Wednesday, May 12, 2010

the world tilts back and pours and pours and so,

cynical-bones.livejournal.com




i have never spent years on the sea.
my ship has never sunk in black ice water two miles off the coast.
but i have known mornings without color and
i have felt the warm waves of life ebbing from me with the tide.
i have kissed the sand goodbye
before.

it's a bad neighborhood and i leave my door unlocked

call me crazy but i just can't come home
to no one
another night.


poetry doesn't have to be
boxed
like a christmas gift when you were little.
rhyming and perfect and fake.


poetry is a
scream
into the distance when your voice won't even work. it is a
plea

tell yourself you're not crazy.
take your pills
go to class
tell yourself you're not crazy
lie.

i am on the mend.

this is what a confession sounds like.

i like simplicity, even in my thoughts
one or two lines is more powerful
than an entire book of thoughtless
pages.

this is a journal
this is my apology.

photos aren't mine. stop asking.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

"what are you made of?"
"how can anyone even answer that question?"
"i'll tell you what i am. i am twigs and leaves and other things
made from wood. i am every single one
of those pigeons on that wire and none of them at the same time.
i am the soft familiar scent
deep in the cotton of your oldest shirt
that you sometimes hold to your mouth
and inhale."


"i worry about you sometimes"
"thank god."