FALSE ALARM
A cool wind of silk
in your eyes.
You stare me down,
squint, and say
you need to ask me something.
I keep a calm composure,
but inside
I'm pushing back the rapids
of the Colorado River.
I imagine the distillment of time
masquerading as Cupid's wing.
I picture ourselves blanketed in lilacs
spreading our joys to each other.
You return with your stare, however,
and speak words with
no such bearing
that I have wished for,
reading into a reality
that's not really there.
OPEN
Words are broken
and words are spoken,
but I know
that if I were
to open my heart
to something
that was real,
I'd feel myself
plunging
down a canyon,
head first,
wind against
my back,
the screaming fear
in my voice
lagging behind.
I can't be open
until I know for sure
that if I did
take the plunge,
there'd be someone there
to break my fall.
"I rubbed my finger over the plastic water bottle. Its smoothness created a release of tension in my brain. Here I was, sitting in a subway car-the place where everyone puts on their 'I'm depressed' face-feeling at peace with everything. I came onto this subway feeling anxious and disturbed but as I rubbed the water bottle, I began to see the beauty inside the tiniest things.
I had a perfect view of the tunnel the subway was traveling through. It was dark and scummy, surreal and dungeon-like, but for some reason I thought it was one of the most gorgeous sights I had ever seen. Now maybe it wasn't the water bottle that had made me come to this new perspective I was looking at, but coincidentally the smoothness of the plastic and the life and body I was living in created a sense of tranquility in me that I hadn't felt since the morning..."-taken from my short story, "A Simple Moment in Time"
FEBRUARY LEAVES
Lots of love
placed onto a table,
I look at myself
for an answer.
Freedom
prescribed
in my hands,
the time has come,
the choice has been made.
Ironically it is a Sunday.
The air is cold
on this Winter night,
yet love has no boundaries
to hide its warmth.
I have tossed and turned
with this decision to act,
and now,
with a persuasive grin,
I provide myself
with an antidote.
The snow has not
fallen in weeks,
and there is no way
to cover my wounds.
Another second
would be too late,
so I must sleep into a lull
and let February leaves
fall to the ground.
LONG AFTER
A strange desire
slips underneath
a satin flame,
and through
twilight hours
I gaze into
reckless wants
and destructive needs.
The rules need
to be broken.
He carries me away
and shields me
from acid rain,
holds my hand
and calms me
during wanton winds.
Careless are
the footsteps
walking on
barbed wire,
I scar too easily.
Each night,
like routine,
we trapeze ourselves
into lust,
I call it love.
But I can only imagine him
as a way to pretend
that this is how it should be,
long after the pain's
been inflicted,
much long after the
sting has stopped biting.
Pinch me out of my dream
and let me wake
to everything that
has drowned in
the humidity.
Eyes are opened,
vision cleared,
yet he remains.
I'LL TURN TO YOU (a song about friendship)
You were just a girl, growing old inside,
and you had this feeling of wanting to hide.
You took all your breath and turned it inside out,
you wrestled with your fears, and took in your doubt.
I'll turn to you, if you'll turn to me.
I'll turn to you.
You were not afriad, alone or betrayed,
you had all the strength I wish I had.
You taught me how to leave this inner cave,
and I'm still tryin' to feel like I'm brave.
I'll turn to you, if you'll turn to me.
I'll turn to you.
So leave the light on. (x4)
I'll turn to you, if you'll turn to me.
I'll turn to you, if you'll turn to me.
I'll turn to you.
THERE IS A GOD
There is a god,
but where to look
I do not know.
Perhaps on the floor
laying beside me,
next to my dreams of
Janis Joplin,
six hour rainbow skies,
and neon butterflies.
Perhaps behind the door
where the medication resides,
or maybe the mirror
attached to the door,
my eyes that window freedom
see myself,
they see you.
Perhaps amongst the smoke
of a lit match,
faith in scars
and psalms I seem to recall.
Perhaps underneath
delicate sheets,
joining me and my convulsions
of open eyes and
nightly thoughts.
Perhaps drowning in the pool
where I came to bathe myself
of my guilt,
washed away memories,
implanted happiness,
and tried to move on.
Perhaps at times
when I outlet myself to you,
the ink bleeds deeper
than a cut,
the music rings louder
than a voice not there.
There is a god
that I have found
and am looking for,
but is there a god
looking for me?
"I stared into my bathroom mirror and looked directly into my eyes. They were sagging down with dark circles underneath the lower lids. Forcing myself to look at these round, ugly pupils, I began to hear a voice.
Eyes roll back into clear fog as you lay your presence across my body...A distorted loss of hope, self-control at a loss for words. Can you speak to me oh precious Angel whose wings of black take flight into blue skies and arctic tides?...
...Black dove branded on my skin with iron fists and lightning rods. Couldn’t fly even with wings sown to my back, but then again, never dreamed the dream of falling through the sky. You can’t have it both ways."-taken from my short story, "Wakeup Call"
