(no subject)
fodder for my writing but cyanide to peace, why once more after 8 months i thought for sure we had a point of mutual understanding. (i can't help but hold a grudge: the audacity, my wedding night, who do you think you are?)
and yet the serendipity, at dinner just last night you crossed my mind so briefly "it's been since what july? [i admit with shame: with melancholy] maybe an era's end." not 90 minutes later - wine drunk and three hits deep - there's a certain sense of anxiousness that's unfair, that's inauthentic. the line breaks, the parenthesis - such drama such intention. my poetry is thanks to you but fuck you the same's true for so much by which it's inspired.
we're young (young-ish) and already i'm sure that every choice is a tentative. we rely on the trajectory that's as good as magic for its physics (a forward force that's bendable like, well some would say like clay). i hate that i believe this, i hate the way it's all that breaks him - because inevitably i fuck things up, it's just a point of how enormously. i'm so in love, i'm so in love, please leave my love alone.
and anyway the allusion's meaningless when you're nearly two weeks late: it's spring in chicago and i intend to stay put. but sticking with the mataphor i am the yellow bird - calm is my default, a life i've come to honestly prefer. make no mistake, it's very big, enough to shove my heart to where it won't belong, it's big and heavy, terrifying and not the least bit funny.
and yet the serendipity, at dinner just last night you crossed my mind so briefly "it's been since what july? [i admit with shame: with melancholy] maybe an era's end." not 90 minutes later - wine drunk and three hits deep - there's a certain sense of anxiousness that's unfair, that's inauthentic. the line breaks, the parenthesis - such drama such intention. my poetry is thanks to you but fuck you the same's true for so much by which it's inspired.
we're young (young-ish) and already i'm sure that every choice is a tentative. we rely on the trajectory that's as good as magic for its physics (a forward force that's bendable like, well some would say like clay). i hate that i believe this, i hate the way it's all that breaks him - because inevitably i fuck things up, it's just a point of how enormously. i'm so in love, i'm so in love, please leave my love alone.
and anyway the allusion's meaningless when you're nearly two weeks late: it's spring in chicago and i intend to stay put. but sticking with the mataphor i am the yellow bird - calm is my default, a life i've come to honestly prefer. make no mistake, it's very big, enough to shove my heart to where it won't belong, it's big and heavy, terrifying and not the least bit funny.