May 17, 2011

It Might Be Mania, But It's All Mine

My skin burns where you last touched it. Pessimism weighs heavily on us like the clouds growing darker outside. We all close doors to tell secrets we want everyone to know.

My jealousy turns to rage turns back to jealousy again. I refuse to live like this but don't know any other way to survive. I concoct plans, solutions and serums but you don't answer my pleads, instead you change the subject. Chills course my skin, caffeine unsoothes anything formerly sootheable.

Wasn't it nice when I just sweltered in your sheets? When everything was fresh, fraiche even?

Now I scribble fervently, I shake and want to scream but I am intent on listening, hoping, wishing to hear your footsteps, for the door to turn, but no I am left with my mania.

This mania, these words, the most extreme interpretation of tiny drops of emotion find an outlet for the screams, albeit silently. This outlet finds a truth for the serum, a real problem for the solution and those bated breaths continue to breathe life into a reckless romantic life form that thought it couldn't survive.

And there go those footsteps.............

May 11, 2011

Make it the Way it Was

Is it fun? is it right? is it worth it?
You make me crazy, ecstatic and utterly confused.
I am driven to the edge.

I have lost patience in trusting but I want for yours.

I secretly conspire against you by holding you close and looking over your shoulder.

The world has stopped outside, a fire truck blinks but I can't hear the effects.

It was fun. It was wrong. It still is worth it when there's a glimpse of what was between bouts of jealousy.

I want answers. I want evidence. I want out.
I want attention. I want to trust you. I want to start again.

Make it the way it was. Stop hiding the back burner and grey areas.
Maybe it can never be much more than this and maybe you already figured that out.

I love the way it is in the morning. I love the way it is in the afternoon when you're tired and we're quiet.
Make it that way again.

Let the evidence be a reason for me to trust again.
Let me not need the proof, let the gun be cold and smokeless.

Let me only second guess where the next kiss will land.

Let me make it the may it was, the way you think it is.

May 02, 2011

Nauseous Nostalgia

Today I'm homesick. I long for melodies to songs I thought I forgot, I yearn for the pride that can only be felt for low green hills that meet white sand beaches. I long to dance in the dark and run towards hidden horizons. Long drives that act as lullabies and end at tall feather beds with pillows that are always mysteriously cool to the touch, call to me softly. The air conditioning in my new apartment doesn't make the familiar sounds of a slow creek meandering outside a faraway window, it creeks in other ways that startle me awake and leave me breathless and unnerved. I wish for the warm sticky hands of a child to latch about my leg as they exude squeals of pure delight. I miss my huge gossipy extended family I took for granted as I hid in their midst. Now what feels like a million miles stretches further between us and empty holidays end in empty phone calls. I list and loft above stress levels, I makeshift a family between lovers and find it lonely and fairly unrewarding compared to forced holiday meals and the smells of homemade pasta sauce. Home is but a feeling? No. Home most certainly is a place that holds my heart and sometimes my mind.