I’ve been feeling stuck. Trapped in cyclical narratives about writing and who I am as an artist. A fried suggested I write a poem about something mundane. Like a puddle. So, here it is.
Thinning fabric
We broke up the other day, I’m trying to pretend not to notice
Truth to tell we were never really together
I try to recall the times you’ve broken my heart
I’ve let them fade into the fabric of our story
Fabric worn thin by my worrying hands retracing patterns again and again
Trying to commit us to memory
I glance at your piece of our cloth, you’ve cut out bits of us, leaving patches in our truth
I wonder if you remember what it looked like before you erased us
Does your mind recall how beautiful we were?
Threads woven together bright and dark, hazy and shining
Like sun breaking through clouds after a raging storm
These days, you see only the storm, can only take in the chaos
Should your fingers try to retrace us, they’d find holes held together by trivial pieces of our memory
I still see us, breaking boldly through clouds
Weaving our story together with threads of tenderness, laughter and pain
How could you cut us apart?
I’ve kept my piece intact; fingers retrace our history at times lovingly, at times mournful
Feeling always where we’ve thinned out
Our fabric is worn, the time has come to put us away
Tracing patterns once more I fold us up and place us in my dresser, next to old faded sweatshirts of love gone by
What you choose to do with your fabric, I have no say
For my part, I’ll keep mine hidden and safe
Neatly folded and forgotten as we carry on the aimless game we play
We broke up the other day and today, the sun is hidden away
Skies are dark, dreary and grey, contented to stay that way
When Dragons don’t Text Back
‘Would you rather be a dragon or a unicorn?’
I repeat the question my sweetfriend asked the night before
‘Oh. That’s a good question!’
‘Well?’
‘Dragon. Definitely dragon.’
I text my friend too much. Sometimes she responds. Sometimes she doesn’t.
I know she loves me.
She makes me feel safe, absorbs my madness and spits out rational thought in her sleep
We talk about sex, fuckery, and the magic of extra biscuits
I am learning this is what friends do
Practicing the art of leaning into my sexuality isn’t a joke
Especially since I tend to extremes, abstinence or Lilith on fleek
These are my settings
Fate and the Universe have sent me on a side-quest to balance
My friend is my inspiration, guide, and also the dragon who lives in old, dark caves fucking with nearby villagers
Weary traveler, exhausted from my quest, I approach the village
Naturally, recognizing my warrior status, the villagers solicit me for assistance
I oblige
Slowly I trek up the mountain to the cave where the dragon sleeps
My approach wakes her. I find her to be perfectly lovely, if a bit surly
She explains that the villagers often climb through her caves and interrupt her sleep
To ward them off, occasionally, she takes to burning one or twelve of them to a crisp
She says they taste wonderful with salt. I laugh
This is how our friendship begins, the warrior and the dragon
I came to slay, but stayed to play
Anyway, I’m texting my friend
We are talking about sex and trips and food that makes us come
I eat a canna-chocolate and write one last message before sleep pulls me under
Typing it, I am glad for her, her fiery mouth and her ancient wisdom
The text is word vomit in the form of late night poetic mania
I know she will not respond, I send it anyway
When she reads it I know she’ll think I’m ridiculous,
Smiling to myself, I think of where we began
Ridiculous, isn’t that what dragons think of man?
Misdirection
My mind hides things from me, serves me up doses of misdirection, with hits of delusion, leaving me cloudy, confused, lost and distracted, certain in my uncertainty
Im trying to say, I forgot how you make me feel, and when I say forgot, I mean blocked with all the strength my Warrior’s heart could muster
You got in when the gate was down and you don’t know what it looks like when I am hurt and hiding
I don’t want to be hurt and hiding
This me, listens to Be. while I write to you this poem, this confession or protestation of my affinity for the swag in your step and the God in your eyes
Fear comes in, guardian at the gate come looking for you, wondering what the fuck you are doing inside these walls
You just smile
I’m afraid to look at you, afraid I will see you and remember that feeling I get when you put your arm on the back of my chair and all I can do is stare at my hand
or my phone or whatever is in front of me and pray to whatever god is listening that the words to come out my mouth are funny or charming or a healthy balance of the two
I’d like to let you stay, your presence is comforting
See, it’s your smile and the way emotions flash across your face, some stay longer than others and I like to watch them
I like to watch you and I don’t know if that is normal or weird or a healthy balance of the two
but its true
Shadow Dancer
I don’t know why I think you are hearing me
Working out the rhythms in my silences, and downbeats
Are you listening when I pick up the tempo?
I am dancing a salsa over here and am left with the shadow of a partner
All I have are illusions
I whisper sweet nothings into your dark, ephemeral ear
Tell you my secrets while my body moves to the music
The song is our heartbeats pounding out different rhythms
It complicates the beat
I can’t tell if it is beautiful
My feet keep moving, keep stepping
The sun is almost set and the moon is sleeping in
Darkness falls and your shadow fades
I am left with just me, the night, and the sound of my solitary heart beating
The sound of my feet dancing, stepping out a furious rhythm
Lilac
For a long time I equated being good with being silent
I was told to hold contradictions in my mouth
speak up but stay silent
speak up when you have something to say, but don’t say the truth
don’t speak your fear
speak so you can be heard:
I have a rage inside me which has yet to find its limit
it crawls up my back, claws out my eyes and spills from my mouth
I war with everyone around me
words ripping//eyes tearing the way through my day
I dropped a bottle of perfume
My grandmother gave it to me when I was a child
it smells strong like lilac and it stained the tapestry
I can’t help the smell
and the bottle I kept safe for years is now gone
like the woman who gave it to me
and is that a sign or just a bottle or a combination of the two
a reminder from the ancestors not to forget them, telling me,
sometimes bottles break
when what’s inside needs to be let out
Skimming the surface
I feel seen by your eyes; this frightens me
A bead of sweat drips down your face. I stare, enthralled. I find myself contemplating its flavor.
Your mouth has got me shook. I cant. Stop. Staring.
I peek inside your mind and find it lined with shelves, littered with papers and books, some left open and forgotten. I imagine you skim through them from time to time. But only when necessary
I want to be there when you get out of the shower to smooth your skin with shea butter while your body is still steaming, and hot, and wet
Sometimes, I imagine you’re stretched out beside me. We lay on cool green grass below a tall sprawling tree, sheltered from the blazing sun
you know how when you’re reading and you realize your mind has wandered? Well, my mind wanders to you
I fantasize about loving you. For this, I blame you and I blame Audre. In no particular order.
If I’m right, you think of me slightly less than I think of you, this both draws me back and drives me forward
List for me the following:
your favorite book
your favorite poem
your favorite song
I want to search for you in their words
The next time we are alone, I will not tell you how I feel
I write around you, not about you. I tell myself skimming over you is easier than diving in.
