Number of Heartbeats

This time

when you tell me I am beautiful

I believe you.

Because the only thing you can see

is me.

I am raw from you tenderness

crazy from unquenched wants

You wipe my tears with your fingertips

kissing the corner of my eye

lost in the emotion

Tangled in my soul

Wishing we could only sleep together

so we could wake up together.

Thought itself pure

the meaning behind persists perseverance.

Waiting to want. Wanting to wait.

and in the end

holding hands

following rules

resenting the way things are

but knowing it is the right thing

wishing it wasn't

Shame

Does it ever hurt you to look into our worlds future?

The pain and devastation in store.

We shield ourselves

we numb ourselves.

The worst part is that we only wonder about ourselves.

"40% of coral reefs will be gone by 2028, and social security will run out"

All I can think is

"I wonder if Nick and I will still be together."

Because in the hush of my mind, I am selfish. Even when my soul is shouting out to care a little more.

I have turned my heart to winter, and gathered little icicles to create walls that I can see out of. But that will never be quite like looking out of a clear window. My prayer is that God comes into my little house, and uses the breaths of starving, unheld babies to melt these walls away.

If only my faith was as strong as the woman who reached out and touched the edge of Jesus's cloak. If only I could grab that seam and believe. Yet I would be to political and proud to do such a awkward thing as simply reach out. Lord, what I want is to see and break at what I see. What I want is to trust You. You alone can give me what I need. You alone can guide me on my way. You alone may use me. You alone can turn me into something useful.

If I did it by myself

it would still be You

for You knit me in my mothers womb

perl knit perl knit perl knit.

bland, yet remarkable as it may be.

Shed With Age

Like a splinter,

I feel irritation boiling in my stomach.

These attachments?

I don't want them.

This closeness

I don't want it.

I want to be free and cold

icy beneath the water's surface

forgetful of feelings

never blushing with spring.

I want to be hard

as a rock.

I want to be high

as a mountain

I want to go back to being unattainable.

There is no desire for this pity

for this cheery conversation.

I want to loose myself in the convalescence of falling.

Kiss me lightly

Kiss me like that again.

With your mouth tasting like a buffalo wild wing

with your track sweats on

no shower

hair choppy.

Kiss me like that again

with a feeling of mutual passion rising within us

like the crest of a wave

tumbling falling

roaring

Make me feel alive

hands running up my hips

and framing my jaw

lips tenderly edging me over the brink of sanity

let me kiss your smile

Wild I am in your arms

you who make me see the contrast of the world

you who make me see the flaws in myself

you who hold me tightly to your chest

and press against me in the sunshine.

As Remarkable as Marble

In a sea of faces, how can we expect to effect?

How can we dream of changing someones life?

Or even that our dream will catch fire with meaning?

The things we wish for most impossible. We want to leave our mark, to be remembered, to be worthy and great. Yet these things do not come so swiftly. So unlike their counterparts of obliteration, forgotten gravestones, and corruption. Fate holds all of us in it's personified hands, and chokes us into dust. Where we are sprinkled to fertilize the next generation.

If I am lucky some will visit my headstone. Perhaps a witty quote will be engraved upon the marble. Reading something far too clever for me to have penned. Those who visit will stand in resolute reminisce. But they will be reminiscing on an older version of myself. Maybe a wiser version of myself, but never me. I will be hollowed out and shaped into a tamed form by my work, children, weariness. These grave visitors will never have run next to me in a high wind and been sheltered by my silhouette . They will never dance with me in the moonlight, or discuss the future with me whilst sitting on bar stools. They will never contemplate alternate realities or alien life forms. They will never compare romantic relationships, nor dreams, nor dances. If any of these visitors will have been with me through those things, they will no longer remember. Gray hair will have made them drop their memories.

All I can hope for is that the future will be a little bit better because of me. And I am venturing out on this quest for greatness knowing full well that I would never be able to achieve it on my own. Although a traveler I may be, I need a compass and some company. And if there is to be any success it will not be mine. For I am not my own, but belong. Wholly and completely.

May my ashes be spread,

in a flower bed

where they might intermingle with the essence of the sky

and learn to ever sleep.

For I am not a body with a soul, but a soul that happens to have a body.

Unwhole

Darkness clipped on the edges of a sharp moon

streaming leaves

slanting to the moon.

Wind dripping and twisting straight to the ground

rooftop cold and worn

climbed.

Drinking discussions down

like underage alcohol

Lips never forgetting their words.

Minds chewing and cussing

putrid thought

of less help,

Bitter and poisonous

and lingering.

Catch the Thunder

Our love was as fated as two raindrops slipping down the window.

One watches them roll next to each other,

wishing silently for them to meet.

Anticipation builds.

And then two becomes one

and tumbles out of view.

First on the First

One year ago I was jumping into a lake full of cold water. Great Lake water. One year ago I was trying to etch the shape of your body into my memory. Objectifying you in your swimming trunks. Analyzing the lines of your muscles. Wondering how someone this beautiful was not paused in time on a pedestal a museum amongst Greek gods.

One year ago I was frightened. What I feared was greater than any nightmare. My fear held a story in which a girl fell in love with a boy, and the boy (who had never loved anyone before) would only fancy himself feeling the same way... but would later realize his folly and leave the girl.

One year ago, after a long evening of holding hands and watching a movie you kissed me. A kiss which forever sealed that bubble of fear, until words would perhaps free that story. You leaned in and with a whispered though your lips met mine.

One year ago I thought what I was feeling was love. But I know now, that is like comparing a child to a mature adult. What I felt then was labor pains and relief. The birth of something new and perfect.