Not spared

The bones heirloomed beneath the lilac roots, the gypsum flakes clinging to their rock companions crave attention, sunlight glinting off, it taps into my peripheral vision, an intruder of sorts. And everything we thought we were, wandering past the lost barrio and into warehouse-land. We’re on the outskirts now, leaving everything we know behind, and the grass sprouting the sidewalk cracks reminds of how we used to be. See through the nostalgia to a place where reminiscing is painless.


UPDATED VERSION

The bones heirloomed beneath the lilac roots, the gypsum flakes clinging to their rock companions crave attention. Sunlight glints off, it taps into my peripheral vision. And everything we thought we were, wandering past the lost barrio and into warehouse-land. In the daylight these empty buildings seem like abandoned fortresses, yet when they are in use they exhibit a beauty, as if they have accomplished all they need to in life. We’re on the outskirts now, leaving everything we know behind, long gone are the days of hide and go seek, finger painting and pointless fights that are resolved in minutes. The grass sprouting through the sidewalk cracks reminds of how we used to be. See through the nostalgia to a place where reminiscing is painless.

Evaporate

I feel as if our relationship is 

evaporating

quickly now, as the heat of the sun crashe against my salty tears

running, streaming, gushing down my hollow face.

A sharp jagged pain tears at my very being

as I am torn from you.

Your words strike me;

sheets of ice

The coldness burns me

My emotions overwhelm me

I am drowning in this sea

I love

I love how scars look on the skin. Over time, even after the wounds have gone, the smooth, graceful etchings remain. The stories those patterns remind you of; maybe a not-so-distant past or a rough landing over a wall. I love the unique language I have with those I care about. Not understood by many but meaningful to those that do. I love dreams. The more confusing the better. Waking up and telling someone before you forget. I love forgiveness. Feeling as though you don’t deserve it at the time but knowing you are happier with it. Deciding to let go when you could so easily hold a grudge. I love lyrics. Ones that I can hear again and again and not get tired of. Thinking I know the meaning behind them.

Desert

The cholla cactus glowing in the late afternoon sun
The mesquite and palo verde trees sway back and forth
The air chilly as it brushes against my skin
Goosebumps, the tall saguaro
Stands motionless before me, solitary
Warrior, the asphalt and metallic green water fountain

GET EXCITED

QUITE OLD.


The hot red ember on the tip of the stick of jasmine
Scented incense makes its way to the bottom,
Like a car that has broken down and is being pushed
Slowly down a road with a slight incline. The air
Is thick and smoky, a scent from another time.
The Moldy Peaches drifts about, giving a needed
Break from the traffic of Stone and Pennington.
The dim light shining down from an enclave
Of sheer red paisley fabric reflects off of a golden
Buddha on my shelf. The dark furniture is the foundation
Of this sanctuary. Alex Delarge glares
Down menacingly at me from the wall while Bob Marley
Rolls a joint. Ringo, John, Paul and George also hold places
Of honor. PETA flyers make guests rethink their choices. A
Yellow metal “no turn around” sign takes up space between
The closet doors. It’s much more appropriate here
Than on the corner of the street my old house was on.
Such ambitions: to completely cover the walls and ceiling
In posters, to replace the plain white blinds with dyed fabric.
Dog hair clings to the grey office chair like mountain
Climbers trying not to fall to their death.

that's the life

all i am is a whore

every day tell a new boy i want him

either break his heart,

or he’ll break mine

act innnocent

disillusion myself

say "i love you"

for a day maybe.

you told me

i should look for more in a relationship

than sex and drugs

but thats the life baby

i said

thats the life

Angst

I’m hiding,

trying to escape this wretched wind

much like how i used to run away from my feelings.

It’s not calm here,

as i had hoped it would be

but, rather, quite the opposite;

Screaming, biting, pulling.

The frail palm fronds cannot shield me

I am unprotected

a baby bird that has left its nest

But could a baby bird feel this much pain?

It seems that as of late, angst-ridden words

are the only words i can write.