Unmade Memories

19 And A Fleck on a flashlight in writing history

[theweirdwalrus]

Do you also sit in smoky coffee shops With lyrics sung from a college Drop out’s half-breathing dream, And wait for time to make its Indifferent stride past you, so That you can remind the three A.M Thoughts that tonight you at least did Something?

And all you’ll remember from This night was that the guitar Was too low and you couldn't quite Feel along

As you sit with a solid blue dress that has see- Through shoulder seams that you bought because As trying it on someone told you that you looked nice. But now, as you reconsider whether or not You should approach the guy, who’s been giving you that look, You vaguely remember that the compliment came from a person Who wore a name tag.

And you learn that silent crowds are more memorable  Than noisy ones

As you walk out with no one’s shoulder under your head,  And wonder if your mother Felt the same way when she was your age And if all she still remembers from Thursday nights was that The guitar was too low and She couldn't quite feel along.

[theweirdwalrus]

It was in silk sheets with mindless cigarette burns and a mirror across the bed from  where hung a dusted cross, untouched since  similar blood (three times my age) slid indifferent fingers on pale, unused thighs, that I envied you when you said, “joy is the space between sufferings,”  because only someone who's  felt the space could say that.

[theweirdwalrus]

Male or female?

Definitely tree.  

[theweirdwalrus]

Couldn't I be a cloud

If my makeup is not my own? Coalesced from chemical bonds in ponds and cold morning Dew, a thinly contrived layer which is hallow and grey. Composed from all the things which I cannot call "I."

Looking fluffier than I actually am, you Think you can stand and support yourself on me, But, should you try,  Gravity would pull you from your  Dream and you would plummet and die.

Because the truest thing you’ll find in this lonely little life  is that it’s hardest to be held by those who've built themselves from lies.

[theweirdwalrus]

Ten years of childhood memories rounded themselves up as dust on your window sill. It was her first day in y(our) room, and so you tidied-up and didn’t forget to sweep the corners of dead skin where your shirt collected my first tears since I was eight, or even that section of accidental moonlight masturbations we swore never were.

But don't worry, because I didn’t say anything and try to dignify you when she mentioned your room was boringly clean, not even when she said I had “something” about me, while her fingernails scratched like slow anesthetic needles up my groin.

Don't worry. I won’t ever say anything; I won’t. You don't deserve it. 

[theweirdwalrus]

The old sandals I wear are from well spent nights on shorelines with faceless friends. And my speech is from the replies “Oh that’s nice,” And even the concealed and permanent goodbyes hidden behind “talk to you later.”

My hairstyle comes from the funny kid at work, Curly, dark and pushed back, as if I hopped out of “The Outsiders,” My group of friends’ favorite book.

And my walk is my Dad’s, confident and calm, the way Mom always told me to be, The same walk he used when he walked by my life for a few short years.

I am the under developed architect of my self And everyone is my clueless partner, unintentionally critiquing me.

So here I am, now, Reworked, re-almost-mastered, rebuilt from ruble-ed identities, and, As requested, the person you designed, asking you  “Is this good?” Asking,  “Do you like me, yet?”

[theweirdwalrus]

Loneliness will be dinner for two With green boxes of Supermarket-brand, microwave chicken,  And you asking me how I am, And me saying “Fine,” with un-worrying  inflexions, And your head down, blue lit face, Where the most interesting thing to pop up this night Will be words from people you’ll never meet, And me, chewing on chicken that will be both warm and icy, Mumbling in my throat, Just fine.

[theweirdwalrus]

When we were kids, we swore the world to be fine Because pictures on sidewalks were what we knew the most. Well, knowing is a small thing that changes from person to person, So you told me the world was bad.

But for some reason, looking at you, I couldn't agree.  And so the rainwater redrew our sidewalk in wet memory colored chalk puddles. The way it was before we met,

When the boy I never knew had drawn on my driveway. 

Now, seven years later, I saw what you saw and meant, And it wasn't in red like they said it was, But dark purple permanently inked on bathroom tiles With the smell of gunpowder and burnt flesh, You’d made the world just how you said, You showed the easily avoided truth,  That all the bad you ever really saw Was you.

[theweirdwalrus]

I just read your bio and fell in love from there

Thank you so much for sharing that :)

[theweirdwalrus]

You whirled your fingers in Figure eights on the palm of Just a friend.

And I wish I'd known  When you rested your head on my shoulder, And said "time together creates hidden distances, And time apart does the exact same thing," That you really were Just tired.

But I couldn't bury my thoughts, and my words transformed to awkward When I teased you about your hints And you swore that you didn't know  Just what I meant.

So I guess I'll take some time in records and movies To rewind the effects  Of making the remake-able mistake Which happens When a lover loves a friend.

[theweirdwalrus]

What's your name?

Ash Ketchum: PokéPoet

[theweirdwalrus]

Thank you for following. You have lovely poetry pieces.

No problem. And thank you very much. 

[theweirdwalrus]

I'm in bed reminding myself that it’s the distance that made us this way, but I know that’s a lie, because I'm starting to see that it would've happened eventually if you were here anyway.  

[soracci-deactivated20130529]

[theweirdwalrus]

She was pure, and I fucked her cunt like the whores we were She had the dirt of a slave in her body and mind And I handcuffed her to her new guilty pleasure It was the ugliness that taught me passion In the bathroom stalls of high school halls like jail cells Chained us round and down because this was what we asked for When we walked off that short building, together, and lived,  And the doctors asked us why we did what we did But we couldn't show How the blood from our cunts Showed us who we were That both warden and prisoner are always one in the same.

[theweirdwalrus]

Look for me on barren streets with forgotten men whose smoke and conversation will entreat the young, needleless skin of a crème girl whose silvery steel youth we shall take and keep.

And in the morning the green mouthwash will whirl and down with it will sink the spit which poisoned the pearl, and a well postured tongue will take the day on to let no one know how it injured the world.

And so the commuting mother, humming a playful song, whose daughter she once knew is now bloodstained and gone, allows a muzzled man with soft breath to pass ahead in traffic as she sips on a vanilla frappé and goes to work alone.

How she must forever relive the dream of the beast, the night when he broke from his collar and leash, the unsolicited touch of a man when he is truly and fully free.

[readysetjeans-deactivated202003]