Rehab XX: chances are you think that i'm in love with you
all day, dreaming of you.
holding you.
kissing you.
holding your hand and feeling its quiet strength flow into my skin.
all day.
smiling at random moments in the middle of TOR (in-school suspension), despite the fact that I was falling asleep on my desk and I had too much work to do. thinking of you.
your smile.
your eyes.
writing haiku to the tune of you. I wrote six.
one for each season,
one for day, one for night.
somewhere, deep inside my chrysalis, i felt you touch me where i hid, and i responded.
i awakened.
my eyes opened, tentative, unseeing but knowing.
I am afraid to speak that i am returning,
but i will say now that there may be hope at long last.
because of you.
you might be the one to save me, after all
just like in our song.
i hope
i hope
i hope
i hope
beyond all reason i hope
oh, please
please let this say
please don't let me sink deeper into this place where i feel nothing and nothing touches me
i want so badly to have my heart back, to be the wild and rippling fire i once was
i want to be who i was
i want to remember who i was.
to remember how to feel. how to think. how to b r e a t h e. how to b e
and it would seem
that you are in fact the key
which makes sense, since it was losing you that lost me myself.
i wonder if the moon has a certain ceremony which it follows in passing over you.
if it ever stops to stroke the curve of your cheek, of your neck in its path across the sky, lingering just a little too long over your bed.
(that....is going to end up as a poem. you watch and see.)
i like the way your tongue is shy when we kiss, and then grows bolder.
i like
the way your fingertips move through my hair when i lay my head on your knees,
lay my worry and my angry and my sad all in the ever-deepening embrace of your lap, your skirt brushing my ear.
i wrote you six haiku.
i don't know if you read haiku.
you don't like to read poetry much, i think.
i wonder what your lips would feel like, beneath my fingerstips in the night as i try to cup the shapes of words forming on them; lip reading, lip throwing, lip catching.
lip holding against heart.
hearts;
if we were ever a broken heart we have seeped now into the glue itself
holding you.
kissing you.
holding your hand and feeling its quiet strength flow into my skin.
all day.
smiling at random moments in the middle of TOR (in-school suspension), despite the fact that I was falling asleep on my desk and I had too much work to do. thinking of you.
your smile.
your eyes.
writing haiku to the tune of you. I wrote six.
one for each season,
one for day, one for night.
somewhere, deep inside my chrysalis, i felt you touch me where i hid, and i responded.
i awakened.
my eyes opened, tentative, unseeing but knowing.
I am afraid to speak that i am returning,
but i will say now that there may be hope at long last.
because of you.
you might be the one to save me, after all
just like in our song.
i hope
i hope
i hope
i hope
beyond all reason i hope
oh, please
please let this say
please don't let me sink deeper into this place where i feel nothing and nothing touches me
i want so badly to have my heart back, to be the wild and rippling fire i once was
i want to be who i was
i want to remember who i was.
to remember how to feel. how to think. how to b r e a t h e. how to b e
and it would seem
that you are in fact the key
which makes sense, since it was losing you that lost me myself.
i wonder if the moon has a certain ceremony which it follows in passing over you.
if it ever stops to stroke the curve of your cheek, of your neck in its path across the sky, lingering just a little too long over your bed.
(that....is going to end up as a poem. you watch and see.)
i like the way your tongue is shy when we kiss, and then grows bolder.
i like
the way your fingertips move through my hair when i lay my head on your knees,
lay my worry and my angry and my sad all in the ever-deepening embrace of your lap, your skirt brushing my ear.
i wrote you six haiku.
i don't know if you read haiku.
you don't like to read poetry much, i think.
i wonder what your lips would feel like, beneath my fingerstips in the night as i try to cup the shapes of words forming on them; lip reading, lip throwing, lip catching.
lip holding against heart.
hearts;
if we were ever a broken heart we have seeped now into the glue itself