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you called me the sun –
our eyes made sunsets, drew forth the light between seas.
the taste of honey still lingers on my tongue, a piece
of our holy paradise that once was.
but you found another love to call your sun,
a better girl to dance with
under the bedsheets.
your words hold no meaning – they elude my mind, sentences forgotten
by the tired shadow of morning.
i traced back the veins along your palms, filled with light,
and a drop of rain slipped through the cracks.
I’ve no longer the strength
after you spun me until I grew much too dizzy.
our light sailed across clouds and
drowned in a river of old tears floating
and what now - i exhale only smoke, an eclipse of lost time.
all i wanted was the taste of your voice, the
sweetness of your touch.
we’re no longer pure, you’ve drifted
to a better woman.
all i dreamed of were your lips, your hands,
placed not on her soft curves, but on mine.
and i long for a white bird, a quiet dove,
to sing to me ballads of love and tell me i’m more than i am.
i used to admire the way words rolled off your
sweet lips. biblical passages, the holy scripture, praise God.
bless the Lord.
and i thanked Him for what we had.
and i pray to Him for what we lost.
floating along the storms of my mind…
i run against the tide, following the blue moon to another land…
where the people fly free and sail into dove-pure clouds…
and peace resides in our souls…
and i whisper a silent prayer to all whom i’ve lost…
and i want to say to all who’ve left me…
i’m sorry for running away…
and i wish that someday you’ll look upon the stars…
and see all their mystique in a way i never will...
to all those i’ve ever loved or thought of…
i hope you find the kind of peace that glides between enlightment…
maybe someday, i’ll find what i’m looking for too.
smog shades the windows of my mind until
gray leaks through the walls.
i pray for someone to notice
that i’m not all right, but no one sees
through the blackened glass.
i drift through seas of gray and black,
and it’s peaceful, and it’s sad.
and i know the difference between
nostalgia and sorrow, and i know
the difference between
asking for help and hoping that someone
and my mind replays the films
of old days, of past times, when the
sun was a little more golden, when
the birds chirped sweet melodies,
when we were young, when
our hearts were full, when the stars weren’t just stars.
i feel control slip from my hand.
my mind empties itself until it
drowns in more gray.
and my soul feels haunted,
controlled by invisible hands.
i chart the paths between
sand and sea, mind and heart.
still, i know the difference
between bored and sad.
i crave the aftertaste of rain,
of freshly-cut grass, and the roots
of my past life when flying wasn’t just a dream.
and the windows of my mind, of my body
and face and skin, drown my lips
in silence. and i wait,
hoping someone will notice and help me.
still, i know the difference between hope and dream.
the city throbs with a million lights,
eight million heartbeats, pulsing through
its charcoal streets.
since we were born, we were thrown into a
perpetual system; go to school, be
a good girl or boy, conform. go to college, find a regular
cubicle job, get married, have kids. rinse and repeat.
but if i trace the deep hue of your eyes,
glimmering against the sunlight,
maybe all my problems, for one nanosecond, disappear.
and i feel calm, and i feel fine.
some days, my heart swells with the worry of everything.
some days, my heart shrinks with the feeling of nothing.
time warps, as the city vibrates, moving with
the hasty steps of its people, people who
walk faster than they breathe, whose eyes see
nothing but the concrete sidewalks and litter and money.
and i want to travel back in time and space
to a place where light danced off leaves and i
paused in the streets to look up at the sky and blow
on a dandelion, when my spirit believed in wishing upon
stars and four-leaf clovers and Santa Claus and all that faded magic.
and i want to hurl my body into another frame of mind,
when the red sparrow in my backyard spoke to me, when
a holiday was more than just another day.
these little things spin around my mind until it
floods with regret and lost time.
of all the days when i worried and fast steps and
angry boss and anxiety anxiety anxiety and mindless
and voiceless: how many times have i went
to bed, moonlight sifting through the dark clouds,
and hoping that tomorrow would be a better day?
tomorrow holds promise and hope, and every day
i go to sleep dreaming of a better tomorrow,
when the sunset will be vibrant and the music of songbirds
rings through the air and my heart flushes with sunshine.
and then tomorrow comes along and it’s no longer tomorrow…
it’s the day before, with slight variations.
and all these little things drub at my skin until i
am tired and confused, and nothing can change that,
not even you.
the crystal blue sky, children laughing in streets,
the violet hue of a hydrangea, the flaxen
bulb of a daisy. these pretty things are
locked up in the attic of my mind, dusted with
age, buried in anxiety and useless thoughts.
and i’m tired, and i’m insecure, and
i wish i didn’t overthink about these stupid things.
as each day passes by, another day wasted,
the box fades. it dusts and sits in the attic of my mind,
never to be brought out again, locked away forever.
and the only time i was truly happy,
when I was alive and not just breathing, becomes
nothing more than a pile of faded memories.