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64% remains (Shall I Compare Thee to Anything?)

maybE the fizz of dead leaves under flat feet

on the Most apple-pie sunday afternoon

the sunn(capital i)est, most church dribbLed photosYnthesis

where the sun is calm, and the wind caresses our vanilla socks.

Or, maybe the warmth of gloves in late January;

or, a spongy song after midnight under shooting stars;

or, a puzzle that I so eagerly want to assemble;

or, the finding of the pivotal gear for my grandfather clock.

Below, I know what I would compare myself to:

longing and stretching like an animal in a trap

being dragged behind a pickup truck

down a rocky, dirt road;

Or like a dizzy, out-of-breath diver

continuing to sink down toward a treasure

at the very bottom of an ocean, without goggles or light;

Or the weak, soft body of a newborn baby

being passed hastily between relatives on a holiday:

Any of those would show the need

(for a hypothetical fit,)

of key in lock, plug in outlet,

or hand in soft hand, in beautiful, quiet, perfect moderation.

"But she is like trying to grasp a whirlwind!" I say to myself,

for “what if the key may never unlock the door?

or the outlet excite the plug?

Because although we are both a blend of vanilla and peppermint,

aren’t I hot tea, and isn’t she cold?”

but “no,” I say back to myself,

that is why I shall compare thee to a dancer;

silk, fluid, beige, and too graceful;

Because since we are both clay in the hands of the Expert,

I see big things coming.

#poetry #cuttingtotheheart #she will never see this will she

76% remaining

:i could have been augustine's brother:

I can summarize my walk from the winter of 2011 to the summer of 2012

as "I got drunk a lot, I hated God for a while, and I can't understand why I'm still alive today"

darkness tents the heat and only brings us closer

Two Weeks became my favorite song because it's all that it took

body on body, like a carseat fitting into a car's seat

the mesh was "perfect"

the pictures are still there, however

I wanted death for the sake of dying

and I'm glad I was never sober, otherwise I would have

learned to love the evil of disobedience

mac and cheese still takes me back to you

the desperate, striving for a grasp

your black hair scarred me for good reason

the night sky and night walks in your black hair, "someday"

I literally carried a few grams of weed in my pocket just for kicks

I felt so cool back then

thank God for new creation and regeneration

#poetry #cuttingtotheheart

84% remaining

:when I dove deep and brought up white sand"

I woke up to beautiful chirping seagulls and the smell of the ocean. I looked out at the shoreline from my porch on a cliff, observed the deeper waters for a brief moment, grabbed my towel and started climbing down to the beach. The sand felt wonderful beneath my toes and the water was just cold enough to compensate for the temperature because on my beach, it was always sunny, and it was always warm. I loved the sun though. I enjoyed being warm and being safe. I laid down my towel and started relaxing and enjoying the melodic sound of the seagulls and the waves crashing near the shoreline. While sunbathing, I also heard the laughter of someone else playing in the water. I lowered my sunglasses to see a beautiful girl splashing deep in the rippling waves. Knowing the dangers that the waters contained, I assumed that she was in need of a hero and sped out in the water, reaching the point where the waves were up to my neck and looked out at her. I was standing on the edge of an unsteady slope that led into deeper waters, and she swam in those deep waters with ease. I asked her how she managed to swim in the water that I was warned not even to come close to, and she told me with an open mind that the deep waters were misunderstood. I listened intently as she explained a completely different world that she was raised in and the nonsense of living on the shoreline. I claimed to understand, so I went back to shore and returned with a boat big enough for two. We sailed happily in the deep waters listening to indie music and wearing sweaters together and eating macaroni and cheese. She questioned my willingness to live on the shore, so I told her that it was how I was raised, and I always feared the deep because I had never explored it in the way I explored the shoreline. She told me that she understood as well, and the more time we spent together, the more I realized I wanted to do anything to stay with her and the more she realized that she needed someone that was used to the deep. After some time the boat broke down, and I refused to swim in the deep water as she did. The waves in the deep were strong and threatening as opposed to the weak waves of the shallow. The wind picked up and started to blow her deeper and deeper, but I only stood and watched out of spite of the waves. I rode the remains of the boat back to shore and began to think again. Over time I began to become everything she would want. I practiced swimming in deep waters despite what I was taught, but never near her. I even learned to dive and retrieve rocks and souvenirs from the bottom, but I never told her. I see her every so often in coincidences seemingly too odd to be coincidences, but don’t try to explain how much I have changed. I tell myself that one day she will come to the shore for me, but she never does. To this day I sit perched upon my cliff by the water and watch her, swimming mindlessly in the deep, far away from me. The newly forming black clouds showed me that I deeply cared for her. Love was betraying my will to obey my prior teachings. I never would dare join her. I never dared to be a hero to myself and prove that I could swim with her. I am tormented by the change of abandoning my shore and the memories I made. But still today, I long for her to wade in and rescue me. And she never does. So I learn to endure the pouring rain and thundering ambiance as a constant reminder of how a lifeguard can’t even guard himself.

#short story #cuttingtotheheart

89% remaining

:the two years that killed my soul:

I knew it was illicit, and that was what fueled it

again the race comes to pass, where we both run to you

(he had a jump start, of about 500 feet)

the first nights that I stayed up late were with you,

the first times I was honest was with you,

the first afternoon I wrote was for you, and

the first eve I drank was in spite of you.

I first claimed love of you, and it still remains, though a different kind

I liked you as a fan in the stands likes a star athlete