inky-handed phen

one time that was different than

every other time,

because before this once upon

a miracle

there were so many other

embraces smiles jokes memories monuments near-catastrophes of 

bursting secrets,

and before this singular singularity in the bustling busy

desperation of day-to-day, there were too many

moonbeams to count,

but i wished on them all anyway.

all at once and together, there

was one time

that was the one millionth time but

it felt like the first time, and there were sparks

out of our mouths that singed the

past and ignited the future bursting

through our lips and our hearts

once upon a time. 

—-

here on hitrecord

xxc

i get sad and weary
over things that do not
and have not ever
really mattered.

my hands remember every
heartache like they all had a texture,
and i can’t shake
it even though my insecurities
are unimportant,
or so i am told:
you’re not fat you’re beautiful
you’ll meet someone someday
stop feeling lonely!

i can’t always just smile through
the stinging questions
and remind myself that i
am wondrous on my own —

if i am so great
why no one has ever wanted
to love me.

i thought being in space

would be more perfect

than any of my very

beautiful dreams.

but now i am just alone.

seven billion lives bustling

at my feet,

and an infinity

of unknown wrapping

its arms tightly

around me

and my body is just 

dissolving

into the blackness.

i thought i would feel at home

because i am returning 

my bones to the stars

that gave them to me,

but i am missing that familiar chaos,

it is taking the air out of my lungs.

—-

I’m a big fan of *SPACE*, as I think a lot of people know very well, but part of that admiration is also a fear, so i wanted to write about someone leaving Earth to GET AWAY from it all (personal space?) but realizing that being alone (how devastatingly lonely it must be out there) was not the answer.

xxc

here on hitrecord

i am burning up, afloat on dreams

twisting stories between my fingers

and holding on,

biting the insides of my cheeks

to keep from overflowing.

my head is brimming with warm,

flowery, perfumed air,

all that yellow light behind my eyes,

that starshine,

fading haziness of late-houred 

heat.

you are singing on windowsills

and your voice is filled with

bursting light like sunrise,

lounging and laughing

with your heart made of secrets,

your eyes are

what longing feels like. 

you carry the very violent sadness

of rainstorm-brewed august afternoons

cradled in your defiant hands.

you are,

i am,

bruised and alone.

we falter below the night sky,

too tired to be stubborn.

we will kiss 

the words to each other,

we will un-board our mouths,

exalt in the never-said. 

we were not made for these

bizarre and poisoned lives.

20 may 13

just realized that I’ve posted 100 new poems since beginning this blog
^_^ yay milestones awesome

edit: so that means 100 new poems since January 2012! 

your lungs do not have the capacity

for such heavy sadness —

the spasms of breath, the thunderstorm

downpour of tears, the gasps and sighs

and loud, ragged anxiety in the darkness —

regain your composure before

the sun rises,

and make sure you don’t suffocate while

sleeping.