More Poetry.
Moments
are the glue that hold me together
the soul that makes up the me there is
On nights like this when the world is silent,
when the world feels lonely and
Still, like a soundproof room,
I replay all the beautiful moments--
my keepsakes, grand momentos
--like film behind my eyes.
My rain-- my first true rain.
I listened to the music by Phillip Glass,
"Escape!" and Escape! I did.
I slipped out of bed
padded down the hall
and followed the frost,
lured by the music And the sound
of whispers outside.
There it was, in gray splendor of movement,
the downpour
I had never seen before.
I live in a desert, after all, and to see the sky cry so hard
was strange
And so Very Beautiful.
The water fell from the sky
like Icarus the fallen angel
falling to the earth in teardrops
in despair;
tears that fell so hard, and so far,
that I felt each drop
impress itself upon my soul
that I became despair,
..a fallen angel.
I was a Desert Child becoming Rain,
so very strange
And so Very Beautiful
That I wanted to be the Rain Forever.
And I gazed out the window until warm hands pulled me back.
You can tell me that everything's okay, but I will adamantly disagree when you're out of earshot, drunkenly bellowing at the walls how wrong I believe you really are. You won't even understand why I disagree; you're too innocent, too pure, to naiive to understand the eruptions of volcanic proportions inside me.
Young Boy, older than me in time, but younger than me in soul, you will not understand that I'm burning. I am exploding light, and sound, color and music, rage and passion, desire and regret. Why do you spin me around in circles, fire-dancer?
That's all I've been reduced to nowadays. I am nothing but a meteor. I'm chained to you. You casually slip me off and on without understanding that I'm not ready to burn. I don't want to burn. I don't want to blaze and smolder and be spun around in no control. You don't understand that I'm powerless with want, and afraid with not wanting, and I want you to want me but you won't want me back. I'm just a dizzy black ball.
Still, I'm saturated by you. You get me drunk, you light me on fire, and you spin me in dizzy circles, around and around; I can only orbit you because if you get close I'll burn you with fire, but you'll keep me so close that you can feel me, and then you dash me into the dirt as though I frightened you.
So, my dear, You'll kiss me with a tongue of port wine. You'll Let me taste, let it sink into my tongue, burn its way down my throat, and light me afire for awhile. Then you'll take the bottle away when I'm thirsty for more.
And people say I'M a tease.
I hate when boys wear cologne.
The scent lingers and there's nothing I can do but smell how nice he smelled at that particular moment he was here. His scent permeated my bedding despite all the blankets and sheets and covers, it even got through his clothes. When he left, he didn't leave. The traces of him are still kissing my pillows goodnight. It's like he KNOWS his smell will stick with all its might to the folds of my pillows; it's like a mouse trap. He KNOWS the smell will beckon, it'll tempt me to go over there and breathe it in. Then I'll be clubbed over the head.
I just want to chuck something at him and say "STINK goddammit! STINK! Use your power to REPEL!!! REPULSE me so I'll never invite you over to my house; REPUDIATE me so I'll never let you lay back on my pillows as my computer entertains you, so I won't have the fragrance that annoyingly lingers after you leave remind me you were indeed here! OFFEND my OLFACTORY SENSE so I won't let the soft tendrils of your scent stroke me into sweet smiling security. Don't make me breathe you deep into my lungs, my breath! That's MY AIR you're POLLUTING with that God-Awful Momento! STINKING to HELL would be less offensive than that bloody scent you carry!" I don't need to think about him when he's not here, but the fragrance is like a constant tapping on the adenoid shoulder, snickering "but he was, in fact, here on your very bed no less, sinking into your pillows."
Stupid boys and their cologne.
are the glue that hold me together
the soul that makes up the me there is
On nights like this when the world is silent,
when the world feels lonely and
Still, like a soundproof room,
I replay all the beautiful moments--
my keepsakes, grand momentos
--like film behind my eyes.
My rain-- my first true rain.
I listened to the music by Phillip Glass,
"Escape!" and Escape! I did.
I slipped out of bed
padded down the hall
and followed the frost,
lured by the music And the sound
of whispers outside.
There it was, in gray splendor of movement,
the downpour
I had never seen before.
I live in a desert, after all, and to see the sky cry so hard
was strange
And so Very Beautiful.
The water fell from the sky
like Icarus the fallen angel
falling to the earth in teardrops
in despair;
tears that fell so hard, and so far,
that I felt each drop
impress itself upon my soul
that I became despair,
..a fallen angel.
I was a Desert Child becoming Rain,
so very strange
And so Very Beautiful
That I wanted to be the Rain Forever.
And I gazed out the window until warm hands pulled me back.
You can tell me that everything's okay, but I will adamantly disagree when you're out of earshot, drunkenly bellowing at the walls how wrong I believe you really are. You won't even understand why I disagree; you're too innocent, too pure, to naiive to understand the eruptions of volcanic proportions inside me.
Young Boy, older than me in time, but younger than me in soul, you will not understand that I'm burning. I am exploding light, and sound, color and music, rage and passion, desire and regret. Why do you spin me around in circles, fire-dancer?
That's all I've been reduced to nowadays. I am nothing but a meteor. I'm chained to you. You casually slip me off and on without understanding that I'm not ready to burn. I don't want to burn. I don't want to blaze and smolder and be spun around in no control. You don't understand that I'm powerless with want, and afraid with not wanting, and I want you to want me but you won't want me back. I'm just a dizzy black ball.
Still, I'm saturated by you. You get me drunk, you light me on fire, and you spin me in dizzy circles, around and around; I can only orbit you because if you get close I'll burn you with fire, but you'll keep me so close that you can feel me, and then you dash me into the dirt as though I frightened you.
So, my dear, You'll kiss me with a tongue of port wine. You'll Let me taste, let it sink into my tongue, burn its way down my throat, and light me afire for awhile. Then you'll take the bottle away when I'm thirsty for more.
And people say I'M a tease.
I hate when boys wear cologne.
The scent lingers and there's nothing I can do but smell how nice he smelled at that particular moment he was here. His scent permeated my bedding despite all the blankets and sheets and covers, it even got through his clothes. When he left, he didn't leave. The traces of him are still kissing my pillows goodnight. It's like he KNOWS his smell will stick with all its might to the folds of my pillows; it's like a mouse trap. He KNOWS the smell will beckon, it'll tempt me to go over there and breathe it in. Then I'll be clubbed over the head.
I just want to chuck something at him and say "STINK goddammit! STINK! Use your power to REPEL!!! REPULSE me so I'll never invite you over to my house; REPUDIATE me so I'll never let you lay back on my pillows as my computer entertains you, so I won't have the fragrance that annoyingly lingers after you leave remind me you were indeed here! OFFEND my OLFACTORY SENSE so I won't let the soft tendrils of your scent stroke me into sweet smiling security. Don't make me breathe you deep into my lungs, my breath! That's MY AIR you're POLLUTING with that God-Awful Momento! STINKING to HELL would be less offensive than that bloody scent you carry!" I don't need to think about him when he's not here, but the fragrance is like a constant tapping on the adenoid shoulder, snickering "but he was, in fact, here on your very bed no less, sinking into your pillows."
Stupid boys and their cologne.