It Came From Outer Space…

Warning: a rare warning on this one because it contains coarse language. I found this as I was going through an archive of a now closed blog. It was originally written in October of 2008.

You Did Not but You Did

You did not bear me,
But you wore me down.
You did not break me,
But I’m fractured all the same.
You did not kill me,
Yet you buried me with lies.
You did not fuck me,
But you screwed me over.

I can tell that my creativity is definitely returning. The other night I wrote the first poem that I’ve written in several years.

I hear your words in my head
Picking away at my clarity
They have no place in me any more
For so long everything shadowed
Behind your diabtribe
Not even in the same country
And still you’re there

Never happy

I have to let you go
Move beyond this
or you will get louder
That’s what happens
When you ignore someone

I don’t want your words
Even an apology — what would that do?

I wrote this around Thanksgiving 2004 after witnessing my grandfather’s last moments. Magee was his and my step-father’s nickname for each other.

Mist fills the glass
Once twinkling bright
Leather once pink
bruised grape paper
Claw grips tightly
Squeezing me raw
I am without moisture
but weep
Callous, I am
helpless unable
spiraling rapid
caught in your tornado

This was written around the end of 2004 beginning of 2005. My fiance and I were trying to plan a wedding while he was in the Police Academy and working part time and I was working full time and doing grad school part time. We barely saw each other and when we did we were often very snippy.

Running and scraping by…
We brush each other but never…
Connection is a fleeting…
Passage of wakefulness…
Even tide and shore meet more…
…
I could not understand your cry
I could not will my
self
If we were on a different world
Perhaps things could be un
done
I do not wish to be this way
I do not want to hear you
say
Maybe if it is alright
I can be with you tonight

I went on one of those magnetic poetry sites and this was inspired by some of the phrasing that was coming out. Written some time last year.

I met my tumbling dream thief
below this night float
worrying with my day cloud;
your river so gentle
each ocean jumps from hated tears.

I swept the rumbling tear thief
under the purple moonside
Truffling, scuffling, ruffling
the wire so torrid

The help beneath the saving grace.

This was written in mid 2005 about a relationship with a friend that was on the skids. She and I were not talking because of some things that I will not get in to and she called, and this came out of my head after the conversation.

To say or not to say
To breath or hold
That
break
in time
between the speech
and the a n s w e r
do I say? scream? break?
do I cry?
do I ask why?
Breath. Breath.
Close your eyes.
Please say something.
Speak.
You have to.
Silence.
Silence is worse.
Silence means displeasure.
Silence means it’s over.
You have to take that second step.
She took the first.

It’s over…
…that hanging over the precipice feeling
hung out to d r y
pendulum caught upswing
h e l d o n t o o l o n g
the journey itself still…
…waits
path mapping as we go
but now–
now the task is clear
downward swing approaches
we can begin

Deep down inside it was a given,
Journeys that have criss-crossed so many times,
Cannot be negated by one
complete
and utter
f*ck up?
sometimes however a path,
should be cut and broken,
bale-fired and laid to rest,
knowing which is which
that is the true test.

This was originally written when I was in college, about my now ex. I have tried to pare it down some so that it is less fully of whine and hopefully conveys the image more succinctly.

I cry icy tears that burn my eyes,
This weakness holds you strong around me,
A sanctuary I remember fondly
Embracing wave,
inside a fountain,
beside a waterfall,
despite my innocence we proved wise,
despite conversation we remained
yet now desolate again

It’s funny how lost love tends to cause poetry but also how it tends to cause sucky poetry that has to be improved once the emotion is less fully active.

I’m not sure when I originally wrote this one. It’s been sitting around for a while. It’s an exploration of accepting positive feelings.

Caught in the tangle,
Move me folded in on you,
I am within, without,
You have me deep
No exceptions.
My heart in your chest.
I can be clear crystal
Now I have eyes
I will answer your call.

I have a fascination for Death and death imagery, and I was writing a website in 2002 that was going to involve things like that and I wrote this for the sidebar.

I have been quick.
I have been clean.
I have been creeping.
I have been keen.

Slip through the cracks,
Answer my scheme,
I can be wicked,
And I have been

This was written back in 1998-1999 when I was trying to make sense of certain past life memories, again one that I pared down. I was fond of beating a dead horse with extra lines of, frankly, crap, back in the day.

Why do I feel such a void in my soul?
Why am I pulled towards you?
Past connections should have ended there
What twist of bonds causes it to resurface
Many centuries later in the wrong body?