Pen On Paper

-M.

[penonpaper]

-M.

[penonpaper]

It is true that I still have a pulse. And yes, I’m breathing just fine. Ten fingers and ten toes on two hands and two feet. And everything else, it’s all there. 

But what about the ache that runs up and down my arms and through my chest when I think about it? What about the cloud that encases my brain and fogs up my vision when everyone else is asleep? 

Why am I sore the next day? Why does it sting when I try even a little bit?

Where did everyone go, and why am I always the last one to hear about it?

-M.

[penonpaper]

I lay on my back

Gaze up at the sky

The stars hang from strings

And they don't look so high.

If I lay for just five minutes more

Maybe I’ll become more like them

And be far, far away from all this

And just give light in the dark.

-M.

[penonpaper]

I never thought the beach was special

Till I went there with you

The waves crashed at our ankles

And over our heads birds flew

Wish we could go away with them

And finally see something new

But our feet are buried so deep, so

We might as well learn how to swim.

-M.

[penonpaper]

Blush cheeks

Wine stained lips

Rosy fingertips

Magenta nose

Never was I fond of such a tone

Never have I said

The beauty that I can now see

In the color red.

-M.

[penonpaper]

It started when I woke up

Sun shining through the glass

This feeling of mist and backup

Always seems to last.

Everything is blurred

Everything is grey

But maybe today’s the day

I finally learn to stay.

-M.

[penonpaper]

The weather changes but you never will

It's cold and it's hot and it's windy

But I love you, you say still

Every day you tell me

It'll be alright

I never used to believe it

But now, I think I just might.

-M.

[penonpaper]

I never cared much for coffee I always ran from the rain Too many times I've been broken And hidden away from the pain These rhymes go together so easy But they are whaat kept me so sane Through all of this good and this wicked You brought me into the day. Coffee with a bit of sugar, a bit of cream Hazelnut is my favorite but you like vanilla and see, I'll drink whatever you do The heat brings me closer to you I never used to drink this stuff, but now I love you.

-M.

[penonpaper]

The words came spilling from your lips

Attached to mine like your hands on my hips

Of wants and of needs and things just for me

But these were filtered by a mixture of potions

That made you forget everything you think

On a day when it rains and pours

And when the birds just soar

Away from you, away from me, away from

All the things that make you see

The light that touches and brings beauty

Why don’t you talk to me like that when you’re

sober?

-M.

[penonpaper]

My pen only knows you

The shape of “I love you”

Carved into paper like scars

The curve of two like letters

Molded like wet sand

On the beach we walked last year

It knows how to rhyme you and true, blue, new

And that new words turn blue when they hit the air

And shape into you.

M.

[penonpaper]

Sometimes when it's quiet I hear your laugh. When you thought something was extra funny, you wouldn't make any sound for the first few seconds. Then it would all come out, and you'd clap your hands in front of your face and rock back in your seat.  Only on days that I hear your laugh is the pain so bad that I can't speak. Only on these days I cry until my cheeks are stiff. I keep expecting to see you. But an empty seat at the table reminds me that you are elsewhere. We all wait to hear your laugh on the quiet days. On days where the sky is grey and the rain has just stopped; the air hangs like dead lightbulbs and old chairs stop squeaking, there you are. As bright and as warm as the Sun over our heads.

M.

[penonpaper]

The morning I told you that you make my sun rise

Was followed by an evening where that same sun set

Into blood clouds and fire skies.

The night I told you I worry about the sun staying hidden

Was followed by a morning where it peeked over airbrushed mist

And rose into a different day where your face lit up with warmth.

I thought I felt dew on my shoulder after your hand was there.

When I turned to ask,

you had returned

to the skies.

M.

[penonpaper]

Months ago you cared

Months ago you asked

And though you said you loved me last

Months ago you were there.

M.

[penonpaper]

The things I don’t tell my mother

Are dusted with evidence

Of kisses and crossed fingers

Empty bottles and scented breath

Of hidden undergarments,

Locked up pictures,

Journals and notebooks and folders

Filled with words I’ll never say—

That went behind the backs of those who think differently

Of a soft voice wearing a red scarf and a little grin.

M.

[penonpaper]

Sometimes I wake up still dreaming

When you’re right next to me in bed

Sometimes I wake up just needing

For you to love me instead.

M.

[penonpaper]

This bed was made for one

There’s a cold side and room for kicking and creaky springs.

It’s bouncy and quiet and always empty.

I get up easy and go down slow

The middle is fine but the wall is better

Leaving room makes no sense but sense got dusty months ago.

This bed was made for one

But I think I prefer two.

M.

[penonpaper]

Do you ever see a pencil and you just know the tip is going to fall out when it’s picked up? Or a cup of coffee that’s been sitting still for too long? A counter that won’t ever be clean, a face that won’t crack, shoes with no wear. A backyard with tiny footsteps that have grown. A bedroom used for storage, a storage room used for substance, substance used to store emotions as untouched as that cup of coffee that stands as still as you do.

M.