from the tip of my tongue,
and the base of my throat,
in the throb of my heart,
to the bumps on my skin.
And there were no feathers, or pillows, or love
to comfort and cushion this start.
Just a rock hard ground,
at the bottom of a puddle,
So I waded,
And let the heat simmer,
inside me, all around me and my broken walls.
Then you took the pieces you’d shattered,
and threw them to the wind.
It was then that I realized,
I am made of me.
From the tip of my tongue,
to the throbbing in my heart.
that I need.
that you’d let someone have hold of you like this.
don’t try and hide what it is
because we can all so plainly see.
and i hope you’re happy in the end,
cause i’ll be gone before you know it.
so enjoy the void;
& embrace the emptiness
that you’ll eventually fall prey to.
i believe you’re better than that.
you just have prove it to yourself.
because in the end you’re all you have.
but for now,
I’ve always found beauty in broken things.
Those desolate places, forgotten toys, and vacant doors you always see.
Even people, some in so many pieces
that they can’t tell which go where anymore.
I thought; “these pieces tell a story, one of struggles, and strength,”
That there is so much beauty
behind their words,
and their present thoughts,
that keep them together when they should be in shambles.
And no matter how broken you might feel,
I will always see the beauty
in each piece of you.
My tongue is at a stand-still,
I can’t think of which ways to press it, bend it, and form
words that could console the grieving, give hope to the questioning, and love to the longing.
You never know what to say when you see the first petals falling from a daisy.
You never know what to say when life reminds us of exactly what it is.
I always remember the little things,
but they must’nt have been so little to me…
Like the posture of your hands
on a Blue Moon, or the back of my neck,
dewey with the chill of condensation.
Like the shade of your eye-shadow then.
Its cyan tinge reflecting off
those deep siena pools of light I loved to see so clearly
(but never really got the chance to.)
And the subtlety of the way you left,
faulting me for forgetting my past,
(while keeping the beauty in your present hidden.)
See, I regret nothing of the way our paths collided,
I just wish I’d really known you.
Now I know I was your own little nothing,
and we were never quite so nothing
I want to be out in the green, out in the dark with you;
to be warmed by a smoldering branch, and the stone beneath the hearth
cloaked gently by our mother,
our bodies draped with love.
Sing songing, dream speaking, hope keeping
until we fell asleep under the omnipotent cosmos
and a cover of waxy green leaves.
To wake by the song of the sweet morning lark,
letting be known that all is well, all is one,
all under the hem of our Great Mother Earth.
my body wants to spend its days
laying in the dirt.
Slowing down, it’s closing time,
my mind is letting go.
So you say I need to wake up.
Ok, Pronto, let’s go,
Don’t you dare fucking stop.
Keep a good pace, you won’t beat the clock.
Now let it be known that you want to be known,
You’ve got a new kind of mind and it needs to be shown.
Hey, just open up a little bit, girl.
The world won’t bite.
But I was never quite sure.
and you sure were shit for a liar.
I can pick away the parts of me I can’t understand,
not just the ones that disgust me.
The pieces that flake and break so slightly,
(yet so greatly,)
and hide sometimes, like glaciers,
until disaster draws near.
But this is isn’t the 1912,
and I am not a tragedy.
I’m a living, breathing, work of art;
peeling away to what’s really real
every single day.