Monday, November 14, 2011

always panting, forever distracted

in the sleepiness of night I feel like I can say anything. you feel good drunk in the dark. you feel good in my dreams. you are still swelling and ghosting while I am waiting for you. I’ve tried to gather greater amounts of strength than fifths of vodka or offering clumsy poems to lonely people.

God, it’s so sad when the people don’t feel like poems anymore.

In high school I scrambled after them, waited and watched, fell in love with people who had no idea it was in me to be so brave. And what a dangerous thing it is to want someone against all the odds, right? How I listened tentatively to every person who poured secrets in hallways they didn’t know I was listening in. I could count on all your hands the strangers I’ve wanted to kiss.

But this isn’t about them. It’s about the things you’ve said to me in secret when you were younger, waiting for this world to gobble you up, spit your love out like sunflower seeds in summer when the days go on and on forever. How I like the way you move in your sleep. I like the way you touch the ends of my hair sometimes when you’re thinking about things I’m trying my hardest to figure out without asking. I’ve never wanted someone so much all of the time. Tell me this could chip the moon, this could send shivers down the spine of all those saps we ever loved before. Is it lonely to chase after things that you can only get so close to? tossing wishes into wells, these are the things that break days. guilt and moments you can’t have when you want them most, this is the stuff in jazz music and hope, the stuff that makes poets and fills notebooks. Tell me, could the chaos ever accept you too?

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