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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
a letter to ethanyou're fifteen minutes away.

that's a quarter of an hour, that's ten miles, that's space enough that i never have to see you again.

but still i feel my heart beating like a rabbit's foot against my rib.

look.

i'm a girl still in denial
of being a woman with
breasts and hips and a womb.  
i'm a child with my heart and i will surrender it foolishly
to the first boy to give me roses and push them into my hair.  
i don't know how to love,
the way i don't know how how to stop.

but let me tell you this- it happens.
they both do.

i loved your fragile brown eyes like i'd never seen a warmer fire.  
i sank my bones like an anchor to
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.
preemptive breakup poemif anyone ever tells you your sadness isn't physical,
show them the ache in your bones,
the raw skin on your arms or wrists or hips or thighs,
the imprint of your foetal body on your mattress from the days you couldn't bear to leave.

and you see this?
this is what hurt looks like.
i want you to look closer, lean in a little until you can feel the sadness on my breath
and i want you to watch my eyes. count how often they blink and count how many of them are forcing back words i still can never say.
i don't want you to miss a second of how you make me feel.

i want to be what keeps you up at night
i want to be the reason you can't eat
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
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
romanticism is such bullshiti don't understand a bit
what's so romantic
about missing-you and distance,
love stressed and strained like string
across miles of roping rivers;

it's ugly and sad
and there is no cure
because i will not wait by the letterbox
praying daily on my knees to a god i know i believe in but i'm not sure you do
to hear word from you-
that you're well;
that you're happy;
that you're eating and sleeping and feeling alive;

that's what i want, you know-
i want your vitality to blaze like the great chicago fire,
i want to see your scrawl emboldened with each word
i want to see you concretely on your feet
and certain of where you are going
without a ser
a thorough submissioni 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 ni
christmas doesn't have to be lonelythis is the first christmas
i have not spent alone;
when i have had arms,
sand-specked like the beach
and as encompassing as it is
to my body (of water, my ocean),
waiting to hold me
and steady my waves

there will come a day
that i am so fully loved
that the effulgence mimics and empty room
until entered,
and the engulfing fire
exudes the warmth missed
in the winter snow
in which i am kissed

this is the year
that my endless yuletide wishes
have been made.
this is the year i am christmas lights,
glowing,
warm
and loved
(again and again and again)
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
wasting usi want you, ok
i want you to be on your knees
all scraped and red and raw
like you're a child again
because that's all you ever
were
i want you to be aching
the way i've been aching
since the last rays of summer
said goodbye to us,
goodbye to us
and i want you to never forget
that just because
you don't remember my birthday,
that doesn't mean
you'll ever,
ever
forget the feel of my skin
on yours
for the first time
and that someday
this memory will stop hurting.
it never will,
and i promise you this:
every time it crosses your mind-
while you wait at the bus stop,
during a chemistry exam,
the next time a girl touche
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
you arei want a city ruined
every time you love me.
i want to show how loudly i shake,
enough to break
faults and how it will never be yours,
and bring down skylines
when you aren't here.

there are seven weeks until my blood runs blank,
but it is so full tonight
it could drown a man.
i hope it drowns you,
the way it carries the only beautiful thing about me
to you;
my heart, my love.

it's time you pull together
your telephone wires and breathe stars
back into my body-
it was so dark without you.
there was no moon,
just the kind of black
you know could be no emptier.

i am effulgent again
with the ways i've needed to feel,
i am
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?
playing godi am the last paramedic you want to respond to your call.

by no means am i inept at my job- i am, in fact, the best in my precinct.  my problem is sometimes i think i'm god.

the people who are drains on society - the welfare collectors, the addicts, the elderly, the people who wronged me in high school or remind me of the people who wronged me in high school; the people who cost me taxes?  oops, i made a mistake.  i'm sorry, mrs. doe, but john didn't make it.  our team failed to correctly assess and promptly address his condition.  our condolences.

i have let hundreds die on my watch.  just seen the spasms stop, the light leave their eyes.
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More from *ohsostarryeyed

i hear birds.this makes me sad.
it's winter, you beautiful beasts
there is snow on the ground
and there will be snow on your wings
if you do not leave me now.
your feathers will stiffen with frost,
hoary chrysalis over your beaks and bones.
your bodies will fall from high wires
and break like glass
as they hit the frozen earth.

beautiful birds,
you are the force of gravity
that keeps me grounded
but lets you soar.
leave me to die
so that you can live
and return when the sun
burns hot once more.
how to miss a boy who's sothere's no comfort
in the way you hold me
with the fire in your palms.

you have mud in your boxers,
grass in your hair,
and i am not moving;

you are butterflies on your cheeks,
you are soft music on your lips,
you are thin ice and my heart
breaks in its beauty.

please let me
apologise.

i have bloodstains on my sheets
tempera paint,
and streaks of red ink.
it all makes me want to say
that i am sorry
i am alone in this bed
and i am cold

your bones are not my bones
and i shiver as
they sleep with
themselves in a cold cocoon
of winter
pillows.
glass cannoni know what death feels like:
rage in the wind,
coloured grey with smoke
and a face like thunder.

you hung yourself
with your beautiful innards.
god, look at them glisten.
god, look at them shiver.
god, look at you,
your face fading to white
until you look as empty
as you had told me you
were.

now you weren't anything.
now you were dead.
and all i can see --
when i close my eyes,
when i fall asleep --
are the beautiful pink ropes
shimmering in hot fluorescent light
that turned you into an angel
as you dangled above my floor.
barnes and nobleshe said she wants to lose her virginity at a barnes and noble.

it makes me feel so comfortable to be there, she said. the books, the pages, the people - all engrossed in print and words and new worlds, all like me.

she said, i want to make love in the fiction aisle. she paused. right between the palahniuk and plath, that's where i was this morning, i was reading the back covers of everything beautiful and thinking of you lying on top of me on the floor, and making something beautiful ourselves.

i want silence and intimacy, she said, i want bookstores. i want to be surrounded by book-bindings and straight spines with flat pages.

she said,
geneticism"i hate when you tell me you love me."

"i love you."

"do you love her?"

"that old bag making sounds like a death rattle?"

"yeah. her."

"no."

"why not?"

"can't you just accept that i love you and move on?"

"not unless you tell me why you can't love her, too."

"because i love you, you're special to me."

"she should be special to you, too."

"i don't know her. she's nothing to me."

"she should be everything to you."

"why? how can i love her?"

"look. how can we love some people but not others?  how can you love me but not the old woman sitting next to you on the city bus, breathing like city smoke and wringing her hands? i wring my h
last yeara year ago
at this time
i thought he was going
to kill himself.
he was sad
and i was sleepy
and when he asked me
if it hurt,
cutting,
i said it depended
how hard
and where you bled,
but i didn't think so.
he said,
ok
i don't want it to hurt
too much
if i kill myself.
i'm thinking
of going to my bench
in town
and crying
or cutting my wrists
i don't want it to hurt
too much
if i kill myself.
i went to bed,
and i cried.

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December 12, 2012
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[x]

the first poem i wrote since i told you i love you

:iconohsostarryeyed:

the star-soaked stains
that covered our nudity
gives way at last
to a tequila sunrise,
so low in the sky;

it's still bright enough
to sting my eyes,
and yet i can't bring myself
to hate it.

your body next to mine,
every effort is made
to move a heavy limb
closer
because any space
we have
is space i don't want.

i am sometimes humbled
by my feelings,
the way they swell
in my throat
just how the ocean
tastes the shore.

there is always something new
to find hidden in my heart,
summoned by my words,
or the salt of your skin
wearing like wind on shale
against mine.

i don't think i can ever tell you
i love you enough.

if i could, i would never get dressed
so that you could never be sad-
a rewind every time
my clothes touch the floor,
never anything but nude, not naked
because with you i can be bare
and unafraid;
i can let you see my entirety
and leave my arms uncrossed,
i can let you in
and not fear that you will break me,
or force my inner things out.

i can love you with open arms
and my lips
wrapped around every inch of you,
staking claims for myself
wherever they touch;
i can love you,
unreserved,
unbridled,
and know that the heat that our skin,
soaked in the light once given off
by the stars we wear,
will be enough to keep us warm
even when wars
battle to
keep us
apart.
:iconohsostarryeyed:
and you fell asleep while i whispered

-

that actually happened, how horrific is that
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:iconbmwysp:
~BMWYSP Feb 22, 2013  Professional Writer
-breathless- Poetry in perfection. <3
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Feb 28, 2013
thank you so very much, my love
Reply
:iconbmwysp:
~BMWYSP Feb 28, 2013  Professional Writer
You are very welcome, dear. <3
Reply
:iconvvolatile:
=vvolatile Jan 8, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
your body next to mine,
every effort is made
to move a heavy limb
closer
because any space
we have
is space i don't want.
jesus. that stanza. :heart:
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Jan 13, 2013
thank you bby <3
Reply
:iconvvolatile:
=vvolatile Jan 13, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
you're welcome
Reply
:iconyouinventedme:
`YouInventedMe Dec 27, 2012   Writer
there is always something new
to find hidden in my heart

ohindeed :heart:
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Jan 28, 2013
thank you, kind sir
Reply
:iconperidot-magelette:
~peridot-magelette Dec 26, 2012
This is the first time a poem has ever brought me to tears.
"with you I can be bare and unafraid"

This is how I feel and I want to tell him I love him but i'm afraid he doesn't want to hear it and/or will freak out. And it sucks that I love this amazing person I will have to leave soon, so maybe it's better I don't tell him anyway. I'm sorry for dumping my feelings into this comment; this is a wonderful poem and it makes me feel things I don't want to.
Reply
:iconohsostarryeyed:
*ohsostarryeyed Jan 28, 2013
if he's worth it, and you don't have to leave him emotionally, it's worth telling him
Reply
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