NOT WRITING (after Anne Boyer)
When I am not writing, I am not writing an exclusive brochure of the first World’s Fair in Prague for the king of Bohemia. But what I am really not writing about is Klementinum and how I dream of roaming its Baroque halls and unfurl my clipped wings to soar from its tower heights. And because brochures are mostly pictures, I am not writing a tacky one because no one will read my words anyway, so King Leopold be damned.
I am not writing the legacy letter for The Future Library forest for I do not have the words for such cruel irony.
I am not writing the capitalized one-sentence instruction in labels on ubiquitous bottles stating how one should recycle for five cents because what’s the point. They all end up in the wrong place anyway, littering local landfills, China and your nearest ocean floor.
I am also not writing the doctor’s note as he delivers the news about cancer because I happened to be born in the plastic era.
I am not writing my eulogy either.
I am not writing closed captions of background noises for Marvel.
I am not writing comments about the adorability factor of your German Shepherd.
I am not writing a documentary about the biomes of Demodex mites on fake eyelashes.
I am not writing scripts about villains and how they always keep reptiles as pets.
I am not writing in script because it’s chicken scratch.
I am not writing in print because it’s chicken scratch.
I am not writing in my journal because I have nothing to say.
When I am not writing, I am not writing a trilogy about a world with battling kingdoms.
I am also not writing a short story about a kingdom of glass where everyone hides their secrets as tattoos, piercing their sins onto skin. I am not writing about how absolution cannot erase the inked etch of a moment. I am also not writing about the lucrative businesses of grave robbers and their selling of secrets in transparent towers.
I am not writing poetry.
I am not writing prose poetry about heartbreak because everything’s been said.
I am also not writing prose poetry about heartbreak and repeating everything that has already been said.
I am not writing about the literal breaking of one’s heart and how it would take 750 pounds of force to break through the sternum and its twelve thoracic vertebrae and twenty-four ribs to get to the ever-vulnerable heart.
I am not writing a play-by-play instruction guide for the dark web.
But I am not not writing it either.
I am not writing a Benjamin Button-esque biography about a woman who ages backwards rebuilding herself each year except I am really not writing an autobiography.
I am not writing about feeling younger and younger at each point of upheaval as innocence clings and clings and I never really learn lessons that keep shattering on repeat.
I am not writing in my journal because I have too much to say...
...so I am not writing.
Run free my love of all loves into the breezes of safe keepings. Take your beauty down to the waters edge, where your purity is clear as Springs first days. Wash your soul in a rivers promise of tangible love and shared secrets. Life has hardened you more than you ever needed it to - your softness is on display every time you speak your faith - learning that evil only finds us when we've lost our ways. I've been burned by the stars I've kept in my pockets, praying their light could be used for my own rightful ways, but nothing you steal from the skies will ever replace whatever bad you've done. I've been shades of blue and green, hinted in reds, tossed between orange trees. I've watched you lean against moons, suns, the Gods and all of heavens angels. Nothing, not anything has ever felt more like a caring shoulder then your body when I got closer to the heart of you. Never dying for something I didn't believe in. I'd like to think love is a prayer, one that goes unbroken. You're the rising and falling of my chest, a gentle nestling of calm between the world's chaos. I'll promise to love you truly with my wounds being brought to the surface once and for all, my darling, my love.
Skin bronzed glistening like a tequila sunrise, clouds bask in the morning sun. Smiles and memories bring teardrops to my reflective eye, as the whispering loon sings. Our bodies gold and sun bleached as waves of an ocean cascade off tanned flesh. O' tequila at sunset, tip toeing through the nights sand, on a treble clef... Our fingers dance, play the tune as we drift away under a margarita moon.
She is not of this universe, never acting like the rest. A wild card she is and will never apologize for being that way. Her reflection is pure - her mind is hungry. When she smiles, she lifts the clouds on rainy days. A revelation of love and chaos. She is not an option - being okay with being alone. Someone once mistook her love for a temporary affair, now her dreams and ambitions keep her warm at night.
Love Mishaps Mistakes
She holds the sky together when everyone else is falling apart. Her hands are made of night fall and stars. She is the map of the soul within each one. Breathing fire and courage, for those whom said "I love you", her heart bled for you, pumped life into those loved souls. She has had her fair share of the heartless, who tested her, yet she still roams this earth unscathed. The true test of time is how kind one treats those who do nothing but cause heartache - pain. If one intenteds to do so, she will crush your heart, leaving it on the stake of mishaps and mistakes.
The last laugh
I've never been good at staying for to long. Coming to know humans make the biggest messes with your heart, especially when giving them more than they deserve. I am still learning with surprise that I still have as much heart as I do left. My heart has been through war dealing with thoughts of you, promising to become someone better because of it. You will not get the last laugh - last smile, only death can laugh at its own jokes - going on living in the midst of survival.
I cannot even begin to tell anyone how many times in the last year that I've asked myself if I was ever going to be okay again - if I was ever going to be "normal", feel "normal." If the heaviness was ever going to lift, because I was too "heavy" for every person I came in contact with. Its exhausting having to verbalize every single need and expectations to someone who doesn't have ears to listen nor eyes to see without casting judgement.
Time does go on and eventually you begin to feel lighter and lighter - I say nothing to you and you hear me. I stand in my shadows and you see me. Giving me everything I've always needed, but never had. I've never met a heart and soul like mine - until you. You are my beginning, my middle and my end. My relentlessness in love is yours for the keeping, we are one day closer to the next, a place I wasn't sure existed after experiencing all of the tragedies my heart has had to love to make sense of how it would all play into my life - now I look forward to interlocking our fingers, lying down with you - sleeping with our dreams in sync.
A lot of things
She used to be a lot of things, they would tell her. But one thing she has remained, is true to herself; mountains of everything beautiful ~ sacred. The universe spins around to take notice, when she walks. A healing power. They ask her her secret and she explains how an abused soul - a tortured soul found light in the darkness of it all. The locks remain on all her windows now, yet, every once in a while she opens them to air out all the stars she holds and keeps safe at night. Who points to the lost and calls them home. There's no sense in trying to understand her next move, just let her roam free with the brave ones who don't believe in limits.
Letter To My Love
There have been so many times in my life since the first time ever I saw your face, my soul danced with absolute joy at the essence of your unchained melody that flowed from you.
I can’t help falling in love with you every day as if it is always the first time with no end in sight. I know of no other way to tell you my way of feeling for you goes beyond all worldly boundaries.
Today, tomorrow, yesterday—are all moments that cannot simply be thought randomly of but rather with a purpose to profess a need far greater than imagined.
Can a person say they have no purpose in life? I did and believed that. But then—then you came into my life and the darkness lifted from me and knew then, I would do anything for love.
As you belong to me, I too, belong to you. To walk by your side, hold your hand, to love and make love with you without limitation within our own universe of never-ending time.
My precious one, I know that I ramble with my words, but I know of no other way to explain how truly, madly, deeply I am in love with you.
Always in All Ways,
*** The picture has nothing to do with the piece but can you pick the correct answer? The artists did 1,560 words in six minutes, an average of 4.28 words per second.
midnight in December
And when I say I love you I mean I’m scared you’ll leave me
I’m so used to the warmth of your arm around me without you I’ll be forever cold,
In the terrifying realization i never should have grown used to your warmth.
And today I spent all day writing because I remembered all of those things I promised I’d remember forever and I forgot
Like the login information for the poetry account I made that I don’t know if anyone ever saw
Or the night we had our first kiss in the hours right before sunrise
That glowing kind of faith that sunrise would still happen it was so dark out but we still closed our eyes and trusted it would be light when we opened them
I wrote it all down
Because what if you aren’t there to remind me.
And when I say I love you I mean I know you’ll leave me
You’ll find my voice too shrill or get tired of the times I fall asleep right before your lips touch mine, the promise of one day not real enough, and my silly jokes and foolish dreams too tiring to hold on to
So I’ll slip through like sand in your hands
And I’ll hold on to you because I wrote us all down
Turned us into midnight poetry
Timeless like my middle school dreams of a tall boy with green eyes to hold my hand
And in the wake of rejection I’ll want to throw my words into flames,
Let the fire consume us like feelings always do
I’ll be laughing through my tears as you disappear
But your phantom arm on mine quenches the inferno
I’ll save you the memory I owe us that much.
And when I say I love you, I mean, I’m asking you to stay
At least for today
And if I’m lucky
And tonight maybe I’ll call you
Just to say I wrote a poem about you,
But it isn’t your time to read it.