memory

Pocketbook Memories

Folder: 
2017

strange things happen

when sleep doesn’t.

 

sometimes

you happen to me.

 

sometimes

I live in the space in my mind

with your name on it

longer than I should,

shorter than I want to.

 

sometimes

I wake up to find pocketbook memories

sleeping next to me

from moments that still sound like dreaming,

from lips that have left

but I feel them every time I’m alone.

 

strange things happen

when I keep choosing you

at any minute,

in different ways,

I know them when the sun is awake

or I slip into them as I fall asleep

or I remember them as soon as I open my eyes.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 5/31/17

Lady Bug

I remember in the beginnig

we were just "going with the flow"

you planned a roadtrip

and kept the destination a secret 

 

I remeber feeling elated, excited, alive 

you pulled over next to a sunflower field

and I found myself, heart racing,

pushing through tall grass, 

jumping a barbed wire fence

and returning with my prize

 

I remember that beautiful little town

how the next day,

you took me to the bird sanctuary 

how I sat there admiring these creatures 

how I envied their wings

 

I remember when all those ladybugs

dotted your car 

How I felt like a child

waiting for each one to fly away

 

And later, finding a little lost lady

inside with us

how I wanted her to stay 

how we cracked the window

and set her free instead 

I remember wishing upon her beauty

 

and the next day at breakfast,

how I shrieked when a giant locust

crashed into my face 

except it wasn't a locust

you reached over to reveal another

little dot lady and I squealed with delight 

 

her little legs tickled my hand

at the tip of my pinkie she spread her

little wings and fluttered away

I remember we looked up her meaning

lady of luck, messenger of blessings to come

how I felt it could not have been

more perfect with you 

 

And then the drive home,

Spotting yet another little lady 

trapped inside your car

how we were already driving too fast

how she held on to the window's edge

how I urged her to fly

 

You suddenly pulled over

and I remember thinking it was

the sweetest thing of you to do 

I remember telling the little lady she could fly

how I whispered goodbye when she did 

how my heart surged with gratitude

while my eyes got warm and salty

how you pulled me to you

and how that kiss tasted like flying

I felt like the luckiest lady in the world

 

you called me your Lady Bug

I'll never forget it 

 

 

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Blush

Folder: 
2017

You are a trigger, push me to move

but I am stuck behind the window of a motionless train

I don’t know how long I watch the cars pass

and it feels like crying.

 

I have always traveled alone-

I love the open road, pebbles beneath my feet,

how I can sing with no shame to a heartbeat rhythm

more than someone to walk with.

 

But now you have tinted all the streets

and I can’t get past the color

I still want to go far alone

but I want to climb high with you.

 

For a while I have loved your shadow,

I have learned not even you can make sad look pretty

so I drag these compliments down your arm

like the caress of paper glass.

 

I want to make you blush this skyline

and paint it on so it never leaves.

 

I want to make you blush a beginning

and keep the end out of sight for as long as we can.

 

I want to make you blush like I have

when I can’t get you out of my head.

 

I want to make you blush the ocean

and pour it into my cup to keep for later.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 3/9/17

More

Folder: 
2017

How could you ever know

if I never let this love out?

You’re too busy trying to

cut yourself into slivers

give everyone a piece

till there’s nothing left to build your own bones.

 

My mind is a canyon.

I spend too much time at the bottom,

your name comes up there a lot.

I know I need to be more for you,

quieter, louder,

more precise,

more someone to save

and someone to be saved,

more willing to give you my flaws in silver wrapping.

I want to be more

but these pieces might just be a start.

 

I feel how full this room pretends to be without you

when you leave even for a minute

I feel how empty I can taste my regrets

and tears that haven’t fallen shouldn’t fall.

 

I wish everyone I loved remembered the same moments I do,

knew which things they said once are still stuck on a loop in my head.

That would tell them so much more about me than my halfhearted attempts to articulate it.

 

I wish I knew what you remembered,

what do you want me to say like a broken record?

 

You mean more to me than my favorite mismatched socks.

 

You shouldn’t need to chase down the one you call a friend- there are so many humans with you if you just turn around.

 

I know what you mean.

 

It’s a late Tuesday night, come on an adventure with me.

 

Don’t be afraid of the monsters in your mouth

or the lies living under your tongue.

 

We should do this more often,

but not too much

or it will lose its magic.

 

Overcome.

 

Everything might not be okay, but something will.

 

My lonely, my introvert does not mind when you’re around.

 

This is not enough time to spend with you.

 

Wear those earrings more often.

 

You’re beautiful.

 

I don’t know what I want from you

but I like to think that I do.

 

I do know one thing:

I want to be more.

 

I wish I could spell all my memories out for you,

which of your words I wrap in gold,

but that would use up

all this ink I’m saving for when I eventually tell you.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 2/20/17

Spell Check aka Words That Have Lost Their Meaning (Slam Poetry)

Folder: 
2017

“Brain, spell check my thoughts.”

 

I’ve waited so long to do this because I’ve been busy. Busy, okay? Preoccupied with work, sleep, human interaction, writing, daydreams, reality.

I’ve waited so long to do this because I give too many excuses.

I’ve waited so long to do this because I’m afraid of what I’ll fi-

 

Found: 43 total errors.

 

That was fast.

Finished even faster than the quickest thought of you this week.

I guess that’s not hard to do

when people like to call my head a shrine to your beauty.

 

26 moments of overanalyzing.

 

Okay, that one I expected. I’m surprised there’s not more, probably. I’m more aware than I should be when you sneak up behind me. I’m more aware than I should be of our untold feelings, the ones that have never even been written. I’m more aware than I should be when our secrets are under the same table. I’m more aware than I should be when you lean forward, bracing your weight on connected fists. Now I am even more hyperaware of how often I sit in that same position. I magnify everything, everything, everything, I read the signs before I can see them.

 

8 ideas you shouldn’t have had.

 

Shouldn’t? Who’s to decide what I should and shouldn’t think? I can’t get my mind out of the gutter when you’re around, it’s true. Most of my ideas should be outlined in a mess of green and red by now. I need to get back to the sidewalks, I need to concentrate-

 

6 instances of thinking about harmony, or that song, or a handful of cards with the best people, or lemon juice in an open wound.

 

Crooked red lines run rampant around my head, underlining so many of my thoughts, spell check complaining they shouldn’t be there, my brain thinks they have lost their meaning but to my heart they still carry so much weight, so many colors. I can’t fix myself I can’t stop thinking them I won’t stop thinking them

 

3 flickers of not even your name,

not even overthinking,

not even your initials

or the way you hold yourself,

just you.

 

The unavoidable. I could sift through my head and clear the red off this page, spell checks or bloodstains, until I can’t clear any more and even then it would go like this

 

“Brain, spell check my thoughts.”

 

Found: 43 total errors.

43 flickers of

you.

 

Why did I do this again? Now there’s green and red everywhere, brain.

 

I crumple up half these thoughts. They don’t even deserve to be folded into airplanes before I toss them out so the page is clean.

 

Spell check has put crooked red lines under harmony and that song and a handful of cards with the best people and lemon juice in an open wound, forgetting how those things are intertwined with you, forgetting they exist entirely.

But still I don’t want it to cross out your name.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 2/10/17

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Can Art Forget?

Folder: 
2017

can art forget?

when I hold this page

in my slippery hands

does it lose the muscle memory?

 

when I spill into fragments

and give them a throne

do they remember to hold the scepter

or will you hear the clatter when I’m gone?

 

I will lose what I said years ago

unless I save it,

chocolate under my tongue,

unless breezes don’t blow away these words

and you stay right here with your head in my lap

and I keep scribbling these maybes.

 

maybe my bones will remember the feeling

that for a moment could make this art.

can art forget?

 

I want to map you on my shoulders

in pastel or neon,

I know even if I do it will fade

but if I etch you into everything I leave behind

can art remember?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 2/8/17

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Memory

Folder: 
Haiku

Will you remember?

Or will you just forget me?

Lost to memory.

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Ask Me Why (day 108)

Ask me why this is real

Take your hands out of your pockets

Lift them to the morning sun

so you can soak up the

sliding blue tectonics on the horizon.

 

Ask me why I swear

the moon sings to me

She’s gentle, I love her

more than you’ll ever know but

she brings with her nights where

I can’t shake the loneliness off my back.

 

Ask me why it’s so warm in November

maybe it has something to do with

how you rip the world wide open

with a hint of a smile

I’m burned to my core in your arms

but still not longing for winter.

 

Ask me how one life is

too much and never enough

We all go up in mist

like smoking cannonballs or quiet steam

but only we can choose what to be.

 

Ask me why I’m shaking so much

I have a top-line memory

but it’s all recorded in your voice

and once your voice is gone

what will that mean for me?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 11/13/16

The interview

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Fresh Static (day 98)

There used to be

smoke and gunshots

when I heard your name

Chaos would reign

when I closed my eyes

 

There used to be

the bangs of cannons and

lightning and drums

Now it’s fresh static,

a picture coming loose from its frame

 

I know I should envy the quiet

but I want all the noise in the world

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 10/31/16

Fresh static

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