schizoidali
bones crackling.
minds numbing.
the thoughts of youth succumbing
to ancient days
of tooth decay
and rambling chats on porch swings
with tea in hand
and babies at your feet
wondering how your toes curve and bend
into the warped wood beneath them.
like bras on a mermaid
or armor on a slug
they crack
and slacken
and enact a sense
of false security
in a world full of dull prince charmings
and too heavy boots
clambering on wet pavement
after a rainstorm of regrets.
My shoulders are strung to the ceiling with tape that you place there before you were gone.
My head's come unstrung and I feel so unsung with the thoughts that I know are deep in there.
I can't write this song; the melody's bare; the chords aren't strung along with a purpose.
The sweater's on the floor.
The cats found the errant thread.
Now the sweater's become
a vest.
I ate up all the food.
The cupboards are all so bared.
Now the kitchen's become
a graveyard.
knitting all along with the thread hanging low and the cats keep unraveling the sleeves. this sweater's getting ruined and the floor is a mess but i keep going and keep going all the same.
Like goosebumps
lifted on your arm
or razor burn
on the inside of your thigh
rough and raw
raised and reticent
you slept
and fought
and loved
and stopped
until your heart warmed to the challenge.
The motivation is there. The words are lying just beneath the skin, resting above veins like so much subdermal fat. Tearing it open and screaming it to the skies with dull blades and toothpicks is the only way to get it out and to heal.
Carved. Emblazoned. Decorated. Hung. Dead. Cold. Magnetic. Poised. Grasped. Turned. Translated. Corrected. Used. Cobbled.
It seems like what was secret to my heart was known to everyone else's. It seems like the truth I wanted was unknown to everyone else. It seems that the thoughts I felt were goosebumps to everyone else. It seems like what I loved was what everyone else hated.
They were all about the room, plastered in sad arrays to celebrate the aging and the dying and the wilting all around. The cats tore them down and batted them about the floor. The joy was magnetic.
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writing since 2010 · 21 entries · 19 days shown up
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the words Annie reaches for
nowthoughtslyingbeepcatsfloorsweater'swishlongerjoymindhungdyingmotivationwordssupport