Thursday, September 29, 2011

Untitled 2

One phrase
Two words
Seven letters
They say a multitude of things:
I hate the way you look at me and only see the past.
The way you think you know me and yet only you can grasp
What you knew, who you were, and who you were with.
Well guess what? I was just the kid.
An unofficial byproduct, a zygote of the genes
I was just the reason for the two of you to deem
Expendable, bendable, malleable and a means
To an end, to the end, to the achievement of your dreams
Only guess what? Your dreams were different
They were built upon lies. Built upon the reasons why
She wanted you and then she wanted him.
You wanted the freedom to fly at your whims.
She couldn’t reason the twisting of her mind
You didn’t care, were just looking for a dime-
Bag of mischief, of fantasy, of dare
The only truth you witnessed was of what you were aware
Of nothing, that’s how the story goes. A choice was made
Two paths were taken. If you think that sign says u-turn
You are sadly mistaken.
Why? If only you would ask.
I am standing at those crossroads. I am living those two lives.
Both of them are dreary. Both of them are lies.
One I know the truth. It’s blurry and it’s grim.
Two thinks I’m witless and don’t know the half of it
But I’m standing at these crossroads.
I’m holding tightly to that sign.
I’m screaming for existence.
I’m making it mine.
My fingers clench this sign post.
My message should ring true.
One phrase
Two words
Seven letters
Fuck you.

Silent Epiphany

She sat
Her back turned
Her movements muted.
The line of strength spoke from the curve of her spine.

I watched
Emboldened by the silence
Comforted by anonymity
Should I reach out with my hand?

One touch
A single moment
I would ask no more.
The epiphany kept me silent, kept me still.

She turns
Does she know?
My sleep is feigned
But the need for her to keep looking is real. 

-reve a la vanille-

On days like these-
Grey days, rainy days, these days of blur and honey
Sit down to your porcelain altar of vanilla sweetness
And dip within, spoon then hand, to savor your cream and ice.
Silver within white-
A mixing of emotions, with friction, heat and zen-ness
It’s always best when you can melt it with your patience
Feel the submission through the pads of your finger tips.
Feel the pleasure-
The control, the time,  the distance between spoon and tongue
Just let it fall to pieces within the contours of your mouth
Close your eyes and exalt the taste dripping down your throat
Exacerbate the rhythm-
Spoon, bowl, cream, taste, repeat until you cannot take
A single ounce more to sit warm within your soul
Look out that window-stroke your fingers around that bowl
Skin to tongue-
Waste not, want not, leave no crevice left abandoned
No remnant of this beauty left upon even the tip of your thumb
Skin to tongue, taste gently the flavor, intermingled the salt of sweat.
And when nothing is left to be given-taken-swallow.


When the reflection staring back at her becomes too familiar
Every flaw constrasted in stark assurance that she is
mediocre, trivial, plain
The weight of ineptitude becomes crushing.
When the face in the mirror begins a mocking tyrade
Of all that she once thought she was
Smart, pretty, lovable
The fear of loss becomes unbearable.
And then it begins, the dreams, the waking nightmares
The featurless face lauging from the shadows with
threats, promises, names
The need to cling becomes overwhelming.
But she can't.
Her fear wins.
When she reaches out to touch or hold or kiss
Even if just for a second to express
love, affection, desire
The fear of rejection crumbles her.
And she stands back in front of that mirror
With eyes of regret, tears of weakness, trembling hands
She can only wait and hope
For some sort of redemption.