I Thought I Saw You

The mark of a man only lies within the underbelly of his love. As it crawls through the mud and nails on the floor, it takes all of its pain on the most sensitive side. Its skin thickens, its eyes glaze over. It takes no prisoners, but it can also change his life.

He will only see you in white, in red, in black, and in gold. You will shimmer and glow like a pageant of love. You will become his world, his everything. Your job will be to protect the underbelly of his love. That’s the only place you are guaranteed the fact that he will love you forever.

That is, until you kick him and then all bets are off.

How many hearts have been broken?

How many kisses have you stolen?

Is it ever good enough?

Are you ever good enough?

Will the girls that pile up ever be the one.

Or will they pile up and never be done.

Oh so smooth and dreamy, you dreamy boy.

Will you ever think she’s good enough?

Or will I?

There are warning signs of the strength you can hide.

Amongst the cloudy grey.

And you see to it that the world will fit

Into your dark, comical display.

And I won’t mind if you go about spouting

Shakespeare to me.

But in the end, the biggest fault

Will be to terrorize me.

She can smile with the biggest lips you can find. She can gaze at you softly with bedroom eyes. She can tell you that the world will be everything and nothing to you at the same time.  She’s beautiful, but then she’ll reveal what she always hides.

And you’ll kick yourself for believing, that love truly exists. Amongst the shrubbery and bullshit, she’s got you in her grip. She’ll take you and love you and eat you alive. And you’ll just smile and say, “it’s going to be alright.”

Here comes trouble in shapes and forms of shadows on walls and ceilings.
The inhale and exhale of creatures during the night.
What makes the heart irreparable?
What makes the night unforgettable?

We lie against the moonlight to fill the empty spaces on the walls.
We wriggle and jest and pretend it’s all just a mystery of life,
Solved and written and cast into stone.

We won’t ever get it right
We won’t ever get it right
We won’t ever get it right

Here comes the morning like a tiger towards its kill.
Creep up on the sun and pounce on the early bird.
What makes the heart irreparable?
What makes the night unforgettable?

We wait for something, anything to make us bleed.
We lie awake and wonder what will make us believe,
In something, anything. Something, anything.

We won’t ever get it right
We won’t ever get it right
We won’t ever get it right

Get it, right?

I’m finally over the fifty foot hurdle,

But staring in front of me

Is one even larger.

I can’t believe it’s there.

I can’t believe it’s there.

I can’t stay on and bare this thought.

But I run down the gangway

And I hope to God my legs will take flight

And throw me across the hurdle of life

Without giving me back pains

Or a terrible crack in my ribs.

And it cracked.

I can’t breathe

My lungs are punctured by the crack in my ribs

I’ve got bone in my muscles

And fatigue in my legs.

I’ve only been young

For a little bit of time.

I don’t want to be struggling

Until the day I die.

I can’t believe this is happening to me.

I can’t believe this is happening to me.

I can’t believe this was all just a dream.

Shake the earth you ride on, baby.

I’m a commin’ with my hair real long.

Take a hit, and you’ll go flyin’ baby.

The trip, no, you won’t be gone.

Just take a breath

And make the sip the supply, the life, and the lift

You’ll ever gonna need, baby.

In the Perspective of Great Men

She wore her hair down even when it was dirty. She kept her face hidden from those who forgot to dream. She was a miracle in white; a reflection in your window. The kind of woman that stood behind a cause. She stood beside the ones she loved.

She ran through fields of sunflowers, wheat, corn, grass, and trees. She loved the wind and it understood her well; it knew her intimate desires.

“I want to be free,” she would tell the trees.

“I only do what you ask of me.”

She climbed through the world like a bird climbs for hunger. From the tops of trees she dives her beak deep in the ground. She ruminated for some laughter and a bit of nostalgia, but only received what she couldn’t see around her. She had so much passion, but the world kept on smashing it down.

With her last breath, she choked out the cardinal confession. “I want to be free,” she said softly aloud.

And as she gasped with her dying breath, I walked towards her solemnly and said, “I only do what you ask of me.”

You were timid. I wasn’t shy, but you were hesitant. Our eyes met and you bit your lip. I stared back at my dinner. I tried not to blush. I wasn’t shy.

Like a backwards staring contest, we tried to see how long we could go without staring at each other. I felt your glance at me when I took a bite. I felt your smile when I wiped my mouth. I felt your yearning to be my napkin; to taste my lips.

I looked up to see you stare behind me. At the bar. You took a swig of your beer. I watched as the corner of your mouth moistened with the brew. I watched as your throat opened and let the liquid swallow. You placed the glass back down. I smiled. You didn’t see me smile.

We went back to dinner. We tried to stare at each other with no avail. After dinner, we watched as the waiters moved back and forth between the tables like a mouse in an elaborate maze. We paid the check. We said goodnight. I kissed your cheek as we pulled away from our hug. You put your hands in your pocket.

You were timid, but I wasn’t shy.

I’m in love with the morning. The smell and the damp dew on your fingertips. When you walk home from a long night, you find the calm in the sunrise. You feel the beginning of a new day; a new chance. There is no one and nothing that can deter from the morning or the rest of the day. Not yet.

I walked down my street with the cool breeze from the river blowing my hair back. I watched the garbage trucks roll down the street and the slaughterhouse unload a new delivery of chickens. They crowed this early in the morning. They didn’t know what they’ve gotten into.

I raised my arms up in the air and felt the leaves on the trees as birds sung their morning calls. The mist on the branches leave my hands feeling soft after a long day of cleaning and scrubbing and scrounging for sanity in my life.

Then I looked down at my hands. They are rough. They are wrinkled and worn from use. I no longer let someone carry the weight for me. I carry the weight myself, which is evident in my hands.

You can still see a bit of innocence in them, but they aren’t soft. They aren’t delicate any more.

But this morning, the dew kept them moist. Like a newborn baby, my hands were as bright as the dawn.