They are the molecules of language.
Some are small, like bubbles, floating on the page. Others are more complex, like the silhouette of a sword fight on a cliff.
Sometimes, it’s in the ears. The way they all sound together, as they leave the lips.
Sometimes, it’s internal. You can feel the precision sizzle it’s way from the inside out.
There is nothing quite like the satisfaction felt as the search ends for the subliminal curation of the perfect expression. Completion.
They possess the strength foundations are made of. They contain the power behind explosive reactions.
How can they be all these things and still an empty box? Why do they sound hallow when they come from you?
Words are just words, after all. No one can fully live in a place built on sounds our faces make and shapes we draw to communicate.
There are too many holes to interpret, too many ideas that never take form. Too vast of a sensational reality, to be lost sifting through a jungle of words.
The meaning is gone and the noise becomes dull. They don’t even look good anymore.
With a transformation like that, no wonder they have the power to wreck my soul.
You make me want to drink you in, like cool water first thing in the morning. Burning like frost that pulses through my chest. From my core to my fingertips, you quench my thirst to feel alive.
You were not easy to find. I had to search for you, and hope that you would see me too. It was like massaging a sore muscle after a strain. You nurtured my soul to health and now sit beside me like a shadow. Inescapable.
Alignment flows through you like the mouth of a river. A healer of unknown ailments. Love laces your lips and sweetens your kiss. I’ll sleep in the nectarous residue of experiencing you each night, biting my lip and perhaps biding my time.
Sometimes it looks as though the future is a white linen floating in a warm breeze. Clean and bright against a blue sky. Unfolded. Uncontrollable. Unsure of where it will land, but big enough to share. It’s when we are standing at opposite ends, holding corners and locking eyes that I know I’m free.
I guess I’ve always known that I was on my own.
I learned to love it. Enjoyment found in each moment with just myself.
Then I met you.
The center of you, is the center of me.
How cavalier to attempt ignorance.
It’s like I can taste the intoxication, drip down the back of my throat.
Close enough feel you under my nails but not close enough to finesse you into a full embrace.
But, trying... tastes so sweet. Unavoidable consumption.
Existing in this abstract space is only possible because we are from the same place.
Laughter shivers from my feet, up my spine, and echos in my head.
Knowing you haunts my solitude.
Because although I feel you deeper than my bones, you’re always missing.
I’ve known you for longer than I’ve been alive. I’ve kissed you a thousand times. I’ve slept with my head on your chest, beating in unison with mine. I’ve thought your thoughts & dreamed your dreams.
Because, the language of my soul is the language of yours, and there is no place like home.
I am finished
I am finished sitting in yesterday's clothes, gazing out an imaginary window, placing expectations on outcomes, hiding behind tightly closed doors, waiting for this to end.
I am finished sleeping in old sheets, holding my breath, shuffling sideways, bending over backwards, waiting to be found, waiting to be saved.
I am finished washing last week's laundry, eating stale chips, paying overdue bills, looking for the answers in dark corners, waiting for someone to appear.
Because today deserves my very best, this moment begs to be embraced, control is in my hands, open doors offer new opportunities, and this is just the beginning.
Because fresh sheets feel great, breathing feels better, problems are best handled head on - face to face, I am already found, and I can save myself.
Because procrastination is the enemy, stale chips aren’t really that bad, the bills will come again next month, solutions usually find their own way home, and the only appearance that is necessary is my own.
I do not miss
I do not miss seeing polluted waters & smoggy skies, freeways full of brake lights, greed littered on the ground & mouths that move without saying real words.
I do not miss hearing gridlocked horns or the hum of the freeway, voices only delivering complaints, cell phone conversations belonging to someone else's ears, the ring of early morning alarms.
I do not miss the taste of exhaustion after too long a day, cheap wine & frozen meals, salty air that should be fresh, and complacent disregard for antecedent realities.
I do not miss the smell of exhaust fumes, fish that was mysteriously warmed and now permeates the building, the person standing too close to me in the elevator, mediocracy - blowing through the vents of society.
I do not miss feeling pressured to say yes to unwanted social invitations, being compressed into a crowd, eavesdropped or sneezed on, invisible - among mindless masses of unmasked mortals.
You are like fabric knotted together to hold up a shirt.
Clean, perky lines smiling across the throat.
A demeanor that compliments those it meets & captivates the attention it boldly attracts.
A rakish addition to an otherwise dull silhouette. Strategic placement of a polished and meticulously selected accent.
Initial inspiration & satisfying closure.
Intimidatingly tempting & childishly mature.
A staple, swanky enough to cause envy in the eyes of onlookers.
Luckily, I watch your immaculate appetence & relish with enjoyment.
A reminder: tied around your finger
A note: plucked on a guitar
There are these things
that seem to make you move,
attached at the wrist
attached at the ankle
attached to the carrot, dangling in front of your face.
They are the things you use to pull closed the shades, blinding any outside light.
They are the things glued to the spine of the pages that dictate your entire existence.
They are the things you grip tight or the things you cut loose to control those around you.
They are the things holding your nose in the air high enough to meet the gaze of the prideful company you choose.
Because, only a hallow heart could be swayed so easily. Substance weighs more than strings can bear.
A moment exists,
Before her white eyes pierce through her velvet slumber. It’s when the city is still dreaming about a new day.
Flickering lights wrestle against the night, like feet searching for the cool spots on the sheets.
Is it luck that each breath stings with assurance of the next?
Listen to the dull hum of nocturnal dwelling dissolve into an earthly orchestra of hope.
A moment exists,
When endless possibilities fill the horizon, incessantly feeding all the realities that can be created.