greymatter
Tables, tables
The maze, a labyrinth
The man with the shirt that says;
Beans not war. stands up.
The swarm begins for the
tables, tables, emptying.
The cup-carrying, waiting for
tables, tables.
He takes his cups placed
precariously one on top of the
other, the others, swarming
he's left his table and they jump
put their things down as if to claim
the tables, tables, to rest their
wary caffeine-soaked
tired and, exhausted to the core
bones.
from the days and days of
waiting, for tables.
I created something beautiful today
a monster (in a way)
lipstick smeared across my cheek
(I was scared-
of myself)
Mascara thick and black
something like a beauty queen
wrecked and tossed around
thrown out the door.
I created something beautiful today
can't find my makeup remover.
Can't seem to get rid of it.
It seems to me that the things that are most common are some of the things that are the hardest to appreciate. The sunrise (I just can't get up) or the stars (I'm just so tired) and... mm the air, the flowers, and some days I just have to remind myself how god awfully small I am.
he reached through his hair
slicked back with gel
plucking each strand as he went
(spike, spike, spike)
jake, the boy with the hair.
the things that make you fall in love
when you're a little kid.
when I was little I used to carry around a ribbon with me
slipping it between my fingers
rubbing it back and forth
(security blanket)
every month going to the fabric store
eying the bundles and bundles of
velvet, running my fingers across the fabric
being able to choose something that would
without a doubt
comfort me, and
(life was simpler)
my finger tips like to
slide in between the sand
and wonder, deliriously,
on the edge of of the heat,
the bones - people- things
sweat- crabs- fish- trees
all matters of the world that have
wound themselves up
grated themselves down
and found themselves under
my finger tips.
when I was little we went to the beach and
lost in the wind, the grass swayed and
I was gone, somewhere beyond the bushes
tossing and turning in the grains
a man grabbed my hand and he
looked down at me and said
let's find where you belong.
bleach
wash it all away in a sea of white and
burning my eyes, stinging, tearing up
cleaning it all away.
I reach towards the bottle and motion
"Don't drink"
and
"Not for children"
and
these other things you don't find out until
you're too old to care.
wedding whites and pearls
pinks and peaches
she swings around hung limply on your arm
a waltz, a waltz,
to a song she's been singing in her head
a sigh escapes her lips as a sign it's
never what she imaged.
fist pumping in the air
flags lining the cement
dripping, snow cone, ice
shaved of my freedoms as they shout
faggot. slut. whore. lies
wearing the rainbow and
wondering where to stand
how to sit
what I'm doing wrong
today, this moment
fist pumping in the air
I'm still here
(not going anywhere)
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