these hot summer days my palms are black from climbing trees and digging dirt,
burying the stuff i dug out of my pockets
like pocket change
a rusty paperclip or a safety pin,
some wet fireworks i never lit, but meant to ages ago.
today i forgot my multiplication table,
but i can read more words than i ever could,
biking down this narrow street,
downhill,
feet on peddle,
mouth open,
leaves getting caught in my hair and hair getting caught in this delicious breeze.
27 June 2009
12 June 2009
276
this feeling is so quiet in the pit of my stomach,
it lacks light and red and colours that only a dumb girl can taste.
when i cover my ears and pretend to be her,
i can only see more details (instead of taste, you know what i mean),
like the baby lines in the palm of your hands and those creases between your eyebrows when you frown at me and knit them, telling me my age is not what i act.
hum hum humming amplified from your open mouth,
i want to put mine over, to hold it there and hold your breath,
so that what you lack will not appear then suddenly disappear,
and that water will not wash away the tattoos i've carved in your eyelids when you cry that say "gloria misses you gloria misses you gloria misses you" three hundred times magnified by green glass.
this time i put my hands over my ears i cannot make it the same as before,
and i do not know what drips from between my limbs anymore...
i just know i am not going to fall back and land in the snow that has helped me get to sleep the last few days.
it lacks light and red and colours that only a dumb girl can taste.
when i cover my ears and pretend to be her,
i can only see more details (instead of taste, you know what i mean),
like the baby lines in the palm of your hands and those creases between your eyebrows when you frown at me and knit them, telling me my age is not what i act.
hum hum humming amplified from your open mouth,
i want to put mine over, to hold it there and hold your breath,
so that what you lack will not appear then suddenly disappear,
and that water will not wash away the tattoos i've carved in your eyelids when you cry that say "gloria misses you gloria misses you gloria misses you" three hundred times magnified by green glass.
this time i put my hands over my ears i cannot make it the same as before,
and i do not know what drips from between my limbs anymore...
i just know i am not going to fall back and land in the snow that has helped me get to sleep the last few days.
11 June 2009
275
i wonder what made you this way,
shy and afraid, you look south instead of north, and east instead of west.
i have to follow you while carrying dirt,
hidden by flowers, growing through the cracks
of my back,
showing you things i like in our track.
and who told you to leave me unattended?
where's our bucket?
which way is to the gold?
who told you to tell me those funny funny things and make me laugh,
when my body is so obviously deformed from chasing you,
so obviously tired?
"i know we must belong outside," i say, i don't care (or think) if it's dangerous.
can you sing a song?
you were holding my hand all along,
and i had to follow you carrying dirt,
because, this here, outside is where we belong.
shy and afraid, you look south instead of north, and east instead of west.
i have to follow you while carrying dirt,
hidden by flowers, growing through the cracks
of my back,
showing you things i like in our track.
and who told you to leave me unattended?
where's our bucket?
which way is to the gold?
who told you to tell me those funny funny things and make me laugh,
when my body is so obviously deformed from chasing you,
so obviously tired?
"i know we must belong outside," i say, i don't care (or think) if it's dangerous.
can you sing a song?
you were holding my hand all along,
and i had to follow you carrying dirt,
because, this here, outside is where we belong.
08 June 2009
274
well, these feelings are oozing out of my knee,
i am tightly squeezed like a tangerine,
in a glass, waiting for a hand to grab me
and drink my blood clean, before i turn nineteen.
my life is a book, too long to read,
i think i am boring, i think i mislead,
and out of the jacket, a spring bird sings,
and she will stay there - i've clipped her wings.
there are these summer fruits i love to eat,
peel them open and reveal the sweet,
they sit in my throat and make me feel complete,
like love would under the summer heat.
i am tightly squeezed like a tangerine,
in a glass, waiting for a hand to grab me
and drink my blood clean, before i turn nineteen.
my life is a book, too long to read,
i think i am boring, i think i mislead,
and out of the jacket, a spring bird sings,
and she will stay there - i've clipped her wings.
there are these summer fruits i love to eat,
peel them open and reveal the sweet,
they sit in my throat and make me feel complete,
like love would under the summer heat.
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