Get Up

I’m tired of touching myself
where your hands are missing.
I am pushing my weakness out
the window and letting the air in.

I need to breathe, and I need to see.
I need to let the world wrap its arms
around my tired body, because it’s
time I realized you’re not the one.

Kick the golden spindles down the stairs
and the threads sparkle, tumble, and
still I can’t work magic with them.
No coat of gold to rest in your closet.

When I would go driving the sides of the
road were canyon walls, but now when I look
again it seems I am flying high above the clouds.
Frankly, I don’t give a damn what happens to you.

As I suck in that sweet air, and
watch the clouds roll into the valley
I find inside myself that all this misery was
for nothing; I was always right below the surface.

I Am My Own Jailer

I am my own jailer.
I posses my keys.
And unlike any sailor,
I roam on no rough seas.

I hide in webs of hypocrisy;
the lonely spider soul.
My arms are false synecdoche
that gladly hide the whole.

Who else could weld these bars,
if not the one inside?
I tried to swallow stars,
but my gut has only sighed.

I want those hands to grasp me,
and pull me towards their need.
I want to want nobody,
and overlook my greed.

A queer and quaint pauper
begging problems to resolve.
I trap myself in others,
so I won’t feel so small.

Moving On (or at least somewhere)

I met you.
Then the only eyes I cared for
were those dull emeralds you hid.
Your happiness made me high.

And in the light of all honesty about
how our two hearts really beat
I realize that you were more or less
a fantasy and although you’re real…

You’re not the man I thought you were.

But, the blame is my own.
You are only a human; like myself.
And I am a romantic who clothes you in purple.
I am the one person, right now, who sees you as so much more,
placing glue and feathers across your shoulders.

Now, when tart reality bites my hand
and the cold truth settles on my chest
I feel so foolish for ever thinking that things
were some damn fairytale.

Really, I’m just delusional.
Things are… confusing.

Now with fresh lessons engraved
into the bark of my heart,
maybe, I can deserve love.

We don’t choose which thorns stick us…
But we choose which ones to remove.
And we can endure,
and face the pain of losing that familiar sting.
We can persevere through the hurt and taste soft freedom.

Remove my empty rattling dreams, and
let the new sun fill me with warmth
where the body that used to lay next to mine
left only a cold indention.

My Love, the Illusion

My heart is a horse behind the gates
just begging to run free with
the spirits of love that surround
every Romeo and Juliet.

I guess it can be promising
to think that this melancholy
will pass and that you will
materialize, but can I wait for it?

I’m a child on the porch who’s
feet gently drag across the wood
as I sit alone on the swing watching
the others who get to play.

When I retire at day’s end I feel
a frost creeping over my fingers
and I can’t feel any surfaces as
I drift into a solitary slumber.

When I wake the tape is rewound
and my motions are all too familiar,
so until this is real I’ll be stroking
a smooth empty pillow.

You Never Loved Me

Aligned across too much table
the day after, and you eclipse the
margarine, normally glowing with
morning rays at breakfast time.

You didn’t just hurt me, you lied
and saturated my deepest woes.
My eyes are dwarf stars and I struggle
to keep my chin parallel to the rug.

The embarrassment of the lack
of food might have been a priority, but
I barely feel the sting of shame which
is all but muted by your dead stare.

How could the landscape of flesh
possibly conceive such cold recesses?
The swan’s face is hidden beneath the
waters we once floated upon.

Now I look up as I am sinking and see
such a thing of beauty watching me slide
to the lowest my heart has ever resided.
What sting does the edge hold up to betrayal?

Your heart is free of my white fingers
and I can watch as a morning sun bears
you into a new day for us both.
So many teeth litter the curbs.

In my solitude I peer inwards at the frail
creature who’s bones protrude from flesh.
He’s all I can manifest of what I experience
from the shock of learning; you never loved me.

Mason of Wonders

I have been branded as strong
and to be as tall as my title I
built a wall that grazes the clouds.
I am untouchable when I sit atop it.

But high in the windy reaches I feel
so alone, and unlike I used to feel.
I frantically build my defenses higher
which makes it that much harder to fall.

I am afraid to come undone and
feel the need to need anyone but myself.
I am a dancing fox on the table
hoping my grace will save me from scrutiny.

Behind my door lies shadow fingers and bones.
Inside I feel so lost and I don’t know who I am.
I am sealed with a doorknob that must turn
both ways before releasing its hold.

So strong am I, and yet so frail and afraid.
I fear being less than what I am needed for.
I fear being the needy, for need seems so weak.
Somehow the mason must descend his miracle.

Receding Feelings

The clouds perked up
using the wet sand as
a mirror and I smiled
at every glimmer of hope.

The clouds and I go out
to count all the grains on
the beach and wonder if
our blessings could add up.

I considered spinning into a tornado
and twirling violently in the den
throwing every object my arms
could reach before you got home.

Luckily I’ve cooled down over the
years so all you’ll receive is a gentle
twinkle from my eyes and a letter
thanking you for all the butterflies.

Now I sweep away my past
and let the tears join the ocean, because
I can no longer skip time off the waves;
It’s time to find new stomping grounds.