It wasn’t pretty, parts of my days
burnt my skin and scratched my veins
blew quite literally from my mouth
pinched my heart and ripped like cloth
the vision I had to sustain
the colors I clutched at desperately to see
were pointed at to me by you
your fingers found that they could bleed.
The tearing of our flesh and sound
our metaphysical seams
was necessary to find this light
that I can finally see.
I wonder where I’d actually be
if you hadn’t helped me along
if you hadn’t shown me the truth of pain
Would I be lost?
Would I be gone?
Your truth I can gladly see
is knotted at my ankle
it knocks me down when I am dumb
and flies me higher than I expect
it never drops me on my head
but shows me the ground I’ll find instead
it tugs and holds me in the comfort way
the swaddling warmth I need
it reaches for me when I’m down
and hands me air I need to breathe.
The fingers bleed and the truth tightens
the flesh still red and raw
But my flesh is mine and your blood is yours
it’s malleable and strong
The world is bigger than it seemed
and chances are scattered ahead
No longer buried beneath my burden
I am set free
and I am here.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Cause, Meet Effect.”
I know the poet laureate would agree,
there is nothing more important than the inkpen
I implore you to gather them together
and determine what they mean.
Do they both allow you access to home?
Do they reside inside your pocket alone?
Are they pieces of trash you found on the street?
Or items found beneath your feet?
Your friends know you will find the meaning
Your interest piqued and undisturbed
You will find the streets inside your mind
And these items will be your guiding travelers.
When we were young,
you and I pretended to be elephants.
We would stomp around on our hands and knees
nodding our heads up with long paper trunks
and sometimes wore grandpa’s gray shoes
the ones with the funny tassels.
Each time we were called by our names
we ignored them,
preferring to announce our arrival to dinner with
an honest imitation of an elephant call
Mine would be more slobber than sound
While your lips on your arm sounded more like a fart
than any elephant I ever heard at the zoo.
Who are we to discredit those who suffer
those zoanthropic people still living under blanket forts
and pretending to be monkeys
or baby birds
to get through life.
Maybe they never had a brother like you
to call them stupid or childish
when the games had stopped
and the homework piled up and on.
Maybe they had two.
“Whatever story, I hear between the lines the novel no one wants.” -Richard Hugo
I hope you enjoyed your vacation
I would be just as bored in that place
I hope your daughter is well
I think she is dumb as a post
I can’t wait to see you next week
I will start planning my excuses now
I am happy you decided to buy that
You don’t have any other ideas
I sweeten the words that I say
To choke down the words that I don’t.
of papers and blog posts
I am waiting for the letters
and walking on through
the locked door is open
and i have no shoes
but I am wearing my socks
outside I will choose
A finger on my clavicle
Or a look at the view
because inside is fire
and outside is you.