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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 5 Here’s What I Remember

Here’s what I remember

After all the things you left me:

Memories branded into softened clay.

There is a certain cadence to silence,

Timing steps with exhales

And curling arms into elbows

And too gentle ribs.

There is an art to the madness,

Words bursting through windows and walls,

Hands that grip too tight,

Leaving marks for too long.

Your steps are always leaving,

Dragging sadness and nausea away

Back out into halls that I swore

I would never again visit.

There is a pattern to the lonely,

To the pulling of strings and hairs

And pushing down in imagined misbehavior.

These are lessons I know,

Step forward then backward,

Always to the side,

Be heard but not listened to.

There is a madness to words

Flowing in and out of conversation,

Lessons taught in concrete silences.

There is more of the lesser parts of me,

That I wish I’d never learnt to understand,

To recognize among the chaos.

You always leaving

And me coming back into silences.

There was a beauty to pain,

That never lasted beyond the first lesson

Before it dragged us back into the light

Where glass and nails made forgiveness

Their only weapon.

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 2 Growth/Decay

It's a careful balance on a knife's edge.

.

Swing between hollow and whole,

Twisting paths and tales into hallowed halls,

That cannot remember--

.

You used to be more

Than a jumble of lying scars

-- or so you believed.

.

You would never make it past your expiration date

So why bother?

.

Why sink down roots

There where seeded thoughts

Come to reminisce and die?

.

You cannot be made out of lies,

Because careful confection

Does not suit the bruised edges of your teeth,

And lies only work to tangle

Futures and faiths together in time.

.

Before truth unwinds the mass--

.

"It's not about forgiveness,"

You tell your body with careless swipes

Of unkind thumbs.

.

You come undone,

Festering in silence,

Rotting into dark corners

where the eye cannot reach.

.

Yet, you bloom in equal measure,

Begging the past to finally let go,

The green of your fingertips to listen and stay.

.

You hold--

.

Desperate and (un)true--

For the passing of time to reclaim you,

To paint you back into vibrant blues and roses.

.

You wither,

And

Yet

You grow.

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 10 I’m Worried About Her

The way she holds onto breathing

Like she can’t tell

That it won’t make a difference

In the end.

It might be concerning,

To remember that most of what she

Knows comes from subtle corners

Too soft to be forgotten

But candy floss recollections

Fade quickly under the cool rain.

They sink too deep

For rosy summer eves to really touch

The scars they leave behind

Under tired excuses

Slowly pushed to the side,

Too wired and careful

To look at all she hides

Under endless laughter

And water chipped smiles.

She tells me with soured pleasantries,

That everything will be fine

While her hands grip at the corners

Of everything

That might ever bring her peace.

I’m worried about her.

I don’t think she understands why.

#thought cabinet #my stuff #barely even writing #my own #my writing #I own this #writer has anxiety and will post old poems in queue to avoid further anxiety #escapril #poem #poetry #poems #writing #escapril 2021 #bad relationships #diana #day 10 #queue #I'm probably at work and struggling #wish I was here

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 9 Paradox

Was I conditioned to hate you

The same way I was to love you?

Inevitably,

Like sweet droplets of rain

On too warm windshields

Gathering in senseless rivers

Leading everywhere and nowhere.

Unawares, perhaps

Incidental, maybe

By some happenstance

Of situational context.

Were we made to cling to each other

Like pollen on dandelion seeds?

Did you fall gently,

Or did you go too far

Out there out of reach

In peaceful quiet

Where nothing else would ever touch you

Did we stray too far

Out of sunlight and anger

Until sweet words

And careless disposition

Dared to paint our walls a deeper green

In sadness.

When did we fall out of love,

You think?

Where and why?

Was it simply the quiet?

Or were we made to hate each other

The same way we were dragged into loving?

Awful, hopeful, terrible and quiet.

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 8 Tessellation

They exist fractured into little pieces,

Reflecting light and loneliness

Out into everyone watching.

A kaleidoscope of dread,

A beacon and a warning

Wrapped into gentle and tender beginnings.

It all looks better under sunset eyes,

Shadows dipping in and out of shameful secrets

And corners cutting gentle into a good night.

They dip carelessly into motions,

Swaying and spinning in circles

Clinging onto hands and shoulders

That never promise anything other than here and now.

It’s all a performance,

Fitting pieces and memories

Into a broken mosaic where dreams go to die

Deep into careful nights

And regretful connections.

They move in silence,

Calling attention out and in,

Sides clashing and clicking together

Until there is nothing left but an incomplete picture--

It is silence, and hours, and days, and nights

Snapping into place with practiced motions

Rehearsed and only meant for violent nights.

It all looks better until sunrise,

When light flickers off fractured edges that tear and pull

All the lies away.

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 7 Naked

He is forever leaving, in silence

Pulling pieces of normality

Into ragged cavities in his body,

Skin pulled tight and aching.

He is always moving,

Hands wide open and lips stretched

Into a facsimile smile.

He is a promise of a good time,

He's bare open and aching,

Always waiting for more and else

And never here to stay.

He is broken open and uneven,

Inked skin and pierced laughter.

He is forever more than he appears,

Always less in the waking hours

That pool sleepless hours

Into perfect promises and dreams.

He walks in uneven steps,

Wishing for something to cut off the edge

Of words and remembrance.

He is forgotten and alone,

Breaking into soundless laughter

Tired cries in the middle of the cacophony.

He is naked and unbound,

Pulling lies to cover up the ugly side

Of promises that could never last.

He is restless and hopeless,

Stuck in between two different thoughts.

He is a promise of a bared past

Too tired for his hands to hold.

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 6 Lonely

Please tell me there’s a way out

That I’m not all that there will be

That more than this is yet to come

God, I’m just so lonely,

Stuck in between two different thoughts

I am an echo

Bursting out of terrible days and nights

I am lonely,

Only reaching out when the inside

Has already run dry.

I am a repeated thought of anger.

There has to be more than this,

There has to be more than awful quiet nights

And half-remembered dreams of fields

And the beautiful quiet.

Only pushing doors closed and never open

Barricading windows and floors

And lingering always there in the wreckage.

There has to be more than this,

There has to

More than thoughts and rambling anger

More than bitten lips and chipped nails.

Please tell me there a way out of forgiveness

Out of tallies and scorch marks,

Another drink, another lie.

A glass tumbling out of cold-numbed hands.

God, I’m just so lonely.

Please show me the way out.

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 4 Ghost

He remains like an echo,

Unaware of the people

That listen to his memory

Ricocheting off of cool concrete walls

And far too faded wooden floors.

He lingers like the aftermath of dreaming,

Barely there and forever leaving

Slipping through cracks on pavement

A whisper kissed on cheeks.

He rests,

Careless and unburdened

By the wreck he’s left behind,

Carved like sandstone

And paper trails.

He hangs there

Suspended mid-motion

For not one to see,

To witness and listen, and wait.

He holds on for nothing,

No one.

The idea of romantic longing

Nothing but a laughable wrongness,

A promise of broken things to come.

He lingers like nothing will ever leave him

Unchained and tainted.

He washes away like thoughts

At the bottom of a well.

He drifts off and away,

Unaware and careless

Like disappointment is all

That was ever meant for him.

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 3 Empty

There is nothing

Holding you down,

Adrift in the middle of the spinning room.

There is no one calling out

To the emptiness

Dragging feet and nails

Through the sand that trickles

Down your spine

There is nothing there.

Lying on your back,

Hand stretched outward and in

Failing to grasp onto anything at all.

You cannot see.

There is nothing there

But the empty thoughts

Better left unspoken

At the bottom of shattered glass.

There is nothing,

You see

Frozen in a second

of weightless wonder

There is only this and nothing else,

Fingers stretched out,

Lips pulled into a careless smile.

There is nothing left

Over the ceaseless calling

Of a finite drop.

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 2 The Exact Middle

He meets you halfway,

Right where the bones cut

And the glass sinks sweeter

Into deeper kisses.

He lets you know

With fingers that cut

And eyes constantly pulling

And swaying away

Away

He drags you back to the middle point

Today but not always

Dragging fingers and lips down paths

That unkindness has sown

Into arms and legs

Without asking

You deserve it,

You know?

This return of favors

You’ve forced upon others.

He walks you back to the beginning,

Every time

Where it all started

And where you are going to end.

It will all be the same,

You’re sure.

He lingers,

Careless to you

In the blink of a careful breath

The release of a twisted knife.

You’re meant to meet him halfway,

You know how this is supposed to go.

It will end at the beginning,

You’re aware.

So you meet him halfway there,

At the release of a breath.

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 1 Ego

It comes to you easier than breathing,

And lighter than any silence.

It’s light footsteps

Over hardwood floors

And reaching for forgiveness

With fingers curled tightly

Into sweat-soaked palms

It’s all of this

And nothing

Clinging onto old wounds

That will soon mean nothing

It comes to you in quiet waves,

And half-started conversations.

You’re so much better than this,

Soaring higher at places

And sinking deeper than saltwater.

Because you swore you would never be echoes

On silent halls

Never remembered words in deep longing

You are better than this:

Wide careless smiles

And eyes that call out to begging

And pleasing

And noise over silence

Slick palms

Warm mouths

You rest

Clean and unforgiving

A blade of grass

Hurtful yet unassuming

It comes easy for you,

This forgetting

This silence

It seeps quieter than alcohol

In tired veins

It’s easier than this.

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 30 Dusk

This is where you grew,

Sunlight carefully touching down on clear water

That smooths down the edges of everything it touches.

You wondered a couple of times,

If you’d laid there long enough

Would it clean you up as well?

If sand and water can wipe the anger out metal,

And bloom shores with colorful stones,

Why wouldn’t it paint sunsets on your back?

The light goes down,

But you never go down with it.

Instead, you rise

Higher, and higher

Until sun kissed fingertips

Can caress the edges of the stars.

Let the moon shine over all of your sins,

Make them clear and gentle to the night,

So the ocean can see the paths it needs to fill

The wounds it must steer clear off.

You were born here,

Suspended in time,

Perpetually waiting for the night to come

For the sun to set and the wind to blow.

You were careless here,

Fell in and out of love with a memory

That would never fade.

You allowed yourself to believe

That sunrises would always mean farewell

And only midnight could let your feelings bloom.

But you couldn’t really know,

Could you?

That by flicking your feelings away,

You were dooming your heart to misremember,

To always ache and leave by dawn.

You were waiting for the night, dear

But it was always the morning that would set you really free.

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 29 Monochrome

The first version you ever write,

Is never the last.

Then how can you expect to find solace

In simple joyful steps of rehearsals.

The final dance is never the last,

Coasting through broken fairytales

And punching out the stars.

You will never be half the hopes

You expected to

But you will always be so much more

Than those careful little starts.

You cannot know

You can’t

That you are tracing sunsets

Into the hollows of our cheeks

And wondering where

Wondering why and how and what

If anything

If at all

Forgiveness will come,

Unadulterated and unannounced

To drag you back into its cheap embrace

Across waterlogged dwellings.

You were never meant to be the final version

So why can you not allow yourself

To be free?

Black and white,

In the middle of countless shades of gray

Can you not settle down for this?

Could the silence be enough?

Resting careless and quiet,

Against the unsurmountable black pools

Of remembrance and false starts.

You were never meant to be the first,

To linger and stay.

So please,

Can you lay back down?

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 28 Body as a Weapon

Please mind the roaring tides,

The gaps between ribs, so tender and blue.

Keep your distance,

Feet set apart and fingers curled

Into sweat slicked palms.

When he moves,

The world's been taught to hold its breath,

Not out of fear or anger,

But because it has learnt that his bones need time

To remember where they can settle down

Without pain.

He will never find solace in the agony

Of making someone else feel

The grinding of bones,

The halting of time.

He will lie to you, to himself and the quiet,

And braid his own pain through his stories

Until they cannot know

That it's his chest cracked open

And dripping sadness.

He will use his body as a weapon,

Distraction and conjured up misdirection.

Hands twisted and numb,

Bitter cold.

He will sway with the wind,

And make it look like a warning,

Snarling teeth and glassy eyes.

He will not lie.

Misdirection tastes sweet on his lips,

But he cannot fathom the storm of deception.

He will, instead

Allow you to see the cracks

Others have put down on his skin

As testimony of the violence he can survive.

Please mind the roaring tides,

While they hide the sweet center

An ocean of calm.

Be gentle around healing ribs,

their cracks tender and open.

Do not let him lie,

Don't be fooled by the angers

So many have written down on his skin.

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 27 Fight or Flight

I guess it was a promise, perhaps.

Cat’s cradles turning inward and southways,

Until you’d sown your lips shut

And told yourself it wasn’t forthcoming.

You didn’t want this,

Not again, not here, not now, not likely.

Feeding off the new flames,

And make your heart ache with the need to--

You’d sworn off touching and holding,

Because permanence has always meant heartbreak

And you’ve already been taught that your heart,

Though golden and beautiful,

Will always bear the marks of those that have dropped it.

It was the natural response, I guess.

To flee before the whole world catches on fire,

To pretend, if only for a little while,

That you did not need the sweet embrace of new life.

But it never works like that, my dear.

You were made to move forward,

To keep on trying and fighting the tides.

You were made lonesome in anger,

And quiet in displeased fights.

But you always found a way

A light, the sun, the stars shining bright.

Would you run?

Would you fight?

You promised yourself that once was enough,

That you would not try.

But when sunlight comes knocking,

Rasping knuckles on the side of doors,

You know that you must answer its sweet call.

Because nothing ever comes for you,

Nothing pulls at your guts the way misfortune does.

So would you let it keep calling?

Or will you open up your eyes and fly?

#thought cabinet #my stuff #writer has anxiety and will post old poems in queue to avoid further anxiety #escapril #poem #poetry #poems #writing #my writing #escapril 2020 #borrowed stories #Lart #Bert McDowell #Bert Miller #Today I'm thinking about Lars #Lars Bennett #queue #I'm probably at work and struggling #wish I was here

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barelyevenwriting · 10 months

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Day 26 Serpentine

I’m not good at it,

I’m not.

I mostly just let it all drip away,

Move in circles and then hide under ropes.

It’s like walking down a river,

Trying to pick up stones and hiding under basking spots.

I’m not really good at anything at all.

You see,

There are patterns to be taught,

Things you can understand to know the difference.

There are way to tell,

If it’s poison, if it’s not.

If the creature slithering before you

Can help you reach your doom.

But I’m hapless and dumb,

And I can never tell the difference

Between beckoning fingers and warning signs.

I can’t help you

Drag yourself out of that road

Where you tied yourself down in

Stupid suppositions.

There were ways to tell if we would make it,

Ways to tell that pulling really meant locking down.

But I’m not good at all,

And I could not tell

That the silver strings we’d been pulling

Has been coated in pulverized glass.

So I could not see,

The dead bodies we left,

As we slithered away.

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