bohemian

Eyes are black holes, a vacuum in a space framed
Crystalline unmysterious, clean easy soul windows
Skin is without blemish, smooth and glowing
Flawed, spotted and scarred with past mistakes
The picture of style and trendiness, brightly stunning
Hangs limp. Frizzy, exhausted from trying to impress
Smile beckons people in, come hither smirk
Warm and comforting, but not often seen
Body is skinny, feminine in the right places, perfect
Slightly awkward, misshapen and unbalanced
Voice is strong and proud, confidence in your words
Wavers with the wind, quivering with insecurities
Words are witty and sharp, men hanging on every one
Slow, and thought-out, no spontaneity of speech
Barely a glance in my direction, no threat to you
Conflict of admiration and envy. I hate you, really
Triumphant, they fall over themselves in worship
Alas, I surrender, giving up the ever hopeless fight

thread

I return to you again.
Evermore unchanged.
My feelings still laced
With the addictive drug of indifference.
We share this small space.
Bodies intertwined.
Your hand rests heavy upon my hip,
The weight of your leg
Suffocating, over mine.
The nights stillness settles in.
I never ache for you,
I never long for you
I never desire you.
Still I return. A dog to his vomit.
Hearts threaded together,
most delicately.
Fused by years gone past,
shared growing pains,
and the terrifying possibilityof
Dying Alone.

skeletons

In the past few months, my obnoxiously inquisitive mind, has guided me on a journey to discover the truths about my past. It has driven me to ask the questions I have long stuffed into the deeper recesses of my temporal lobe. The questions, inconsistencies, misunderstandings, all which were completely out of my control, still maintain a powerful hold on my heart. Mistakes of others. Secretive scandal. Sins of the father. Sins of the mother. I claim to be doing this in a vain selfish effort to understand myself better. Curiosity. Incited by the ever-present reminder that the blood coursing through my veins, beating in my heart, fueling every breath, contains a genetic blueprint that ties me to this shadow of my past. My persistent questioning comes at a painful price. Reparation in jaded perspectives and sleepless nights. Maybe some skeletons are best left closeted.

insomnia

My persistent questioning comes with a painful price.
Reparation in jaded perspectives and sleepless nights.

ticking bomb

Sometimes I want to shake him
Rattle his little body,
In the vainest of effort,
For a simple reaction.
Inevitably negative
But an acknowledgment.
Maybe with his brain
Sloshing back and forth
Hemorrhaging and bruised
He might wake up from this.
Look around and see,
The beautiful things that remain.
Casting aside his darkened,
Cloudy lens of hatred.
Silently defiant, always indifferent.
His harsh angry scowl
Shadows his delicate features.
Scrawny arms folded,
Tiny fists clenched
As if the slightest irritant
Would trip the wire
For the vengeful ticking bomb
Inside.

Most times I just want to hug him
I want to apologize.
For every evil human
That has wounded him.
Broken his spirit.
For every bloody nose,
And blackened eye.
I could kill them.
He flinches in fear,
Eyes always downcast.
Like a beaten puppy.
When his big brown eyes well up,
With the tears of suppressed rage
It breaks my heart
Again and again.
I struggle to understand
How an eleven year old
Could possibly be so angry.
Hopelessly jaded, so young.
Seemingly without a future.
Destroying his own chances,
With every listless shove.
I long to tell him that he is loved
Without reason or precedent.
I believe in him.
I see the potential.
Inside.

recurring

I keep having the same nightmare. This dream has the same main players, myself and one other face. Together, we traverse the allusion, directing the course of events that will result in my abrupt awakening. Rousal from sleep, accompanied only by palpitating fear and cold sweat. The circumstances are sometimes different, the setting shifting, the supporting characters faces, skewed and inconsistent. But the dream remains. The theme stays the same. A premise that both chills me down to the core and steers me away from the comfortable path you present. I am not sure if God communicates through our dreams, in this modern age, however, the repetition of this reverie is difficult to ignore. So realistic and attainable, I cannot turn a blind eye. The very thing I daydreamed about in years past, now strikes such fear into my heart. The concept of Forever, with you, no longer brings the joyous bliss of teenage fantasy. Instead I can feel my very soul being suppressed. This newfound independence and strong-willed spirit annihilated and subdued by the new values you ascribe to. Why would you continue wanting me, when it is not reciprocated? When my true feelings arise even in the depths of my subconscious, the emotions that surface in the quiescent dawn.

arduous reverie

“Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again”
- Matthew Arnold

Makeup gone, my face scrubbed away
From the counterfeit performance of the day
My head rests on the cool-sided pillow.
Dreading and desiring both the soon inevitable
Thoughts rampant, my heart sensibilities unstable
Your feautures always haunting me in my dreams
The comfortable face that taunts me in waking hours
Eyes closed. I see incontestably what could be ours
You are ever consistently, my most Beautiful Nightmare.
Greet me, my love. Come, as you have appeared
Giving yourself to me. Gloriously a thousand times before.
Gazing into my soul, with that smile I adore
Only in the terrifying realm I cannot control,
The place where my subconscious takes over
Giving me the pleasure of an unreality
Wishful thinking of confidentiality
Upon waking, this alone will get me through
The hopeless longing of the day.