Looked all night for your shitty car but you never showed up
So I counted all the stop signs we kissed at… hoping that a number the the name would make it as insignificant as all the nervous cigarettes and fake phone calls used in human avoidance.
Darkened pathways on bitter November night led me here I demanded we finish this race.Admit you like it..or at least..like the way I make you not alone. At eighteen we became anchors and you never did tell me if you'd ever cut this ship loose…you never said the circle connects somewhere.
Ill stay. I will choke on every bad joke and stretch this silence into a jet trail I will stay…just show me this disproportional concept of fate and when it’s all over…I’ll try to find things as beautiful as you left here.
Your shaking skins putting out Morse code saying come back go home I may never know which way to go but until these chemicals settle I gotta create something stable. How do I brave it when all the details got blurred in the syllables and there's something more to this just Ive grown out of so many things….whats one more worn out soul?
August 19, 2011
Hollowing
The 9th ward holds the sounds of ragged hope.
So I promise to Keep those fists high.
You broke your knuckle and it reminded me that I’d staple myself to every cause
So I bandaged your bones.
I can’t watch the world turn to debris in your hands.
I can skip town catch a train but I’ll never escape. At best feel relieved…That maybe you’d be the savior
Not just the waiter.
I’ve ridden too many trains watching littered city streets become homes for women who fought too hard
Are we fighting too hard?
How do I change the world from the cart of the train cabin
I wrote the word peace on my knuckles maybe I could fight off the worlds ghosts.
But you cant fix something so broke. I was so finished with prayers. So finished with allegiance. Cracks of hands become trenches and we’ve melted down all our shields to make bullets. I can do it all but I can also forget. And so will you…but to forgive takes more courage outside the neighbor home hangs an American flag. It looks like a clothesline for ambulance sound that rings through Japan ridden in Nuclear radiation. It hangs like a haze over India. But they never took it down.
America sounds a bit hollow. So lets keep our fists high…we can spread the word “CHANGE” like cancer cells.
I’m done being hollow. Its train tracks and waiting in the yellow glow of moonlight and lies. Ill wait for years but its easier to forget. Catch the train. Get a little hollow.
So I promise to Keep those fists high.
You broke your knuckle and it reminded me that I’d staple myself to every cause
So I bandaged your bones.
I can’t watch the world turn to debris in your hands.
I can skip town catch a train but I’ll never escape. At best feel relieved…That maybe you’d be the savior
Not just the waiter.
I’ve ridden too many trains watching littered city streets become homes for women who fought too hard
Are we fighting too hard?
How do I change the world from the cart of the train cabin
I wrote the word peace on my knuckles maybe I could fight off the worlds ghosts.
But you cant fix something so broke. I was so finished with prayers. So finished with allegiance. Cracks of hands become trenches and we’ve melted down all our shields to make bullets. I can do it all but I can also forget. And so will you…but to forgive takes more courage outside the neighbor home hangs an American flag. It looks like a clothesline for ambulance sound that rings through Japan ridden in Nuclear radiation. It hangs like a haze over India. But they never took it down.
America sounds a bit hollow. So lets keep our fists high…we can spread the word “CHANGE” like cancer cells.
I’m done being hollow. Its train tracks and waiting in the yellow glow of moonlight and lies. Ill wait for years but its easier to forget. Catch the train. Get a little hollow.
Making me Nervous
It shouldn’t be this way
It shouldn’t be me looking at a tree wrapped in barbed wire saying its beautiful
Its making me nervous
Why is it so beautiful the way your scars look like nooses
Your hanging the bad days from your knuckles
He wants to be painter but instead hes a sniper
Shoot it up spit it out spread it free. Wipe your feet
Shackle your dreams
There’s a revolutionist in prison
Living in a casket where he said hell doesn’t judge from here
He graffiti tagged my heart with his spray can filled with change
He lit the bible on fire and told me to believe in myself he lit a cigarette of politicians and transformed it into a scripture. Banksy made art in the miracle dirt of the cities and Vincent made the night starry but hes the artists and Banksy’s a criminal.
I keep finding all these dirty things beautiful and wanting all the sunshine to disappear because I can see in the dark
Those scars like Braille down your chest where the hours at a canvas became lashes from society.Were all waiting for trains down here.
Something to take us away.Something to bring us near. There's a dancer in Baghdad and a writer in Colorado he says hes really a doctor but in the dark…were all monsters
So in the nighttime darkness hell be a writer…And I’ll be a poet.Well always be waiting for trains.In this darkness we can all be monsters
It shouldn’t be me looking at a tree wrapped in barbed wire saying its beautiful
Its making me nervous
Why is it so beautiful the way your scars look like nooses
Your hanging the bad days from your knuckles
He wants to be painter but instead hes a sniper
Shoot it up spit it out spread it free. Wipe your feet
Shackle your dreams
There’s a revolutionist in prison
Living in a casket where he said hell doesn’t judge from here
He graffiti tagged my heart with his spray can filled with change
He lit the bible on fire and told me to believe in myself he lit a cigarette of politicians and transformed it into a scripture. Banksy made art in the miracle dirt of the cities and Vincent made the night starry but hes the artists and Banksy’s a criminal.
I keep finding all these dirty things beautiful and wanting all the sunshine to disappear because I can see in the dark
Those scars like Braille down your chest where the hours at a canvas became lashes from society.Were all waiting for trains down here.
Something to take us away.Something to bring us near. There's a dancer in Baghdad and a writer in Colorado he says hes really a doctor but in the dark…were all monsters
So in the nighttime darkness hell be a writer…And I’ll be a poet.Well always be waiting for trains.In this darkness we can all be monsters
trains
Here comes that feeling I thought id forgotten
Every time I see the train approaching
Knowing I have no place to be on time
No clock to be looking at
Nobody who misses this
Here comes the feeling I thought Id forgotten
Bury the smile behind my teeth as the rumble of creaking tracks races through my skin
I’m waiting to leave nowhere and my body misses
Knowing I have to be on time
Here comes the feeling I thought I’d forgotten
Every time I see the train approaching
Knowing I have no place to be on time
No clock to be looking at
Nobody who misses this
Here comes the feeling I thought Id forgotten
Bury the smile behind my teeth as the rumble of creaking tracks races through my skin
I’m waiting to leave nowhere and my body misses
Knowing I have to be on time
Here comes the feeling I thought I’d forgotten
August 11, 2011
Beauty Project Post 2
Today it’s me watching grandma dance meringue on hard wood floors
Bodies like sweat pools on cement street corners when the music’s so loud we cant make out the words
But there in Spanish anyway and the only words we ever needed to know in Spanish were gracias and arroz con pollo.
Today I am on summer vacation nine years back and when they see grandma walk down the streets of Fordham Road they know her by her big red hair
Shes a firebird but mostly, she smokes cigarettes under the porch in a downpour outside Puerto Rico.
I Don’t know this world.
What I know is the city lights in Denver.
My own mothers mother’s sadness reminds me of this place. Bright blinking stoplights telling people to get back from the speed of the sky. From here we scrapbook storytelling and cul-de-sac homemakers nobody can compare this Colorado sunrise to the History left in New York City.
I hear my grandmas voice calling through a cell phone to my mother
There words transverse through the night sky she sits on the kitchen floor with a Marlboro light between her red nails saying te estraño mami, because missing someone is the most you can give some days.
Today I am collecting stamps because I’m going to send an envelope to every person who wasn’t as lucky as me. I’m filling it with rosary and salsa music because that’s how you grow up in a house like this. Your grandma never talks about god but mom says she use to burn incense and scare off the ghosts. I wonder if there are ghosts in the Bronx.
If you’ve never looked at an old portrait of your mothers mother I advise you to do so because it’ll hit you like a train heading West through Manhattan. It’s like a rush of existence.
I don’t know this world but I am part of it. Everyday I fall into it and Today I am home.
Miles from New York City.
Today my grandmother sends mom giant avocados and a recipe for rice pudding. Because in this home food is more of a message than a letter could ever be. Love is edible here.
Today I am watching mom make plantains in our kitchen
And no I don’t know this world…but every day I become part of it. Enveloped in this culture like her fingers in my hair as she braids it down my scalp. Don’t tell me I have never been here I BREATHE HERE!
Life like a hidden treasure this is beautiful.
Bodies like sweat pools on cement street corners when the music’s so loud we cant make out the words
But there in Spanish anyway and the only words we ever needed to know in Spanish were gracias and arroz con pollo.
Today I am on summer vacation nine years back and when they see grandma walk down the streets of Fordham Road they know her by her big red hair
Shes a firebird but mostly, she smokes cigarettes under the porch in a downpour outside Puerto Rico.
I Don’t know this world.
What I know is the city lights in Denver.
My own mothers mother’s sadness reminds me of this place. Bright blinking stoplights telling people to get back from the speed of the sky. From here we scrapbook storytelling and cul-de-sac homemakers nobody can compare this Colorado sunrise to the History left in New York City.
I hear my grandmas voice calling through a cell phone to my mother
There words transverse through the night sky she sits on the kitchen floor with a Marlboro light between her red nails saying te estraño mami, because missing someone is the most you can give some days.
Today I am collecting stamps because I’m going to send an envelope to every person who wasn’t as lucky as me. I’m filling it with rosary and salsa music because that’s how you grow up in a house like this. Your grandma never talks about god but mom says she use to burn incense and scare off the ghosts. I wonder if there are ghosts in the Bronx.
If you’ve never looked at an old portrait of your mothers mother I advise you to do so because it’ll hit you like a train heading West through Manhattan. It’s like a rush of existence.
I don’t know this world but I am part of it. Everyday I fall into it and Today I am home.
Miles from New York City.
Today my grandmother sends mom giant avocados and a recipe for rice pudding. Because in this home food is more of a message than a letter could ever be. Love is edible here.
Today I am watching mom make plantains in our kitchen
And no I don’t know this world…but every day I become part of it. Enveloped in this culture like her fingers in my hair as she braids it down my scalp. Don’t tell me I have never been here I BREATHE HERE!
Life like a hidden treasure this is beautiful.
Beauty Project:Post 1
That morning after the sun exploded
We awoke in our fossil beds
Left holes in our souls for the birds to climb in
And expected nothing more from the earth.
I wondered in those lasting moments of truth whether I’d live once more, a day to see next
I wondered
What If I gave you my heart?
Would you have given it to the sun in one last sacrifice with nothing else?
Would you wrap it in a bubble wrap box…send to the UPS man mail it back my way?
Would you find something beautiful?
In those moments when we thought there was nothing more than the dust on our fingers to feel would you hold that heart?
Would you hold me?
Would you find something beautiful as the stars fell like water droplets asteroids raining to our feet? As the city windows shattered into the gleaming fire our skin rusted in the heat would you clutch it to your chest?
If I had given you my heart?
Would you…
Push it to your one heartbeat so you could feel me close again. Would you fill that hole in your soul with our lasting moments connect our veins so we’d do nothing in vain
What if I gave you my heart?
Would it be beauty you’d see?
We awoke in our fossil beds
Left holes in our souls for the birds to climb in
And expected nothing more from the earth.
I wondered in those lasting moments of truth whether I’d live once more, a day to see next
I wondered
What If I gave you my heart?
Would you have given it to the sun in one last sacrifice with nothing else?
Would you wrap it in a bubble wrap box…send to the UPS man mail it back my way?
Would you find something beautiful?
In those moments when we thought there was nothing more than the dust on our fingers to feel would you hold that heart?
Would you hold me?
Would you find something beautiful as the stars fell like water droplets asteroids raining to our feet? As the city windows shattered into the gleaming fire our skin rusted in the heat would you clutch it to your chest?
If I had given you my heart?
Would you…
Push it to your one heartbeat so you could feel me close again. Would you fill that hole in your soul with our lasting moments connect our veins so we’d do nothing in vain
What if I gave you my heart?
Would it be beauty you’d see?
I took a picture I dont like to look at
The dust here is like the dust on the floor of an old chapel I once knew
I stopped saying prayers when I saw that god took off his ear
He wanted to become something like an artist
This is why I remember every breath you took in the snowy air
Cuz it’s a lot like the air around here like…when I drew your portrait on the tip of my converse
The sound of traffic outside here is a lot like the sound of the footprints we listened to quietly under the stairwells of a broken household
There are no footprints here.
The poetry I write now sounds like shotguns
Blasting messages that sound like love poems but really is just a public service announcement
Trying to tell you stop hitting your kids and stop polluting the skies
But I don’t really care,
Because the air here is hardly functional
Everything I write sounds suffocated and I think its because the dust here is like the dust on the floor of an old chapel
I keep murmuring the gospel hymns like
I don’t really forgive you for yelling at me
And this poem isn’t really about you its not really about anything Except
I really miss what “there” felt like on my naked toes
And I gotta tell you
They don’t quite make a Sunday dinner here like they did there
And now we’re not going anywhere till’ I figure out where I took a wrong turn and ended up in here
The sky here is like the soft sounds that gasp from the pages of a freshly opened library book
The sky here is not like the sky there
That’s why I remember every step you took watching your old crooked body move like a hammock swinging into the mountain air
I remember….that here is a lot like nothing I had there
Here has a lot less of you.
I stopped saying prayers when I saw that god took off his ear
He wanted to become something like an artist
This is why I remember every breath you took in the snowy air
Cuz it’s a lot like the air around here like…when I drew your portrait on the tip of my converse
The sound of traffic outside here is a lot like the sound of the footprints we listened to quietly under the stairwells of a broken household
There are no footprints here.
The poetry I write now sounds like shotguns
Blasting messages that sound like love poems but really is just a public service announcement
Trying to tell you stop hitting your kids and stop polluting the skies
But I don’t really care,
Because the air here is hardly functional
Everything I write sounds suffocated and I think its because the dust here is like the dust on the floor of an old chapel
I keep murmuring the gospel hymns like
I don’t really forgive you for yelling at me
And this poem isn’t really about you its not really about anything Except
I really miss what “there” felt like on my naked toes
And I gotta tell you
They don’t quite make a Sunday dinner here like they did there
And now we’re not going anywhere till’ I figure out where I took a wrong turn and ended up in here
The sky here is like the soft sounds that gasp from the pages of a freshly opened library book
The sky here is not like the sky there
That’s why I remember every step you took watching your old crooked body move like a hammock swinging into the mountain air
I remember….that here is a lot like nothing I had there
Here has a lot less of you.
Leave all your Loving Behinde
I babysat the skies with my eyes glued to the clouds like
I wanted to see where jet trails disappeared to
I wondered more about darkness than I wondered about the boogie man
I was ten years old.
My knees were like oak wood
Rivets as deep as the pacific
I dreaded birthdays and thought raccoons were Jesus in another life
I couldn’t figure out how to sit still.
My father made spider webs for a living
He caught every bad thing coming his way
My brother got lost for awhile
Some days I think he comes home. But sits so silent we never felt him close.
I’m still learning to sit still
I was ten years old and Baptized into uncertainty
I thought my hands were invincible.
I know now that they’re not.
The best things in life crumble…so we can see how they recollect.
I’m still collecting tinfoil candy wrappers from my sock drawer
I thought I was an artist. I was going to make a tower
Maybe this one would stay
Maybe this one would be strong.
I’m still learning to be strong.
I am seventeen years old.
I write poems instead of essays
I still think my sister is a princess
I could stay underwater for the rest of my life
If only I believed in heaven.
Some days I wish I believed in something.
I was ten years old I learned to stay strong
Some days, I’m still learning.
I wanted to see where jet trails disappeared to
I wondered more about darkness than I wondered about the boogie man
I was ten years old.
My knees were like oak wood
Rivets as deep as the pacific
I dreaded birthdays and thought raccoons were Jesus in another life
I couldn’t figure out how to sit still.
My father made spider webs for a living
He caught every bad thing coming his way
My brother got lost for awhile
Some days I think he comes home. But sits so silent we never felt him close.
I’m still learning to sit still
I was ten years old and Baptized into uncertainty
I thought my hands were invincible.
I know now that they’re not.
The best things in life crumble…so we can see how they recollect.
I’m still collecting tinfoil candy wrappers from my sock drawer
I thought I was an artist. I was going to make a tower
Maybe this one would stay
Maybe this one would be strong.
I’m still learning to be strong.
I am seventeen years old.
I write poems instead of essays
I still think my sister is a princess
I could stay underwater for the rest of my life
If only I believed in heaven.
Some days I wish I believed in something.
I was ten years old I learned to stay strong
Some days, I’m still learning.
Never Be Lost Again
If you find yourself losing direction
Don’t buy a map
Come find me and Ill guide you by your freckles
Let me count them down your spine let them take to the road where your gunna hit some signs
Youll be askin yourself too much for one ear so youll have to come back spill it to me then I’ll send you on your way saying two steps left of your shoulder blade then it looks like you head towards you toes for about six miles.
Then youll be on your way.
If you find yourself losing connection you come back I’ll give you a net to hold onto some faith
But those tiny nerves in your body will keep pulling you from the dustbowl were hiding in
Your doing your best to keep those eyes straight
Keep trecking along and be sure to look up. You never know when youll catch those fleeting moments released from his hand like a paperboys grasp
I know you think your getting lost
But your right where suppose to be
If you don’t believe me well Ill try and do the same
And Ill redirect your defect directions in tell me all the things that make your bones shake
Ill remind you that you did bad in good times and that you didnt use to believe in miracles.
If you find yourself losing direction
Don’t buy a map.
Just look at those freckles those road stops and breaks in your skin where the kiss was too rough
That’s where you follow to.
Cuz afterall the only one who can tell you where home is..is you.
Don’t buy a map
Come find me and Ill guide you by your freckles
Let me count them down your spine let them take to the road where your gunna hit some signs
Youll be askin yourself too much for one ear so youll have to come back spill it to me then I’ll send you on your way saying two steps left of your shoulder blade then it looks like you head towards you toes for about six miles.
Then youll be on your way.
If you find yourself losing connection you come back I’ll give you a net to hold onto some faith
But those tiny nerves in your body will keep pulling you from the dustbowl were hiding in
Your doing your best to keep those eyes straight
Keep trecking along and be sure to look up. You never know when youll catch those fleeting moments released from his hand like a paperboys grasp
I know you think your getting lost
But your right where suppose to be
If you don’t believe me well Ill try and do the same
And Ill redirect your defect directions in tell me all the things that make your bones shake
Ill remind you that you did bad in good times and that you didnt use to believe in miracles.
If you find yourself losing direction
Don’t buy a map.
Just look at those freckles those road stops and breaks in your skin where the kiss was too rough
That’s where you follow to.
Cuz afterall the only one who can tell you where home is..is you.
8/11
I was too young to understand the idea of loss
Until I watched a bird die on the quilt of my bed.
I wanted to stay underwater forever
That bathtub blue water my only ceiling and I made sense of the words
Liquid satisfaction
My hideway was my addiction
I wanted to understand why the sky took my mothers fingers
Cuz I never saw her hands set still for a moment I wouldn’t even know if they existed.
I was too young to understand why love hurt
Until I heard the heart beat of a bluegrass guitar
It was something like getting chills in your stomach cuz it became real.
I forgave myself for loving.
I was too young
The grasshopper lawn chair nights would promise me nothing but a reason to take off my shoes
I promised I’d look for where I went wrong.
I was too young to understand how loss and love came hand in hand but without grasped fingers...just the touch of tips
So tell me now
Where did I go wrong
Between loosing teeth and growing pains
And somewhere in the middle of forgiveness and goodbyes
I forgot to open my eyes
I learned hello from watching his heart stop..that night upon my quilt.
I learned goodbye from the first kiss
My clarity, so clouded in the lens of a child, came to in the underwater tub of a bathtime addict
The pruned toes creeping down the hall
In prayer that one will never become two
Stay together for the children
Stay together for sake of forgiveness
I was too young to learn the reasons of loss but I somewhere in the clouded underwater I found a reason to love.
Until I watched a bird die on the quilt of my bed.
I wanted to stay underwater forever
That bathtub blue water my only ceiling and I made sense of the words
Liquid satisfaction
My hideway was my addiction
I wanted to understand why the sky took my mothers fingers
Cuz I never saw her hands set still for a moment I wouldn’t even know if they existed.
I was too young to understand why love hurt
Until I heard the heart beat of a bluegrass guitar
It was something like getting chills in your stomach cuz it became real.
I forgave myself for loving.
I was too young
The grasshopper lawn chair nights would promise me nothing but a reason to take off my shoes
I promised I’d look for where I went wrong.
I was too young to understand how loss and love came hand in hand but without grasped fingers...just the touch of tips
So tell me now
Where did I go wrong
Between loosing teeth and growing pains
And somewhere in the middle of forgiveness and goodbyes
I forgot to open my eyes
I learned hello from watching his heart stop..that night upon my quilt.
I learned goodbye from the first kiss
My clarity, so clouded in the lens of a child, came to in the underwater tub of a bathtime addict
The pruned toes creeping down the hall
In prayer that one will never become two
Stay together for the children
Stay together for sake of forgiveness
I was too young to learn the reasons of loss but I somewhere in the clouded underwater I found a reason to love.
How Real
I think too much some nights.
When the gospel hymns of Colorado plains don’t quite lull me to sleep.
I’ll find myself thinking into holes.
Looping back to days where we all thought less.
I’ll find myself feeling, those stitches you left below my ribs where I laughed my lungs to pieces and
now I think You left a debt on my skin
The kind that taught to me to keep walking on
Now there’s nothing but bruises. The kind tattooed on my knees
Ones I got from knocking into the piles of memories we left in the darkness.
I think about when you stitched my palms together cuz I’ve learned never to fight with my fists when I could fight with my words.
And it’s got me thinking?
Maybe you stitched my knees together so that they could never buckle.
And it’s got me believing.
I made a huge mistake by walking on and it’s got me tearing the stitches from all the warm places we closed up long ago.
Everything will change and I’m starting to feel it grow taut
Ready to pull.
And that’s it.
Now All this thinkings' split my stitches
And every time I tried to write it all down I could only scribe in cursive
The connection of my letters in loops and holes has your name rollercoastering through the swirls and twists of my l’s and that sweet wisp at the end of my sentence…well yah that’s got me thinking.
Thinking we stitched up all the memories to make room for the good stuff cuz there’s a lotta good stuff coming my way.
Hold the needle
I got the string-stitch me together to keep me from bleeding
All the cursive memories that turned into believing.
And one day…
When the traffic slows and the city lights glow low
I will come to you.
With a blanket sewn from my stitches in hopes of keeping the good around your shoulders.
When the gospel hymns of Colorado plains don’t quite lull me to sleep.
I’ll find myself thinking into holes.
Looping back to days where we all thought less.
I’ll find myself feeling, those stitches you left below my ribs where I laughed my lungs to pieces and
now I think You left a debt on my skin
The kind that taught to me to keep walking on
Now there’s nothing but bruises. The kind tattooed on my knees
Ones I got from knocking into the piles of memories we left in the darkness.
I think about when you stitched my palms together cuz I’ve learned never to fight with my fists when I could fight with my words.
And it’s got me thinking?
Maybe you stitched my knees together so that they could never buckle.
And it’s got me believing.
I made a huge mistake by walking on and it’s got me tearing the stitches from all the warm places we closed up long ago.
Everything will change and I’m starting to feel it grow taut
Ready to pull.
And that’s it.
Now All this thinkings' split my stitches
And every time I tried to write it all down I could only scribe in cursive
The connection of my letters in loops and holes has your name rollercoastering through the swirls and twists of my l’s and that sweet wisp at the end of my sentence…well yah that’s got me thinking.
Thinking we stitched up all the memories to make room for the good stuff cuz there’s a lotta good stuff coming my way.
Hold the needle
I got the string-stitch me together to keep me from bleeding
All the cursive memories that turned into believing.
And one day…
When the traffic slows and the city lights glow low
I will come to you.
With a blanket sewn from my stitches in hopes of keeping the good around your shoulders.
Old and New
Together we grow up we grow out. We protect ourselves from sadness by protecting ourselves from happiness and spend our days unlearning all the feelings that we felt TOO much
We grow up we grow out
We learn that to be grown you
destroy what destroys you
You look at how everything starts to move shifting shaking into this
beautiful mess
we
learn to be unbreakable
learn to be broke
We learned to
let ourselves become a totem pole stacked upon the monsters of our underskins so we can rise above the beasts and maybe
find the things you didn’t know you lost.
Broken locket
Lintball collection
..love.
And we grow to learn the best way to get noticed is break some shit.
And we kept growing up and growing out
Till we figured out the best way to get noticed was to be nothing at all.
The barren mother breast is no longer a pillow of rest and home
But just a test of our reverence when you walk out the door for the last time.
These arms? They grow up they grow out
Further to reach for Aryan wider to hug your sad bones one last time before Im gone and out.
I figure after were done growing are feet become too anxious to sit still and keep us going
We learn that the marble stones in our brains that shake n’ rattle when the storm comes stirring
We learn that the sound is your ugly saying hello so you choose to write your pain in poetry instead of on your lovers
Mother…Im growing in and growing old and I'm bursting to tell you we learn to let go some day. And the music will taste good in your ears again and youll still hear me laughing in the garden as we once played pretend.
And we all play pretend.
We grow in and grow out only to touch once more the moon that swallowed me whole the night I was born and spit me back out in a home.
Together…
We grow in and grow old
We grow up we grow out
We learn that to be grown you
destroy what destroys you
You look at how everything starts to move shifting shaking into this
beautiful mess
we
learn to be unbreakable
learn to be broke
We learned to
let ourselves become a totem pole stacked upon the monsters of our underskins so we can rise above the beasts and maybe
find the things you didn’t know you lost.
Broken locket
Lintball collection
..love.
And we grow to learn the best way to get noticed is break some shit.
And we kept growing up and growing out
Till we figured out the best way to get noticed was to be nothing at all.
The barren mother breast is no longer a pillow of rest and home
But just a test of our reverence when you walk out the door for the last time.
These arms? They grow up they grow out
Further to reach for Aryan wider to hug your sad bones one last time before Im gone and out.
I figure after were done growing are feet become too anxious to sit still and keep us going
We learn that the marble stones in our brains that shake n’ rattle when the storm comes stirring
We learn that the sound is your ugly saying hello so you choose to write your pain in poetry instead of on your lovers
Mother…Im growing in and growing old and I'm bursting to tell you we learn to let go some day. And the music will taste good in your ears again and youll still hear me laughing in the garden as we once played pretend.
And we all play pretend.
We grow in and grow out only to touch once more the moon that swallowed me whole the night I was born and spit me back out in a home.
Together…
We grow in and grow old
Already Out
PULL THE STRANDS of hair out my head and use it as your kite strings to fly above this bent world like my nothing could be your everything
And I see the way nicotine leaves your lips like veins from your heart peeling out of you up to the song birds up their.
And you could hold those two big palms flat to sky and say look look at these!
Your hands could do more than jesus because you can stop traffic with your rusted movements your revolution
Know what heaven has gates so come to me cuz we welcome everyone in this schoolyard.
let my nothing be your everything.
I will let you in on a million secrets
Like never correct your mothers grammar
And sometimes we prick our fingers to watch something besides lies spill out of us
And your brave. And you call that a secret but I call that a favor.
Cuz I see a shield beneath the zipper fly of your hoodie when you want to fall like rain drops.
And that makes it just that much harder.
So let me lend you my spine something to help you balance
Between being super hero and wallflower
Cuz my spine does nothing for a jellyfish like me but in the right set bones
Something like an archeologists dream lookin at you. My nothing could be your something
Take all of my everything rip me down to barren tendons
Till I stand naked on rubble of myself to watch you glide free
You could shake the barrens of this town if you wanted to so
I will be the infrastructure in your uprising and then maybe you’ll realize I have always been your something.
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