Creative Constructs: Some are about me. Most, not.

Untitled:

This air is hot.

Liquid hot.

It muffles our breath,

But the sounds of our laughter is too much for this heat.

I swear he’s laughing, too.

Lay with me in wonder,

On these hills, in this grass, on that porch,

Come drink with me,

And make this world right again.

Make me right again.

Repair my insides with your sweet nostalgic caress.

Feed me the dreams that only we spoke of.

Find me that better place of residual feelings,

Between us all,

When we were new and undeveloped.

Etch through the city, with this knife made of old scars,

New grooves of recollection,

And let me dance amongst them.

I will cheers to the ones before us,

That buried the poisons,

to save us some time,

and save some for later,

When time would decide.

‘Cause these fleeting moments are going,

And we are their only rescue.

Remember to never forget.

The sun is baking what creation made her own,

And we are no longer alone.

We are young again with the weight of the world far off in some other place.

We are replenished,

Rummaging in plans that hang by a thread,

As there is always something else we could do.

Our eyes are fresh with sight,

Sparkling in this summer’s hot, white light

It burns us to the core, but at least we’ll search no more.

Your arms have produced the most comfortable arena

For these songs we yell through a continual giggle.

We never knew merriment until we met our first summer.

No existence of neglect.

No knowledge of regret.

Our bodies will call until we’ve managed every performance,

And we laugh,

And laugh,

And laugh some more,

Through melting windows of opportunity,

Unsaid crimes,

and naïve views of reality.

We are happy.

Songs on Repeat

Sweet song, make me sad again!

I like the way you feel.

You’ve aligned those chords impeccably to mine, inwards.

Could I escort you inside for a while?

You could stay for a spell if you like.

I wouldn’t mind your company,

Or your unending rhetoric.

You know me better than they do,

And you don’t even breathe life;

You just are.

And you just do.

Oh, how gorgeous to be known!

This fleeting affair is no less than absolute.

And I’ll do what I can to make these few minutes last.

When you’ve finished playing your melodic sweets,

I’ll turn back time and feel this way all over again,

For as long as you are willing to reward.

 

Instant Gratification

They rush on by, but don’t even know
where they’re going or why.
These tags of future regret won’t come in handy
once you’ve ripped them to shreds.
That moment of excitement for a newly purchased friend is fleeting.
You won’t wear her any more now than you did in that little dark room.
You probably won’t wear her at all.
Because all she is, is a memory.
All she is, is what could have been.
And this is all you’ll ever be.
‘Cause without her, you’re empty within.

The Girl In The Yellow Dress

And there was the girl in the yellow dress,

Standing in her own wasteland of wool and misplaced truths,

Broken hearts and crime;

An image of the sinking feeling inside her:

Undeniable.

The old, worn earth beneath her plaid shoes sulked to no one but the pebbles of discomfort under the soles of its friends.

Hers was a cold, dead world of anger, filth and reason not to comply.

She turned her head to the wind and watched the dust from her shoes search for its reservation in the wind.

And the air surrounded her.

And the rain kissed her cheeks.

And she walked on through,

Free from the jingle of the keys she collected along the way.

Interlude

I could sit here all day and try to reestablish any idea that ever existed inside of me, back inside of me.
It’s not going to happen, though, unfortunately.
There’s nothing to blame but my blasé demeanor, an overactive imagination and my non-existent, self-diagnosed attention deficit disorder, otherwise known as the culprit of my procrastination.
But these are just excuses for my choice to lounge my motivation and focus my attentions on things that merely fill their void.
And I know it, too.
What happened to the days of chasing passions?
I was always big on that, or I’d like to think I was –
The thrill of risking it all to go where I want, get what I want, when I want it, how I want it.
It was easy.
I pardon myself more than ever now and as much as I don’t know why, I do.
Something happened between the traveling, booze and reluctant self-tolerance.
Trust me when I say that I recognize this, but I still choose to plug my nose, close my eyes and duck under the wave, ‘cause, man, does it feel good under there.
The icy water sweeping my face is enough to wake me the fuck up and force my neglectful eyes open. Falling further, I’m beneath it all, maneuvering my way around the colossal downpour that takes place above me.
And I watch it happen, unaffectedly fascinated –
A depiction of my very own silent film.
The disasters of my past aren’t that bad anymore and neither is the icy cold.
I’ve warmed up to the wave I habitually avoid until it feels like home.
The thought of the demise above affixing itself to my life crosses my mind, but I don’t worry because it never happens.
I’m too strong for that.
Too determined in my own undetermined way.
Because once the wave has passed, I will still emerge –
Hair tousled with my heart racing to catch a breath.
And there I am.
Me.

the k.i.c.k.e.r.

There’s a beauty to it, though I have yet to see it.
One day the movie will be over and the rewind button will be gone.
Searching will take on new meaning,
As will the feeling I get when I watch the sun set on the day.
One day I’ll realize I was the only contestant in this race
And then maybe I’ll see that even if I won, the prize wouldn’t be you.

 

DIRTY STITCH aka H.E.R.

You took what little love I had left to give

Somber and anger stricken with pain so deep, you can’t deny

You can’t deny your stills

And all the time I wondered you

I thought you

Spoke you

Questioned you

What little bit I knew

Small vignettes of phrase and sound,

Collecting on my shelf

I found you out and said my piece

You played the game again

Your poison sweet has come to find me

Discovery though a friend

Your sick creation of what life can be

Is denied by me again

And so you sit, in your threaded dress

With silks and stitching fine

But there comes the day when I’ll sit with you

And your stitching will become mine.

/R/E/A/D/I/N/G/

I piece together the lines

‘cause

Shapes have meaning when grouped

c

o

r

r

e

c

t

l

y.

I mean,

Bro.ken. words. Don’t. make. Sen.se.

Right?

Involuntarily.

Reluctantly.

Resentfully.

I manage it.

Edits here …

and there.

Copy

Paste

Cut.

Cut.

Cut.

me & mine

there is a brilliance to her beauty.
the space she fills seeks no rescue
’cause for those sandy grains beneath her,
it’s an honor to be in her presence.

exquisite corpse

exquisite corpse fashioned delicately,

woven refined, with elusive stitching

concealed, yet defined.

a candor unspoken,

coy demeanor on hand,

action obliged,

crafted for devotion in this body occupied.

with a charm more pleasing than the finest lyric,

or the pause between their notes,

intertwined in existence is the sweetest weather

where in your arms, I’ll reside.

 

Brail

The sign I wear reads “No Obligation”.

Definition of —-

Contagious likings to anything immaculately damaged,

Sincerely blessed by pubescent heartbeats searching for an unfamiliar feeling nested between everything and nothing.

Floating on the notion of one’s ultimate desire,

Drunk on love not for love’s sake but for sake of finding a moment’s sanity.

A continual run from reality, for to be sober would mean death.

 

This Must Be The Place

To say that I want you, is an understatement.

To say it’s infatuation, wouldn’t be true.

It’s different this time around

‘Cause every time your hair falls in your face,

My hand invisibly jumps to grace your cheek with my finger tips

And lay that mischievous lock of hair back to rest behind your ear.

The commotion you cause when your eyes linger on mine the way they do,

Is enough to cause explosions countries away.

When every inch of you gravitates closer to every inch of me the way it always does,

I fear I will melt away,

Hopefully with you in hand.

‘Cause I can’t handle you so far away.

This battle I have with body and mind,

Leaves no winner here,

Unless I have you.

Jay.Oh.Bee.

cessation in mind,

nothing less than normal.
this guilty chair screams of waste,
these screens lose hue,
the great divide has come
and I must choose
between blasé recluse
or a heightened mass production.

Chocolate Strawberry

3 beers and 5 dollars later,

I thought to myself …

I’ll make her mine.

If it had been 2 beers and 1 dollar later,

Maybe I wouldn’t be so ready,

But your chocolate-strawberry hair and olive dirt-brown eyes didn’t let me notice.

And truth be told, even if I did notice, I’d ignore it.

‘Cause right now all I want is 3 beers and 5 dollars later.

No less, but way more if it’s acceptable to say so.

It’s not a matter of usage,

Or frivolous discard.

Rather, a point of knowing.

Of proving to myself that I was right all along about you.

That, yes, you’re the one dreams are made of.

And, yes, you’re the coolest chick here.

 

Passion In Progress

I was trying to find something to write about that could ultimately break my cycle of thought. Something that would break my hard shell and configure a way for the epiphany that’s been thickening inwards to ooze out into my universe. It happened when I was sucker-punched by passion a long time ago.

Appropriately, this sucker-punch hurt in the best way possible. I’m not new to these feelings of elementary giddiness and exhilaration that come with

passion yet, somehow, each time it sneaks up on me, it’s like I’m feeling the adrenaline and empathy for the first time.

Like a heaping pile of mush, softening with every drop of blood pumped to my heart, I search for ways to keep my vulnerable, liquefying self together. I’m affected, for the cause has won me over. It’s addictive … enchanting even. Like the dangerous, literary Sirens, coaxing and persuading me to give in and give all, minus the dangerous risk.

I’m all about it, all over it and HAPPY. Finding your niche or reason is deserving of acknowledgement and then: implementation.

Passion shows me opportunity where most wouldn’t see it. It gives me a reason to discuss and debate so that I can understand what it is that I’m working for. It grounds me and keeps me firm on my beliefs.

Passion is the never-ending conversation between my heart and my mind.

Have you found yours yet?

 

Bath Water

Dirty bath water filled the tub I almost drowned in because

The science of the drain turned into an art form.

It looked better standing still.

Untouched.

Unmoved.

Each little bubble bursting with my breath.

No sound.

No life.

Too dirty to relieve.

 

Dual screens

These screens of pretend scream by way of patronizing fonts

Work waiting to be done, mocking me in my seat.

My silent protest begins.

I refuse you without excuse or reason.

I refuse you.

And here I go to retrieve what I’ve left behind.

This beautiful life awaits my presence.

And I’ll comply with what you got ‘cause you’re the only thing I’m seein’.

 

Sleeves

Tatted in places no man but her love should have ever seen.

Atop them flows lace and silk so carefully dyed and threaded together,

one swift breeze could kidnap all of their hard work.

Those black pearls you wear don’t do your body any justice,

But the smile on your face does.

Your stained lips don’t accent that smile of yours,

But the shine of your eyes do.

Be careful how you move ’cause you’re so stitched together,

one slip will fall you apart.

You’re better when you’re unnoticed.

Prettier without the glam.

And easier to talk to without the layers falling over your face.

Your simplicity is minimal now,

Diminishing to an unknown city that only those before me ever knew.

Once untouched, is now damaged.

Leave the additional accessories to the sound of your laughter.

It’s better that way.

The Glory of Second Best

The glory of second best is this:

Feeling chummy at the thought of being first.

Knowing you still have a chance.

Keeping the hope alive.

Oh, but then …

Dying a little everytime First place takes the cake and then eats it in front of your face without sharing piece.

And then kicking First’s ass and walking away with a smile.

 

Plans

This world is mine now.

It’s my own.

I don’t rely

on growing old.

I won’t complain,

I’ll just move on.

This is the train

I’m traveling on.

I can’t compare

I can’t regress

I can’t jeaopardize

my happiness.

I will not stop,

I’ll only go

and you can follow

But I will not slow.

I’m keeping track

and keeping time.

This world is big.

This world is mine.

 

Told You

Don’t try and fool her.

She knows exactly what you do.

Her matching hair to yours is no excuse.

Her flawless skin and eyes have no place

at this swirling dinner plate.

Don’t try to whisper

sweet nothings in her ear.

She’ll be gone next week,

But I’ll still still be here.

Don’t pretend like she’s your new

Flavor of the month.

I won’t fall for that so easily.

You shouldn’t have to try so much.

 

Dirty Cons

Piles of clothes waiting to be cleaned,

Dust gathering in my sheets,

Cobwebs framing my window panes,

When will I be home again?

I need to clear my head of the business,

Can’t find my way around the streets,

Don’t know which direction I’m going in,

I just follow and repeat.

My path is covered in denim and shoes,

I lost my way when I lost you.

 

Synth

Frozen reflections standing still

Captured in these lonely eyes

I always knew I’d end up here

With a slideshow of all the things between these years of mine

Coasting and awaiting their trials of judgement

Not so kindly styled.

But rhythm of my words and beats of my actions fell to your song

And every little thing you mentioned broke away.

Forgiving was my key, but what’s forgiven now that you’re gone?

‘Cause even if I knew, I’d still be just as wrong.

You’re untimely timing picked me up to go along.

I was ready.

I thought I was.