We knock 3 times
(Good night, other part!)
Our rituals are rhymes
Right brain, left brain
Different but the same
I’m just a verse to your refrain
But we’ll always harmonize to the same song
First sentences to first duet, connected all along
The root of the root of sixteen is two
The two of us are shades of purple, not blue-
The most human color is that of the ocean
Where we float, summertime, despite all commotion
Lyss and Elle went up the hill to fly a pretty kite
Lyss fell down, but wouldn’t frown
For they had a witty night
Full of slams, photos, and whole wheat crust
The moon shined down as they shook some dust
And that’s why yin and yang are always a must
Because you never know what life might thrust
So after 19 years of having blood thicker than water
We still balance out like a teeter-totter
When I’m up in the air, you’ll never stand
But if you did, and I fell, all I’d need is your hand

Alphabetically speaking,

Always a Bit of a Confession
Depending on Evolution of Feelings
Guarantees Her Intensity
not through Jealousy, but Kindness
Love, and Mind is
Not Openly his
(it's all hers)
check your Pulse
Quietly a Rhythm Stirs
Together in Unison
Veins pump, a heart Whirs
X marks the spot
Why are their no cures?
Zip up the memories til all fades, except blurs

On hearing voices

Have your voice taken away and oh, you'll learn to use it
Don't let your choice be taken away, yet don't abuse it
Listen to the words inside your head,
but don't let them call it bipolar
Play the game, take your meds
Like any good rock n' roller
know: the only cool system is solar.

Some ideas creep into a dream, you leap outta bed
Wispy thoughts may seem: pink, purple, or red
An exposed moonbeam
can reveal thoughts once thought to be dead
What others may deem
holds nothing to what your mother has said.

Slam me out of my sleep
I won't ask twice
Show me a phrase to forever keep
It would be more than nice
This girl knows how to leap
so follow this here advice.

Without passion ethos, pathos, & logos are nothing
Passionless souls rely solely on bluffing
Harness your energy, focus, and wit
If you ever lose your voice, go out and find it.

On being awake

Vividly vivacious moments aflutter
within me, let loose through flustered stutter
All around me rain echos within the gutter
Resonating mummer, the spout's spider listens
Spring became summer, the dewey grass glistens
In several hours, that's where the kids will be kissin'
Aged 14 and 16, they cling to what the world's missin'
But what happens in between? What does time take?
A dark world becomes clean, ripples surge through the lake
A grey world becomes green, an earth's tremor will quake
There's time to learn what things mean, lying laying awake