Tag Archives: won’t

the world off your shirt

i won’t wait on you,
but not because i don’t want to:
maybe i would have done on any other day—

that’s not to say that i don’t hate
standing at the train station waving at a departing train.
it’s not me, you understand?
in me there’s always an impulse to chase it.
just water, baby, to chase it. 

just water, a silent drizzle of impending rain:
it’ll wash the world off your shirt—
and i will smell crisp cotton again.

77. sometimes i just need to know that you won’t die

the week is nearly over. again.
and it feels like rain on skin in the heat of summer, raising goosebumps in spite of its warmth.

i never want anything to end.
not even nightmares.
i drag them out carefully, tossing and turning, roasting, like a pig, in my own cold sweat.
i had one every night this week. sometimes two. and i remember. i don’t keep tabs on my subconsiousness because it scares me. the brutality of the mind always scares me. and i dream of death. of death and failure.
y flores. flores para los muertos.

right now, my world is a house made of paper: cards with pretty scribbles on them, where blanche‘s words i lived in a house where dying old women remembered their dead men have more than substance; they have depth to go on and on, revolving in my head.

i’ve seen them from every angle. i swear.

what is it with death?
i’ve always said i have to die before the one i love. i couldn’t stand life otherwise. and i’ve made you promise you won’t die before me. i’ve made you promise me the unthinkable, the unpredictable, the unpromisable.

i did it just because sometimes i just need to know that you won’t die.

74. and i am fear, i am love.

notes reverbrate in my head, songs drown in their own chords. words on words, words on words.
and i am fear, i am love.
i’ve been found out.

‘i am yours now
so now i don’t ever have to leave
i’ve been found out
so now i’ll never explore’

and i can’t stop thinking, though you’ve given me no reason to. you’ve been a darling, my precipice of love. 

it is me, it is i.

i’ve betrayed your honest motifs by wanting more, by being unsure. every other girl would be thankful to never have to leave, but i am i. i can only think of all the lands whose flowers won’t open their buds to me, of all the trees that won’t bloom for me.

i am me and this is i.

i want to come and go, spending every morning in your harbour, every night – under the shine of communal stars.
i’m only tender and i’m only young. i can’t go for days without setting bridges on fire.

imma let it burn.

73. so you can stop and wonder if i’m yours

i’ve decided, i won’t allow words to tear us all apart. and my pain shouldn’t matter. this pain is fleeting. and my heart will be beating into the next millenium, where loves bloom redder than cranberries in the bitter frost.

i said something important to you yesterday. via text. and i don’t know if you picked up on it. so many words get lost in translation  from my world to yours.

i don’t believe that every little death brings one closer to life, but i do believe that every little love does.

and i have loved you inconsistently, wrongly asking you to love me as i wish. maybe you can’t love me with all the roses and the cards. maybe my loves are too extravagant for you. maybe i ask too much without the need for such. but i can dream.

and i will dream. in silence.
my dreams will burn and burn.
for three weeks at the very least, i’ll be perfect. and i won’t argue and i won’t bite.

so you can taste the cranberries as they were before the winter, so you can stop and wonder if i’m yours.

there won’t be an ‘i love you’

there won’t be an ‘i love you’
not just now
although the feeling’s there

still
silent
longing

light up
light up

the sun is shining bright
and my heart echoes
here
the beat of yours

light up
light up 

the morning will wash
the stuff of nightmares
away

sometime
if not today.