It's dumping rain and I'm writing poetry

We colored outside the lines of every opportunity and drew in a sense of brighter possibility. We read between the lines of what they'd said a thousand times and we broke through all their rhymes to sketch the story of our lives.

December 11th, 2013

I'm not entirely sure, but maybe you can view this big, tangible thing in more than one way. I always saw it with a smooth surface, the same from all angles. Well, my eyes didn't lie; they were just a bit blind. Why did this thing turn on me? I liked it better flat and smooth and predictable. Pretty heavy of a thing it is, and I can't get it off with all it's twists and turns. Sitting with it tangled up in my arms, around my neck, inside my chest, I realize I've realized nothing at all and wish for revelation or temptation or something to stir. Nothing. Rage is hot but I feel very very cold. Pride is big, but I've never felt so small. Love is love but I feel nothing of it at all. 

June 28th, 2014

Come to me and love with me

Break the mold and set in stone

Our hearts among the rolling sea

Breaking, flowing eternally

Whisper softly in the breeze

Watch it float above the trees

To land upon my fingertips 

And trace your shape around my lips

Breathe in the misty melody

Of tattered inconsistency

Swept up along the soil and silt

Of castles they should not have built

Exhale the waning fantasy

To harmonize with reality

Join hands and squint into the sun

Rejoice with me, our love has won

July 2014

Please don't tell me I should have known

When he took my hand he'd never let go

And I was the devil's child as I smiled at him

And I walked with him and it wasn't pretend

Still you look at me with a narrowed eye

Such disgrace to live in the moment

Those moments flew by and affections ran dry

But our two hearts won't try to forget it


East
When the dust flies high and the falcons cry
Run east little child, run east
If the water's low and the grass won't grow
Run east little child, run east
When the doors stay locked and your heart is caught
Run east little child, run east
If you don't belong and your song is gone
Run to me little child, run to me



Sick Love, August 2014
And it's heavy and it's heavy like the
Drip, drip, dripping
Of my tears upon these pages and I'm
Grip, grip, gripping
Tightly to my sweet religion and it's
Stick, stick, sticking
To my fingers on the tips of which I'm
Lick, lick, licking.
Can the sweetness hide the inconsistency piled up in me?
And the ache inside my belly
Will the sweetness bring relief?
For my aching gut stays clenched around my giant emptiness
As I cling to you and worship you despite my loneliness.


August 2014
If you ask me, 'what is art?" then I will ask you, "what is love, what is life, what is beauty?" For these are the indefinable that are not brought to life through definition, but instead shape and define US so that WE become the definition and we are the art, love, life, beauty, in a kaleidoscope of color and variety.