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the commutei keep your kiss
under my bed:
i won't lose it
just because you aren't here.

instead,
i will hesitate in the spaces
between the weeks
we are together,
and we are
apart.

i will write you letters
and gaps and commas
when my head stops spinning
and my pride takes a bow
to the lion of my heart,
and feel the stinging air
of imagination
seep out of its balloon.

put your (love) affairs in order, dear
and find me under your blankets;

i want the places i know best
to be the ones made of skin,
secretly tucked away
in the crook of your elbow
where my body rests, or
behind your ear,
like a pencil-

i want you to write me words
constellations are just bodiesyou left me in my bed-
i was crying-
when you walked down my stairs
for the last time.

you were to spend the night-
you lived hours away-
until you told me
you couldn't do this
anymore.

i was fine-
you were just a constellation-
until your words
forced images of my last love
before my mind's eye.

i cried before you-
i hadn't cried in months-
but i didn't cry for you.

in retrospect, as you closed my door-
it was the last time-
my only thought is
why didn't we fuck
before saying goodbye?
spoiled little girli have turned my body
into a void
so that i can love
with it
instead of my heart.
i feel nothing
so i feel nothing
for you,
but your skin has not
met mine
in a week
and it has me
worried.

this one
loves completely vanilla,
though there once were poems
of red clay and sun;
this one
kisses with no ridges
and i cannot seem to
find a way to stay captivated;
this one
touches when i cannot remember,
so i run
when i see the silhouette of his face,
giving flashes
like nightlights or fireflies
of a dark room
i seem to have almost
forgotten.

i think you have spoiled me terribly
because i feel nothing
worth feeling
and k
the end, actuallylassitude builds
nests in my bones
flightless birds
forming words
as effective at becoming airborne
as the words "i'm sorry"
and sometimes
they just refused to try

the most prominent thought
circling my head
like the words that could soar
was knowledge-
there is a big chance
we will not make it through the night,
that i will never be held
captive
in the cage of your eyes
and trapped by a heart

i must be committing
some atrocities
but i do not know which ones-
there just might be
a limit
on the number of tears
you can shed
over one person;

we are not snakes
and cannot remove our skin
so we cry instead

but throug
unending, ceaselessnothing exists
better
than the moment
hesitant
anticipatory
of entrance
entranced
by the sway
porch swings
of hips
how pendulums
tick

and we talk
murmurs
until taciturnity
takes hold
of each others' tongues
and gasps
sudden
cause gaps
in the connection
unbreakable
as unity
unties
only to retie
in ceaseless
reunion
again.
alpengloweverything hard-kept in the heart is falling onto paper.  each word so well-fought to be kept within the chest becomes a snowflake from november skies, but the winds are unseasonably warm and a fire is kindled inside each bone in place of a bitter chill.

there are ten thousand things i can never tell you.

the way that wars are fought, i wage battles among my selves to keep the quiet.  you will never hear my voice, too soft like the pillow beneath your head each time our bodies find each other, say how my breath becomes a porch swing when we touch and i sway.

i can never call you by any name, given at birth or given by heart.  you will neve
first weekend and realisationsyou begin to talk
because talking means that
someone else can't
&you start to realise
(as most girls do)
that you have a boyfriend

&soon
he's not just a boyfriend;
he's your boyfriend
&he's not just better than
anyone else in the world
he's better than
anything else in the world

&you would trade years off your life
to spend a little longer with him
or to see him smile when he's sad
or to feel his face in your hair
the way he does when he hugs you
&you can't feel it
because right now he's too far away

but distance is only the space between
point a and point b
between you&between me
&if you give it just a little more tim
before georgia takes you again
the vomiting crowd of coney islandthe destructive walls are shaded
in grey and i am remembering
every feeling i have forgotten-

i am terrified.

this is a city that never sleeps,
the bones of my chest thrumming
like taxi cabs in the streets,
my fingers shaking
in want for comfort and solace
and love.

i am not standing
in lorca's vomiting crowd-
i am his vomiting crowd,
looking high and low
and between my clenched fists
for catharsis and purification,
for the reason of this illness
pressed against my skin,
for the indefinable sickness
i drown in like bubbles of spit
day in and day out.

i fear the restraints
i've placed for myself,
that they may not be the
things i don't know about you that bother me thati wonder what it's like
to fall asleep beside you
in a post coital haze,
and to wake in the morning
to run to class.
do you wake me,
do you kiss my forehead,
do we make love again-
i don't know,
not yet.

and do you wet your toothbrush
before applying toothpaste,
oh,
tell me you don't leave the sink running,
it must get awfully tired.

and what do you dream of
when i lie next to you,
blissfully more than just a body;
what will you dream of
a year from now?
please tell me i can fit into
your big picture
as easily as i can fit into
your arms,
eternally.
bipolar IIa week is spent
in throes of excitability,
irritation, unstoppable words,
and ideas with wings of their own-
they soar in their preternatural flight
without a second's notice
and meander along separate currents.

sleep is an elusive,
abstract idea,
fought for so ruthlessly,
only to have it slip away,
silent,
mere hours later.

i am icarus, resin-winged in thought
and flying til my fingers can
almost
brush the sun.

i am icarus, resin-winged in thought
and watching my feathers drop
until my body
is subject once more
to the relentless rules of gravity.

hitting the dirt
hurts more every time-
physics has no mercy for bruise
the saturday after your birthday is where i foundbefore you there was an incessant need to be touched
but for no longer than the time it took to touch, sweat, and moan
and never by the same hands twice;
for vacancies to be filled
and to never have an empty bed when sleep finally came.

when i found you it was dark and i was drunk.
it wasn't a story built for the centuries,
but we will be the lovers whose names are remembered for the years to come,
tied and woven in song and into the bodies of trees, we will be so in love
that the angels above will cry in jealousy because in my haze,
heavy and raw and with everything burning inside me, i'm afraid i fell in love that night.

being
standing armyi didn't feel myself signing away
the next indefinable period of my life
to worry and unease
when i couldn't find words
to tell you what you saw
in the
spaces
between.

if i don't break our bonds
tying us like kite strings
across a few cities
and maybe a couple hours,
i will write you letters
instead of quiet times
resting on your pillows,
or the inlets of your arm.

i will be segmented
like the trunk of an earthworm
between boston,
the berkshires,
and missouri's banks;
i will wait for the mail
and days of leave,
the way i never was able
to project ahead to see
i was the last person,
a child in a woman's body,
to enli
a letter of hatred, to myselfdear child,
dear little girl,
dear melissa,
dear sweet, innocent, beautiful melissa,

there is none of this that you would choose for yourself; there is none of this that you would see coming.  a beautiful infant, born bright yellow like your favourite dress when you were three, you were perfect.  you wore jaundice like a mink stole, blocked tear ducts like cat-eyed glasses.  you cried because you were unafraid to show others how you felt: you were not scared to let them care.

strangers paused your parents on the street to peer inside of your stroller, marvelling at the porcelain doll within; the big blue eyes, reflecting the sky in grand
presumptionsi know i'm a very common-,
innocent-looking girl.
i look like i floss my teeth
at least once a week
and have never worn
thong underwear,
like i devour books like candy
and never talked during class.

it's funny when people are nothing like how they look.

so let me tell you something,
let me set you straight:
i'd have you believe
i'm not some heavily medicated girl
with snakes up and down her body
in bright red rows, all raw and scabbed and
constant, ceaseless, neverending reminders of fucked-up and failure...
but it never took much for you to talk me into bed.
letting you think i'm some perfect porcelain figurine
without crac
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a like poemI want to write a love poem,
but I only want to be in love
if I have someone there with me.

instead,
I romanticise the efforts
of pressing pen to paper,
painting pages personal
and colouring them
the same green as your eyes-

your eyes.
that's something that never
strikes me as common,
as something permanent
like concrete,
or a given
like a constant variable.

to wake up,
and see the lids like curtains,
thick and deep like night,
over them,
I feel like I am a film photograph.

and when they open,
sealed with sleep
and more honest than ever
before a single wall can be erected,
I see a poem
as I begin to swim,
and foreve

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a thorough submission

:iconohsostarryeyed:

i have found my heart-
it has put itself into this.
my hesitations are little more
than bad habits,
filed somewhere between
biting my nails and always saying i'm sorry.

the expectation of the winds
blowing softer til they ceased
ended with your mouth on mine;
the nerves fraying from fear
have been tended to with needle and thread;
and the water i so wiklfully wouldn't touch
feels warmer as it inches
like your hands
up my ankles to my bare knees.

i have found my heart-
it has put itself into this.
my stomach turns the ocean calm
when i think of the messes i'll make,
and the sewing you will stitch.
and i'm terrified
like nightmares that don't dissolve upon waking
for the ending weeks of winter
when you leave for the great missouri banks.

until then,
my heart is found,
put in this,
and slipping and mending
and messes commonplace,
i am finally feeling
the warmth the rest of this brings,
the fire i'd fought so hard
to dampen
for no other reason
than to stifle our joy.

574

30 4 2
:iconohsostarryeyed:

a thorough submissionby *ohsostarryeyed

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i hope an undertone of melancholy shows through the joy
©2012-2013 *ohsostarryeyed
Category: Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

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Submitted on
November 4, 2012
File Size
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574
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:icontiajones:
~tiajones Nov 8, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
this whole piece is extraordinarily beautiful.
these lines are probably my favorite though,
"i have found my heart-
it has put itself into this.
my hesitations are little more
than bad habits,
filed somewhere between
biting my nails and always saying i'm sorry."
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Nov 20, 2012
thank you, love <3
Reply
:icontiajones:
~tiajones Nov 20, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
of course, darling dear
Reply
:iconhater12:
~hater12 Nov 4, 2012
it does, love. :)
Reply
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