Is it not a bird’s wings, which
make its perspective unique? Sight alone will not show you the world. The view from a branch, a tuft of moss, a speckle of leaves, will only change with the seasons. We must lift ourselves, soaring high above the sky, to see the vastness below. From my perch, I saw you enter. Your smile was kind. Your eyes were on fire. A mystery contained neatly behind two lids. Blinking; a fan to the flame. I have heard a many song carried ‘cross land and sea. But I have never heard a sound like you. The truth rests gently on your tongue. It rises and falls, a steady breath as you sleep upon my chest, a bay for safe harbor. Your eyelids, your wings, Fluttering in the darkness. In dreams, you lift me to greater heights.
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I wish I could tell you when it started --
Maybe it began the day I lost the best job I’d ever had. It was a Thursday. Sunny. Before I was let go, my boss bought me coffee. It isn’t working… they said. I remember searching for something I could fix. Maybe it started with the breakup. Negatives began to feel normal. Comfort was mistaken for love. I felt alone in the bed we shared. You can only love someone as much as they will let you. And who you share your life with will shape what that life becomes. It wasn’t fair to keep something That wasn’t meant for me. Maybe it started upon impact. When I swerved, crashed – Bounced between two realities. I’m thankful that no one was hurt. A year ago, a night out at a bar put me behind a row of them. I caught a case, the only one of my life. When I sobered up I found myself tossing on a two inch thick mattress. Called upon only by my last name. I hadn’t slept in days. It had been longer since I’d seen daylight. In that moment, the fluorescent glow convinced me time was only an illusion. Would I ever leave? Of course I did. I stood shakily before my maker He wanted to get it in before lunch. So he waved me through, time spent and a few odd jobs. On foot for months and miles, I finally got my wheels back. Every time I cranked my engine, a beep and hum antagonized me. And I could have funded a short film with the amount of money it cost. Hours spent at meetings and classes. But what I got in return -- My sobriety. One year yesterday. I am single. And Okay. I have a new job, and I’m still learning, I’m happy. Sometimes where we think we’re going is only a placeholder for where we’re supposed to be. I still don't have all the answers But I have another year of life experience And a chance to fall in love with myself again. That's how I've been. I have lived on two sides of the same hill
Held my head under water until my lungs ached I’ve counted stars around the world, and blades of grass in my father’s backyard I am privileged, and lucky beyond belief Forced into humility, down upon my knees I’ve seen the other side, the darkness, the anguish Walked the boulevard of broken dreams Stood at the bottom, my spine crumbling inside of me beneath the world weighing on my shoulders I felt an insatiable desire to destroy the ground I stood upon I was black and blue, barely breathing, when she called out: “I felt your pain. I came as fast as I could fly.” Her voice, the only thing that stopped the ringing She lifted me up, carried me when I couldn’t walk Through her, I found my place, my heart, my smile It was like a fog was lifted from my eyes The realization that life would never be the same I have loved the most precious woman in the world And lost her, more than once, often my fault Her touch, like an anchor that keeps me grounded She holds me like the horizon enveloping the sunset A gate ajar, a gravel drive, a white picket fence Years passed before I realized that she was home I remember quite vividly the moment
you realized that you’d outgrown me. It was winter, cold, evening and you were in a sports bra and underwear. You weren’t trying to be sexy... Just comfortable. Apparently, I made that difficult. Flashback to the day we met: I stopped you in the hallway, leaned in front of you, hand against the wall, with swagger that I hadn’t earned. I made you uncomfortable then too. It was a different kind. You giggled nervously. I talked over you. Why did I talk over you? Maybe if I had listened to you then, I’d have known that you liked to sleep beneath the sheets, not on top. That you didn’t need saving, but you always carried your inhaler, just in case... I’d have known that you wouldn’t wait forever for me to grow up, despite what seemed to be your immeasurable patience. You stood on a bridge once, holding my guitar against your chest, and I took pictures. You asked me if I played, And I told you “not the guitar.” I thought that I was clever... Now, I wish I could remember how it felt to be held by you like that. The night we went back, drove out to the end of Rock Quarry, I tried to convince you to go against everything you believed in. It’s no wonder that you left me standing bewildered and alone, in front of the Tiger Hotel, still wearing that same swagger that never fit me in the first place. I am not naive enough to believe that you’ve forgiven me for those bottom-bottle nights. But I hope that I can make it up to you with early morning sunrises, breakfast in bed, balconies, and lukewarm tea. This crossroads we’ve come too isn’t perfect, but it’s where we’ve always meant to meet. In the middle, minds and arms open wide. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, and mine seems to still love yours an awful lot. It’s nice to see you smile again, won’t you sit and tell me about your day? The first night that we made love,
we had no idea what we were making. That those few short hours we spent exploring each other’s bodies with fingertips would leave lasting impressions on our hearts. Our arms wouldn’t be the only things we’d wrap tightly around each other -- our promises would also remain. In the early morning, I fled to my room. Sheets and heartstrings were too much for me to tug on, so I left you there a mess, covers pulled back, corners perpetually un-tucked, like secrets strewn about from the night before. You probably never made your bed, but you‘d made up your mind. To you, I was better than sliced bread, hotter than asphalt in July, tougher than the nails I drove between us. I wasn’t the love you needed to make then. I was too busy making like with anyone else, But you never saw that side of me. We didn’t know what we had started, an idle engine, aching to go full throttle. with neither of us seated behind the wheel. You were on stage, mid-pirouette, and I was balancing a chip on my shoulder. If only I’d dropped the handle, the chip may have fallen away with it. and you’d found me for the first time with a steady hand. It’s been years since I’ve gazed upon you, But I remember the warmth of your smile. You’re like a lazy Sunday, no pants required. A rainbow, without the uncertainty of rain. I’ve made a lifetime of mistakes in twenty-eight years, but the only one I regret is not chasing after you the night you told me you wanted to be alone. I know now that you didn’t mean it. I have witnessed endless beauty
in the shape of breasts, and hips, and thighs. I’ve seen forever and goodbye in the reflection of the same set of eyes, But never have I explored the depths of a mind like yours, like a black hole there is a beginning with no end. In you, there is chaos and control. Like a blanket, I pull my insecurities back, And for the first time in years, I let myself feel. You’re not the answer to the question that I asked. But here you are, cliff notes to an unread novel. I am an avid reader with an expired library card. I still owe on what I’ve checked out in the past – seasons of stories collecting dust on my shelf – but you’ll never hold it against me if I turn the page. A pounding heart, a complex mind.
Turning tables, and tales of time. She coddiwomples through the wind, to find the place where it all began. Relentless inspiration was all it took. Turning the page of a good friend's book. The words that set her on her way of discovering peace on her own someday, And now she spreads that love with all, the broken promises, away they fall. She carries her head up in the sky, with confidence unseen by the naked eye. (In response to Tennessee William's -- The Beanstalk Country)
There will always be people like these... The maddened few. Crowing about destruction and debris. Wielding weapons of nonsense and false equivalence. But that beanstalk will not last forever. It will die or be chopped down. Let's leave the Ogres to their ovens, Jack above the clouds. And carry on, elderly in our wicker chairs, speaking of reassurance and what bread to break for lunch. {Tennessee Martin} A stranger to the bitter truth ought not lend
his tongue, for even that is borrowed as the sun rises overhead stealing hours from the moon like pecks on a blushing cheek. We are no more kept together here than anywhere, yet we hold our hands outstretched waiting for someone to fill us up with hard candy and quarters. A bit of whisky for the whistle and you fall back into the footsteps of your parents. Carrying not your weight on the world, But the weight of the world on your shoulders. It is not the job of anyone else to make you believe in yourself again. There's a young man outside my window,
banging on a trash bin, yelling "Fucking bitch. Fucking faggot." What have we taught our children? I watch him through the blinds, fist clenched around a broken broom handle as he swings desperately, over and over, connecting with the side of the dumpster. Where does all that anger come from? "Bring him back!" He cries out about a dead brother. My shadow sinks against the wall. It's a pain I cannot relate to. It is a wound I cannot heal. We perpetuate a never-ending cycle. Broken children. Broken homes. And they grow up to be broken mothers. And broken fathers. And broken people. There are things about my own childhood I still wish to forget. "I did not fuck nobody. Y'all fucked me." I hear him say. You have no idea how right you are, kid. I hear you. You may not know it, but your voice is one that I recognize. Your passion is something I share. Do not lay down your stick, boy. Keep it aimed at bullshit and garbage. Swing away. |
Tennessee Martin
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