(no subject)
i was reading my old journal and found some old poems, i had forogotten i had even written. how sad.
last tuesday i loved pink and brown stripes
sometimes
when it gets dark at night
my tears like winter rain
fall and shatter
upon the ground
that lies laughing at my feet
as they mash and mold the cement smile
in to an expression it never forgets
the neon signs keep flickering
as moths beat themselves against
the frosty glass of an old womans bedroom
i could have watched her for hours
knitting a sweater for her cat of a husband
pink and brown striped
last tuesday
her fingers worked furiously
as though a bomb would explode
if she did not finish in the few quick minutes
it would take
and suddenly
the needles dropped to the floor
and the woman leaning forward
with her head rested upon her good knee
a peaceful smile upon careworn lips
the hair in front of her nostrils
dangeling still
stiff
and frail
her cat
hudded in a corner
preparing for the longest winter ahead
with no
pink and brown striped sweater
to keep him warm
pale as milk
today
i feel so tired
i can't even sleep
and that picture is
fevered in my gray matter
it burns more cold
than orange slush
it keeps me up through the dark
as much as it hurts
i'm terrified
that if i close my eyes
it will
dissappear
faster
than a cold day in july
they said i should smile
even though my heart is breaking
even though my heart is aching
they said
i should
laugh
dance
smear paint on my lips
and kiss the canvas
streaching over silver glass
the sun made my face
deep coconut today
so i took a bath
in milk
to look pretty for a while
[it burns my nose]
tragic accordance
the old lady's husband in the bakery
tells me i must not be worth much
since according to him i have
such a tiny waist
she's the nicer of the two
she told me
that he has a nagging back
and a raisin for a heart
she says
you know you're brilliant
and as i walk back to the bathroom
the mirror hits me in the face
and all i can see
is the bag of bones
my mother once called her son
the sunlight turns to gray
as her baby takes flight
seventeen years ago
i bet
you never thought it would end up like this
this baby bird's take off
is not far off
and will not be delayed
dearest mama bird
don't let
the knots of your insecurites
bind my wings
to my back
i can fly!
on my own
by myself
with wings streached across
pale whipped sunsets
and cobalt glittery night
vanity and fruit
perhaps time falls
un knowingly
to great depths
of dark silver lining
and cold red feet
that dance alont in
glttered peach jello
mixed with
chunks of bloody
raspberry
with the scent of peppermint
heavy on your breath
take your crown
fall upon it
and roll in
your vanity
undone
See ach ay are ell eye eey
be my penguin??
i love you
target slogan pj bottoms
no shirt
no make up
four cigarettes (>:o)
so perfect
so flawless
i love you
(tiny thanks to John "the man" Mayer)
when i'm tired of running
summer is falling fast
and soon
just like the leaves and petals
my smiles will brown
and eventually fade gray
like my grandmothers hair
my excitment for the cold
to burn my lungs
starts a fire
in the ashes left
from last winter
as the birds take flight
for what appears to be
another
truculently beautiful winter
ill wrap myself
in the small train of thought
if being in your arms
and use charcoal
for eyeshaddow
to look the season
chase the leaves while you still can
smear paint on your lips
kiss the wall
dont think
just dance
to the symphonic mysery
of your heart
flash
a smile
in the mirror
after
the flesh is cut
the bodies untangle
the smiles fade gray
whats to become of the moments
after the snow swallows your footsteps
singing the cold
out of your toes
you
fall back
on a pillow filled with
the feathers of what was
and awake in the morning
to the fallen leaves of what will be
tired and forgotten
theres a moth
struggeling to climb
up my desk
his wing flutters
are getting brief
and far between
and he keeps
slipping
back to the bottom
back to where he started
soon
his wings are going to stop
and they will be put to rest
after a flight well flown
the rusty terracotta
of his back
will turn gray
and cake with dust
the eggshell eyeballs
on his wings
will blend in with the gray
and like my hardwork
he will be forgotten
and pushed aside
in a clutter of overdue bills
on the desk
i'm with winter
winter must be a boy
with its wind that bites
after you fall in love with the view
of a lake
from a coffee house
in alaska
old(er)
im growing old
and its getting cold
the dark circles under my eyes
begin to look glamarous
and natural
again
last tuesday i loved pink and brown stripes
sometimes
when it gets dark at night
my tears like winter rain
fall and shatter
upon the ground
that lies laughing at my feet
as they mash and mold the cement smile
in to an expression it never forgets
the neon signs keep flickering
as moths beat themselves against
the frosty glass of an old womans bedroom
i could have watched her for hours
knitting a sweater for her cat of a husband
pink and brown striped
last tuesday
her fingers worked furiously
as though a bomb would explode
if she did not finish in the few quick minutes
it would take
and suddenly
the needles dropped to the floor
and the woman leaning forward
with her head rested upon her good knee
a peaceful smile upon careworn lips
the hair in front of her nostrils
dangeling still
stiff
and frail
her cat
hudded in a corner
preparing for the longest winter ahead
with no
pink and brown striped sweater
to keep him warm
pale as milk
today
i feel so tired
i can't even sleep
and that picture is
fevered in my gray matter
it burns more cold
than orange slush
it keeps me up through the dark
as much as it hurts
i'm terrified
that if i close my eyes
it will
dissappear
faster
than a cold day in july
they said i should smile
even though my heart is breaking
even though my heart is aching
they said
i should
laugh
dance
smear paint on my lips
and kiss the canvas
streaching over silver glass
the sun made my face
deep coconut today
so i took a bath
in milk
to look pretty for a while
[it burns my nose]
tragic accordance
the old lady's husband in the bakery
tells me i must not be worth much
since according to him i have
such a tiny waist
she's the nicer of the two
she told me
that he has a nagging back
and a raisin for a heart
she says
you know you're brilliant
and as i walk back to the bathroom
the mirror hits me in the face
and all i can see
is the bag of bones
my mother once called her son
the sunlight turns to gray
as her baby takes flight
seventeen years ago
i bet
you never thought it would end up like this
this baby bird's take off
is not far off
and will not be delayed
dearest mama bird
don't let
the knots of your insecurites
bind my wings
to my back
i can fly!
on my own
by myself
with wings streached across
pale whipped sunsets
and cobalt glittery night
vanity and fruit
perhaps time falls
un knowingly
to great depths
of dark silver lining
and cold red feet
that dance alont in
glttered peach jello
mixed with
chunks of bloody
raspberry
with the scent of peppermint
heavy on your breath
take your crown
fall upon it
and roll in
your vanity
undone
See ach ay are ell eye eey
be my penguin??
i love you
target slogan pj bottoms
no shirt
no make up
four cigarettes (>:o)
so perfect
so flawless
i love you
(tiny thanks to John "the man" Mayer)
when i'm tired of running
summer is falling fast
and soon
just like the leaves and petals
my smiles will brown
and eventually fade gray
like my grandmothers hair
my excitment for the cold
to burn my lungs
starts a fire
in the ashes left
from last winter
as the birds take flight
for what appears to be
another
truculently beautiful winter
ill wrap myself
in the small train of thought
if being in your arms
and use charcoal
for eyeshaddow
to look the season
chase the leaves while you still can
smear paint on your lips
kiss the wall
dont think
just dance
to the symphonic mysery
of your heart
flash
a smile
in the mirror
after
the flesh is cut
the bodies untangle
the smiles fade gray
whats to become of the moments
after the snow swallows your footsteps
singing the cold
out of your toes
you
fall back
on a pillow filled with
the feathers of what was
and awake in the morning
to the fallen leaves of what will be
tired and forgotten
theres a moth
struggeling to climb
up my desk
his wing flutters
are getting brief
and far between
and he keeps
slipping
back to the bottom
back to where he started
soon
his wings are going to stop
and they will be put to rest
after a flight well flown
the rusty terracotta
of his back
will turn gray
and cake with dust
the eggshell eyeballs
on his wings
will blend in with the gray
and like my hardwork
he will be forgotten
and pushed aside
in a clutter of overdue bills
on the desk
i'm with winter
winter must be a boy
with its wind that bites
after you fall in love with the view
of a lake
from a coffee house
in alaska
old(er)
im growing old
and its getting cold
the dark circles under my eyes
begin to look glamarous
and natural
again