Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Sometimes I hate myself

It’s so easy in my head. I just say the words and they float away like tired dandelions on the edge of the wind. Perched helplessly on the lips of a gentle breeze, anxiously awaiting that first kiss. But in the real world, where the lights are bright and breezes are seldom, my words hide like field mice. Afraid of their own shadows. And I can only watch as silence floods the land.

Friday, July 24, 2009


I don't know what it is. I start a sentence or two, then hit close without saving. When I was a kid, I had a hard time learning to read. They call is dyslexia now. Back then I just thought I was stupid. But it feels the same. The words moving around, shifting and twitching and changing their positions. I try, but then it all gets too frustrating. Like over sleeping and having to race through the day, trying to make up for lost time.

Or maybe, if I could ever be honest with myself. I’m just scared of what I might have to say.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Chasing words

Nothing to say lately. Which isn’t really true at all. But I’m tired of chasing the words. Like that one last pea on a plate that doesn’t want to be eaten. I stab and miss and eventually decide I’m not hungry anymore.

I suspect ink would still pour out if I were to wound myself. Which I will not do, although the idea is tempting. Forcing words to rhyme is like leading that proverbial horse to water. It’s so easy to believe I’ll never fall out of love while I’m falling. That this thundercloud opera in my chest will still be echoing years from now.

My arms outstretched as I walk the rails. As if my bones were hollow and I could drink endless heartache from the darkening sky. I have no purpose anymore, just presence. Like stars on redundant pedestals. A t-shirt stained with tears. Remembering a time not so long ago when death sat at the kitchen table and I had no fear of immortality. Somehow the world made sense and I could churn out poetry in the name of being alive.