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Poetry

assorted moments in time and collected emotions
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November 2023

Keep walking 

Or rather start walking

Then you'll find the bench that breathes, not the one that pounds your eyes into a teary squint

Breeze will guide, as will shade 

Protecting from trees with overwhelmingly reflective gaze 

 

What do we accomplish in stress versus in peace? 

Both extremes seem to yield seemingly similarly structured productive outputs

Yet of different sources,

different spirits

 

What makes us designed to sit or sprint?

How do we flow in balance?

Or, alternatively,

In moments of flux,

What pushes us out of stall?

 

Water, even water isn’t always in flow 

But that's how we know it is sick. 

 

Inputs of newness, reminders of past 

Subtly ignite capacity to remove the surprisingly thin cover

Is it really only the influence of another?

 

Variations of leaves or feathers come and go, but that one stubborn sea creature holds onto its ancient shell with stubbornness of the world's turn

Refusing to adapt, how did we miss what they learned?

November 2023
It can’t escape 
It’s neither here nor there 
So no place hears your mistakes, missteps, or half steps toward
Toward forward forgiving
 
Who can release first 
And who are you to ask? 
 
Sun beams 
Cars honk
Bugs bite
But that’s all 
And in between 
We fight 
 
And in between even the elders lose sight, 
Lose capacity toward optimism 
They love us all the same 
yet we feel their relief
We will be here
 
At the same time we feel that vulnerability that unstable anxiety of witnessing the end approach
as it creeps and as it is felt in the chest 

Not your head keep your head to the sun
keep your hands on the steering wheel and your heart with the family 
Our heads too close to the sun,
a different meaning now

They say all old sayings are old for a reason,
stick around for a reason,
But the context changes. 
Apply that here now and the result is more than just sweat on the brow. 

Collaborative poems

Andie
July 2023

How fully finished growth spurts appear effortless yet enormous somehow accelerated

Propel belongings, drip attachments, leave metallic initials etched

Reverse punctuality beyond green perceptibility

Follow, don't hinge, MOVE!

Hushed youthful misremembered membranes latch encompassing trades 

Space time rusted 

Entangled sweeteners trusted with overwhelming importance

Messages floating even through filtered entrances

Coco
July 2023

Tinkering toying lighting fingering 

Loosely connected fluidly surveyed 

Blue cinder blocks 

Candy choker

Slender dim ashes surprise highways that charge forward slightly gasping 

Moments flitting behind streetlamps

Still remembering 

Infectious giggling permeates hallowed necklines 

Abby
February 2024

Grapefruit tangerine association

Dread the beginning when dreams flew upwards yet towards light

Sound appeared drenched sweatily in my ears

Beyond the flip and constant grime, rind, and rot 

She opened subtly my luggage, appearing uncomfortably startled at molded citrus remains

I drew breath and declined.

Jimmy
February 2024

Boy swelled with the fuzzy image of heartfelt joy

Reminiscent of nostalgic memories, he thought profusely about how his dreams and expectations have miraculously come to a brief pause

The reality settled in beyond his current grasp of his paralleling ideals 

Even though the weight compounded on top of fragile feelings, 

hints toward freedom and release flowed and without remorse solitude 

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April 2023

How to capture fleeting moments of beauty that exist between me and myself that I still want to share with you, but couldn't conceivably. 

The sun perfectly in my face through the window as the little trumpets on the tree face down and the bird seems to float between the branches while she sings without music into my ears.

The soft clicks of the wetness in her mouth opening and closing in between breaths. 

I'm sitting here. 

I can’t bring you in, but these are the moments I want to. 

Perhaps I want you inside me, to have my perspective, my life. 

I want you to be me, I want you to experience what it is to be me. 

‘This too shall pass’ she sings, somehow without cliche, and it’s true as the sun starts to fade and my eyes start to gloss over from staring into it for too long. 

Everything is pink and rainbow and glared.

I can't see anymore. 

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April 2023

Pain 

Tape 

Painting tape 

Poppers 

Mansion 

Like big house

Naked like 2010 Youtube

Does that look big enough for us? 

What are you writing why are you––

I have a lot of crazy dreams but they fly away when I wake up.

We look like we got married 

But do you want to put underwear on before you go outside? 

Christopher said he wanted to try to play like how a painter would, 

to paint with the drumsticks so you would enjoy 

Did you?

May 2023

Ikea mirror, 

Forced subjection of self in reflection

Overlap of roses and discipline

Romance literature and leather complexion

Lorna Simpson, 

Felted lithograph double exposed intention

Desire to blur 

Desire to decipher 

Being and having 

Not everyone will know her 

It's wonderful

Please knock

June 2022
Whisper 
Whis
Wisper
Whisper here
Woman
Whisperer 
Talk to them
Sing to them before
       you exit before 
Drench the water from your body 
After the breaths and breaks 
Soak your rings, let your fingers breathe so the blood flows through your nails to your thighs

Translucent bugs and business cards pushed out by the wind
And forced
And back and forth I go 
For one day only one day ticket

Not a romantic gesture 
But by your side I'll find 
I cry not certain I'll return 
       But with me I’ll time you
Your time separated from the mind mine beyond the cap
       Buzzing I want to live my life my own time buzzing
Beyond the stimulation 
       of your touch
              from the distance it seems 
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A collection of journal entries

January 4th, 2022

If I sent you a story would you turn it into a song? 

Could you turn my words into experiences, my ideas into words, into physical documentations of the things I experienced that I couldn’t put into words before?

 

If I sent you a story would you turn it into a song?

Do you think you would know what they sounded like

Do you think I will recognize my words when you give them back

Do you think we speak the same language in sound? 

Would you be able to help me pull apart my own words,

help me understand myself by rephrasing my words,

making them become sounds

Is cheating to borrow the way you speak?

 

If I sent you a story would you turn it into a song? 

Would you like it enough that you’d ask me to sing

Would you like it enough that you’d ask me to come see it

to come hear it

to come feel it 

 

If I sent you a story would you turn it into a song? 

Would you know that I’m trying to do what I said I would do

And if you did would you be upset?

Would it help you with your own story

I guess you didn’t ask for my help 

Or any help that is. 

I don’t want to distract you

I can’t help but distract you.

Where are you?

 

I can’t hear you and somehow that makes it hard to hear myself.

I’m scrolling 

I’m missing something 

I can see my body I can feel it 

But it’s never felt so limp. 

It’s never felt so fleshy. 

It’s never felt less like mine. 

I’m uncomfortable in my skin for the first time

Not because I don’t love it but because it’s unfamiliar to me. 

I’m not using it like I used to, 

like I am used to.

It feels like that part of me is falling away and

I’m trying to catch it, stretch and find it,

But I’m scared when I find it and look up, 

I’m only going to find that scratchiness.

 

After all this time of back and forth you still answer me,

reciprocate to me. 

I’m scared one day I’ll have taken it too far. 

I don’t think I could 

I think I have you. 

I’m scared to be wrong.

January 16th, 2022

Time passed like words coming back from a song you haven’t sung in so long but are familiar 

And when you become aware of the time you’re reminded of what else you’re missing out on 

I cried

Torn, overwhelmed by how much I wanted to be where I was 

I never expected to be so emotional about where I was 

I just knew I wanted to be there 

I also knew I wanted to leave. 

It’s always been like that with you 

Too much to leave not enough to stay

The first time you were silent. 

You couldn’t reveal yourself to me. 

I made you nervous so you lost your voice 

 

The second time you knew I was special and so you tested me 

Saw how much of the full you I was going to be okay with, 

you knew I wouldn’t be okay with it 

My chest tightened, you stretched 

I told you to leave I tried to tell you 

But you wouldn’t 

It was different 

You were somehow still listening to me  

Or differently, listening differently 

And so I was honest 

And from that point forward I always will be.

September 16th, 2022 

Time and time again I think about how the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me is say 

I can write in their book.

Evidence of care through observation of habits. 

 

He regularly wanted to provide for others,

didn’t feel a possession of his belongings.

And while he loved to share things with anyone,

this permission felt special. 

Intentionally permanent. 

Although I am admiring this quality now, I do hope he feels protective of the book I am referencing. 

My care squeezed into as many margins as existed. 

He does have a tendency to lose things,

perhaps this leads to his ability to share easily. 

He must have gotten used to things coming and going.

April 24th, 2023 

Even after the first morning I started writing down the things he said to me,

just like I used to with you.

There were a few things he said I didn’t write because I already have

The same things you said to me

I really couldn’t believe how similar,

just the same

When I told him he said it was endearing

He knew how much I loved you,

but he didn’t understand

I still loved you.

It felt so much like our start

He wasn’t able to be there for me fully,

just like you weren't

I couldn’t believe I was stuck again.

I tried to get out and I couldn’t

I denied it and denied it and denied it

just like I did with you

I told him that second time that I didn’t want him,

 just like I did with you

Because I knew just the same that we would.

I just don’t know when to tell you.

July 29th, 2022 

What can I call you? 

 

Out of the few things I know for sure lately, 

which of course is nothing, but I can convince myself otherwise, this unnecessary stalling to avoid vulnerable transparency, but I do know

You’ll always be my partner.

 

This title you’re stuck with forever. 

That’s how the past works, it’s stuck now, back there, for sure.  

That’s how language works. 

 

But what with today?

There must be something between something that explains that we aren’t in love anymore but we do still love each other and also simultaneously that it would only take allowing ourselves permission to be in love again for the title that is stuck in the past to exist in the present, presently.

 

But your presence is what lacks and the distance blackened through glass is a reminder of the inescapable fact which first decided this nameless path.

 

So what can I call you?

On the phone? 

Eventually. 

An opportunity to seek a semblance of you physically 

Pretending to oppose the only thing I can’t control, 

my emotions begin pulsating

 

We are just friends who have phone sex. 

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