Thursday, December 14, 2006

not exactly what I expected, and i'm not sure it's finished yet.

Now that the leaves still find themselves confined to this place
confined to the place we no longer find ourselves
the leaves still travel up the heavy hill we no longer tread
they climb up the streets with the neon paint we remember trekking
heavy breathed, pink cheeked; we'd both smile and pretend it was easy
our getaway, i thought no one else could ever know
what the clocktower looked like upside down
while laying on the paved ground
the cross hung between the both of us
we prayed together, eyes closed, we meant it.
on a clear night, i never got a single mosquito bite, i never was so aware
as i am now.
the leaves settle themselves, where ours no longer tread
your arms around my waist, you were so drunk you couldn't even speak straight
and i let you drive, i let you touch me even as i clung to another's empty heart
i let you touch me with arms so wanting, so needing and i
needing nothing more than the assurance that i was assuredly wanted
still, we watched the band play from above and it wasn't even dark outside
you and i and all of those people we used to be apart of
although much more you than i, you still drove that red truck then and i still look for that when i'm in town
i forget you've got a new car now
the leaves still dance around in circles were our feet once were
where the cat trapst out of nowhere and we played with her idly
smoke curling lazily around our heads, our arms, our separated bodies
ashes ticked off our treasure map, we passed your grandparents, your aunts, your drunk uncle who told you to never let me go...

this was our hometown, you and i and all the others we used to be a part of
and the leaves still settle where we once drank, once sat by the fire, once nearly fell in the lake
they settle themselves outside the places

sunday mornings, i would wake you up and we would lay
arm in arm, nothing more than morning-breathed kisses, stale smoke and freshly popped altoids
and the music, the sleep, the television
the way you'd move your fingers up, and up, and down the thick strings of your bass guitars
it was all wrapped in your smell, your attention, your details and familiarity; it should've been all i ever needed

"Namesake" - Anais Mitchell

Sunday, December 3, 2006

you are what you're obsessed with, not what's obsessed with you

I'm teetering
always teetering
between reality and real
the whirl of the pencil in machine, between the grind
skin whittled away, smell of overworked, overused metal on granite
smell of rubber burning underneath my feet, they're motioning
eyes wondering, I stab them into each and every person that walks through the see-through door
I want to know each and every one of you
you do not seem to care about me,
you do not care
and that's why I wanted to leave
So many that love me,
I am loved
If you close your eyes while it's whirling you'll fancy to one side or the other
you'll falter, if you close them long enough you'll fall.

I've never closed them long enough to fall, not even that one time when I was drugged.
There could be twentysomething surrounding me and I'd still pound forward
eyes on nothing, eyes on the motion pictures in front of me
I'm in love with the idea of knowing someone
of finding someone out there, in the middle of themselves, completely consumed in what
they want
who they like, the clothes they wear, the music they listen to, what they eat and how they eat it
whether or not they like to put their hair behind their ears
whether or not they even know who "The Shins" are
something more than just Garden State, maybe.
Even though I want that movie, I want to watch it, try and feel something
I used to want it to become a part of me, I used to want it to be me
used to
When every single picture, every single thing slides you from one emotion to the next
what do you do?
Do you keep on breathing
When voices are saturated, movements so precise
how can you not want it?
How can you not want that kind of exactness, the beautiful way
life is controlled by the actions of others
we want to know, we've fed on the relationships, the pictures, the words and memories and interests
activities of others
staring into an emptied box of wires
images, pixels, centimeters
smudge, burn, sharpen
We Only Always ever See what We Want.
never going for what we might find interesting, we all stifle that which interests us
we forget our "what ifs", we stick to the bare minimums
nudity found sickening, they all want us to find our other
to spit out the epitome of all life
from inside (outside) grow up (get old(own it)) movements
we make what we want, we are who we can fall asleep at night inside, who we silently accept as okay, for now

but when is now no longer just okay
when will you be the one who people stare at for hours
whose activities, interests, relationships, whose face and skin these people want to live in
when will I be who you want me to be
a girl
a pray-er
self assured
a soccer star
a dancer
an ambassador
your smile

when I stop whirling, maybe then it will all settle down
will I be there, within all the wood chips
will you find me