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| some people live to write, others write to live.
i've never published anything, rarely share most
try to keep my heart private but i plead with my convoluted words
only hoping those i want to understand
will be able to read me
i write to live.
tangles of feelings and thoughts
anxieties and angels' wings scattered in my heart
i can pin them through the written word
document and make permanent me
so i won't lose myself along the way
i dont belong here, at times
this truth takes a selfish turn and i just want to go home
home for myself, home for real
that's why i think when i sit next to you i feel the closest
to Love
because without words i feel at home sharing the silence with you
it's like sitting next to my daddy and examining the weathered creases in his hand
and be able to read him like a journal, but still wondering of all the stories
wrapped up in deep
and knowing in a sense he feels out of place here too
come september we'll re-learn the lesson
that will one day be perfected
of dying gracefully
with unseen deep roots that were sown long ago
that hold enough to last through bitter winters at the surface
that's why chicago's 4 seasons will always win out over the daily sun in california
because "weather" is both a verb and a noun
i'll weather the seasons with you
orange, red, yellow, brown
leaves dehydrated go crunch, stores underground must be
teach me that letting go precedes new growth
teach me that resilience goes often unseen beneath
that what seems most fragile shows most strength in surrender
breathe softly
wait and be still
there is no frantic scrambling by branches
for the winter over
time they've already been readied
store me up some prayers
to crystallize into hope for what's to come
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| we will add up the flowers and come up
with a number too many
stand on sandy shores eroding from intentional salty waves
i will pick up the stones that sharpened the nails that held you there
carried in worn garments and woven strands of thread
count the cost in the forefront of your forever
too educated to be stupid but never enough not to be foolish
if so then therefore
i will be a fool for you
i dont deserve. we just dont deserve.
where one and one is one
in light of One
where one day i will cry
complain in frustration
sigh for lack of insight
gaze down for fleeting of vision
the darkening of sight
but while i have my youth, my being
i will run
or crawl on my knees with the neediness
of a broken but not forgotten creation
because one day i will
see you and stand under your
son
wanting to say with empty hands
and worn feet
all i have
had
yours
only fools fall in love
the rest fight for it
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| what's so special about september that natalie imbruglia waits for it?
perhaps the melancholy that comes with autumn
all the leaves that die and make a fertile compost for new songs
and artistic expressions of everything the year past to put into
that time capsule before your heart gets buried for the winter
chicago's winters are too long
but what a surprise when the spring comes
and the sun starts to melt what feelings you froze away
the realization that you forgot how to love deeply and passionately
digging around only to come up at the beginning again with dizzy butterflies
and awkwardnesses wrapped in garbs of seventh grade blushes
come melt away and mobilize all the struggles and insecurities
she thought would stay sleeping
learning every lesson again in different settings
and later sunsets propels you further faster
they press on time held back by the reins only of yesterday
and when summer comes, our words will be static in a new way
held by the haziness that accompanies horizon lines when heat simmers up from black asphalt
still nights held in jeopardy of broken silences
loud dreams that awake you from your sleep to a deafening silence
balcony nights and escapades far from reality
with september hopes for resolution
a frantic scramble to tie up all the loose ends
before ice sheets hold you captive to the last position that you hold
the beauty in dying
we lie down and surrender arms
drawing wisdom from trees with deeper roots
this is the house i grew up in
this is the house i played piano in
this is the house i fought, cried, gave up and tried again in
this is the house where i thought all my "what-if", "should-have", "could-have", "would have"s in
this is the house i was blessed, broken and built up in
this is the house i met God, doubted and was re-redeemed in
this is the house i got kicked out of in the middle of the night only to be let in ten minutes later
this is the house i escaped from and then returned to
this is the house i learned about dial-up, talked to a boy over AIM, crushed and was crushed in
this is the house i saw my brother go from 2 feet to 6 feet in
this is the house i made my vow i will never make that mistake again in
where i sat out on the side of the garage and pulled out weeds while on my brick cellular phone
where i wrote like i breathed
where i keyed like i cried
where i was satisfied with blurry lines
where i thought goodbye was forever
where i forgot
where i remembered the wrong details
where i remembered to forget
where i came apart
where you put me back together
this is the house that i come back to again and again
again and again
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| quiet. sitting here.
and different.
a still frame from a silent film.
hold on to the hope that is unseen.
not a victim of bad circumstance or unfortunate luck.
we reap what we sow.
but still the water gets deep sometimes.
a pace too frequently changing.
and human enterprises captivate and hold captive.
the edges of our imagination.
trading a forever for pretty, fleeting images.
simple words suffice.
lonely but not alone.
like an overdone movie scene.
she's just waiting for her hair to grow out again.
and in the meantime years go by in between her waking and sleeping.
im just here. | | |
| because over time i have learned that i am a leaver
looking back i see patterns that tread marks
because i never stay for long
and my dad likes to travel
amplified in me, i take too much liberty in this
why
Vianne in chocolat tugs at my heart
or even julia roberts character in runaway bride
some part of me is surprised as i root for them
to run
thats not the happy ending
the leaving would be worth it if i were running to something
sometimes i think i am
other times i find myself doing the same thing
without any direction or destination
i'm ready to leave
because some part of me is left wanting
and i'm desperately and foolishly convinced i can really grow wings
and fly above this
if i ran fast enough for a liftup
and as we get older it is more and more inexcusable
as relationships are supposed to grow more permanent
and less transient
its not the commitment, it never was
it was always the staying | | |
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