Take me to Boston, baby
Take me to Fenway.
Hold my and and walk
me down those streets
that feel like home.
We can go today,
we could go tomorrow.
Just take me to Boston,
before the glass and
the smoke and the limbs
and the blood and the screams
taint the Boston that’s in my dreams.
The sun has risen and set
on this old habit of mine.
Days go by and time
passes by and I feel fine.
But the moon shines light
sometimes, and that light
reflects on my skin at
just the right angle, illuminating
my scars. The light bleeds
through those white raised lines,
revealing the past, the present
and the days to come.
another old poem.
The stars were bright at midnight
when we used to lay outside.
My head on your chest,
and the warmth of your breath
were overwhelming in beauty.
But that was then, and now is now.
those sweet days, the sun shining,
glowing on my skin as I sat
in that rickety old red car.
Your hand held mine,
fingers perfectly laced as you drove.
You drove through that afternoon and the night.
The words I love you meant so much,
spoken often and sang in harmony.
I wouldn’t trade anything to forget those days,
it hurts and I feel sorrow,
but I guess it’s not all that bad
at least I can feel you as I sleep.
It’s an alluring feeling, a craving,
a longing without reason.
Reality fades into a story
and sensations overcome.
Every motion, every breath
resembles a fantasy,
a world we never knew.
Eyes sift through the haze
until they lock upon your face,
focus, seeing sensations
so real, so genuine.
the earth and its offerings.
There’s something in an older man
that calls out to me. My soul, my body
and my mind drift in the direction of
experience. Perhaps, it’s the life I’ve
led. I’ve moved from state to state,
country to country, day to day.
I’ve seen a lot, been through a lot
and lost a lot more than the typical
American twenty-year-old girl.
I’m a lot to handle. I can be psychotic.
I admit it, part of me is completely
controlled by my insanity, a part of me
that I can’t ignore. Most of the time I
manage to mask it with logic and longing.
I think that factor, that sliver of an
uncontrollable force, draws them to me
just as I am to them. It’s not my looks
alone, it’s not my skin. Nothing about me
is easy. In fact, one could claim the exact
opposite. I’m difficult. Everything about me
is difficult. I truly believe that makes it
my fault when they walk away.
They like the chase, the intensity,
but when they achieve and take from me
all that I have to give, they flee.
They flee because I’m not marriage material.
I’m not sustainable. One would think a girl,
so versatile, would learn, stop the pattern.
Instead I keep searching, I search for them
and they search for me.
This December has taught me many things.
First of all it has shown me fear and death.
But also reunion. My soul is confused and
conflicted. As the holiday approaches,
a holiday I shouldn’t be celebrating
due to my newly decided agnosticism,
I don’t know know what I believe.
I don’t know who I trust.
Snow falls on the ground outside,
creating a white blanket, pure and
innocent, only to be trudged through
by some uncontrollable force of nature
in the near future. I guess that’s just how life is,
every snowfall becomes obstructed sooner or later.
He has never felt the cold,
the sting of lonely, hopelessness.
Moving from one shiny object to the next,
they fall at his feet, deceived.
The newest diamond will be his forever,
or so he claims.
But history repeats itself and so will he.
It’s not a longing, it’s not a desire.
my heart no longer aches, calling your name.
These feelings have developed into something;
something different; something strong.
My weakness and your destruction changed me.
The blood film has been lifted from my sight
and I can see clear, crisp, definition.
One person was able to cause so much
misery, shattered several hearts. The
universe never seems to cycle back. He
continues in his self-proclaimed glory,
consequences never to be seen. But he’s the
one who knows and he’ll die with his secrets.
When his all-mighty, loving God rejects
him at the golden gates, maybe an apology
will finally slip through his lying lips.
As I buy this little box of cigarettes, I tell myself its the last one.
Special occasions, bad days only. This red CVS basket is full of things.
Things I don’t need, things I think will make me prettier.
Foundation, mascara, hair dye, diet pills. I know what she’s thinking
in her generic uniform as she mechanically slides my purchases
along the scanner. She tosses everything in one of those shitty
plastic bags that will probably rip before I get home and says
“have a nice day” in a sarcastic tone and shoots me a dirty look.
This counts I say, as I reach into my bag of new belongings for
that little carton, pull out a cigarette, light up
and finally breathe.
I can’t do this, I can’t be an
object in your eyes. I need
to be something more. I
can’t just be a thing,
a fling. Tonight I send
you out that door,
watching your back as
you stroll away. That’s
the first and last time
I’ll see that grey
It’s chilly outside and the cold autumn air pierces my lungs as I breathe.
I’m walking up this familiar sidewalk, walking straight into your open arms.
My eyes are tired, red, my knees are weak, I straighten my shoulders,
pull down my black and blue itchy sweater, knowing that what
I say to you in the next twenty minutes could send you away.
I haven’t been feeling good lately and I’m longing for someone
to hold me this fall. I’ve been through a lot and I’m hoping that for once,
this unpredictable world will be on my side. You hold out your warm hands
to greet me, hello, there’s a look, a sparkle in your eyes a look I can’t read.
I don’t know if I have the courage to say it and I don’t know if you’ll accept.
We were children, young and naive.
Influences on each other,
a dark and twisted fantasy.
We tried to paint the sky
in black, sprinkled our floors
with white powder, pills.
We knew everything,
said we’d never look back
if we got away, but nothing
curbed our desire, our hunger,
our misery. That’s what
we were, miserable in a smokey
red haze. Teeth, razors, chains.
Everyone stared, but we were
quite the scene. The farther
we went, the more we lost
control. Life became a chore,
our bodies rejected the substances.
Countless nights in white hospital
beds, locked up, bleeding.
Every day given to us was a
blessing, a miracle,
but we were red and blind,
black fire was in our eyes.
A year, how long it takes
to mend a shattered heart,
shards sewn back together,
mended, but scars remain,
reminders, warnings for the future.
Being open isn’t comfortable,
every second things could change.
He could decide to throw
her fragile vital organ
to the ground and walk away
like the boy before.
The question, stop trying, safe,
or continue chasing and idea,
a fantasy, something that
may not exist.