This Carousel

I fell in love under glow-in-the-dark stars plastered to my cousin’s ceiling. Her walls were light blue but the ceiling was dark and covered in constellations. I remember holding your hand and smoking cigarettes and kissing until my lips hurt. The stars and smoke and your hot breath on my neck.

You fell in love a few years later while we sat on a beach 3000 miles from where we started. On the sand, your fingers twined with mine, you fell knowing that this moment would blink out, flicker, and die in a matter of days, but you fell anyway just like I did staring up at those fake stars only days before you left the first time.

We fell in love so long ago and we both thought it was over as we plucked out messages and emails and friend requests and blocked sites. But then it wasn’t. You heard my tears just like I heard your voice turn soft and deep, that tone that meant you were feeling,scared but feeling, the way you sounded so long ago. And I knew it would be different this time, that you would find courage to tell me you love me anyway, even though things aren’t the way we’d hoped, but I was wrong because you ran.

And now we are on a carousel in a floating circus and I can never catch you because my horse is tied down and your’s won’t turn around so we’re trapped in memories of sand and imaginary constellations that we will never catch. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop fighting.

~Patience~

Facebook
Twitter

Pen Pals

I keep seeing these things
about writing letters
or pen pals and stamps,
and my fingers itch
and my heart cries out
for pen and paper,
the rough plane
of the sheet
and the weight of it
filling my hands and heart
with so many words,
oh so many words
that need speaking
and saying
but I type instead.
It’s as if typing
makes them less real,
these faltering poems
plastered here for all,
but a letter,
a real one
like I used to send,
that’s a message
irreversible,
one I can’t reread
and wonder how
you’re understanding
my words,
one that actually
gets to touch your fingertips
and taste the tears
you spill on its pages.
I want to write one
but then I’d have to send it
and I’m not yet sure
if I’m ready to wait
for a response
that will never come,
to once again
have a pen pal
who doesn’t write back.

~Patience~

Facebook
Twitter

At Once

You are so fragile,
so broken already
that I couldn’t imagine
if you were to fall again.
Perhaps you would
shatter and splinter
all over the floor,
pools of pieces
scattered and ineffably ruined.
There you would stay,
fodder for soles
to crunch
under their heels,
and I wonder
how it is
that you look so strong
when you are really
just glass
waiting to be cracked
and discarded.
How do you stay
that man in my mind,
that man
who grabbed me
and pulled me to him
with hands
as well as voice?
How do I
at once
see you as power
and passion
but also pain
and fear?
Why is it
that we are always
two things
at once
but never just
one,
clear person?
We are both broken
and whole
and it would be strange
to talk to you now,
to see you
in flesh and blood,
standing there
near enough to touch,
because we are
at once
those people we were
who called
and dreamed
and walked on beaches
and wrote love in the sand
but also these people
who know years
of without
and with other,
two people
who have lived a lifetime
wishing to go back
and to
at once
finally say
stay.

~Patience~

Facebook
Twitter

Revolution

Wrapped in a bow,
everything
neat and tidy.
With a cherry on top even,
and I wonder why
I hate these phrases,
why humans
don’t realize
that bows are meant
for tying
and keeping
and binding.
We think pretty packages
in straight little rows
will make things
feel right
and normal.
But we’re wrong.

I want to start
a revolution,
make things
messy and cluttered,
the way life is,
the way it’s meant to be.

Sure,
I love how bows
can turn plain
into perfect,
and that’s what
we claim to want,
but what I want
is dirty
and complicated
and unkempt.

I want late night fights
and long morning talks.
I want the pain
to make the love burn deeper.
I don’t want
tidy or neat
because we were never
what perfect
is supposed to look like.
We were
scandal
and rush
and blood
and dirt.
We weren’t
shiny paper
and curling string.

We were more
because
we were real.

~Patience~

Facebook
Twitter

Tiny

I keep imagining
someone telling you
about these writings,
these little whispers of love
I spill to the world.
I say that I am anonymous,
but that’s sort of a untrue.
You can find me
if you’re savvy enough.
I’m not
so anonymity
is a joke.

But still.

And I’ve told some people
who know you
but don’t really know us,
so they could say
something
or nothing
and some strangers I’ve met here
know my name
and I wonder
if one of them
knows you,
but that’s untrue too.

I want you to read
because I don’t know
how to say these huge things
so I write tiny poems
that explode on tiny screens
and maybe
if someone showed them to you,
I could make you understand.
But then again,
my words could turn into
the bombs
they were designed for,
and destroy
this tiny hope
inside them.

~Patience~

Facebook
Twitter

Melancholy

The gray
clouds my eyes
and your letters
tumble to the floor,
my fingers
forgetting
to clutch
what I keep losing.
Melancholy midnights
collapse on
sad Saturdays
and cold coffee,
and these misty memories
sink in the mud
around those trees
we planted with our dreams.
I am sorrow
tied with brown string,
and you carry
pockets full of words
you don’t know exist.
My wishes for you
don’t add up
to enough stars
to light up the dark,
and sometimes
I’m buried
in permanent images
of echoes,
and they bounce
and break
just like my heart.
But I still wish
and hope
these pieces
can find their way home
and back to your arms
so the sad disappears
and I can forget
what it’s like
to miss you.

~Patience~

Facebook
Twitter

The In Betweens

It smells like summer outside,
that warm scent of nature
mixed with the coolness
of the late-setting sun.
It’s now,
in between day and night,
when you are closer than ever,
when I can hear your laughter
echoing back to me
through forests and hills,
settling in my ears
and forcing goosebumps
up my arms.
It’s at these times
between winter and spring,
between spring and summer,
where I feel you more.
We’ve always inhabited
these in between places,
these half moments
and partway memories.
Ours has never been
one to be whole
and tired out.
Ours was always
ephemeral,
fleeting,
scarce,
these minutes
where you loved me,
where the world
was just the backdrop
and we were our own stars
bouncing away
from the golden horizon.
It’s now
when I realize
the loss of those seconds
that could have quadrupled
into infinities
where the in betweens
were all
and the stars
never burned out.

~Patience~

Facebook
Twitter

Insanity

Seriously! What is my fucking problem? Honestly, if I were outed, if real people knew about this obsession, I would be jailed, handcuffed and hauled away because I am certifiable, insane, wacko, and that’s only the tip of the iceberg, as they say. I really wonder if other people feel like me, as if the world were ending, crumbling into bits under their feet, and all the while, they try to save it, salvage something from the ashes, but ashes crumble too. Do people feel this very deeply,
Continue reading

Cruel Silence

You say you try
not to hurt those you love,
those who love you.
I wonder then
if you realize
the cruelty
in your silence,
the evil in your quiet?

I know it’s to protect you,
to keep safe
your delicate heart
from rupturing with finality,
from shattering your world
into eternity
and scattering your bits
across universes
not yet found.

But what I don’t know is
if you understand
what it’s doing to me.
Do you know
how I am
sliced
and jagged
because of you?
Do you know
how your back and forth
does nothing
but stretch and pull
until I am nothing
but rubber and plastic,
worn out and useless?

If you knew,
things might be different.
They might be beautiful.
But if you know,
then how can you let
the torture continue?
How can you allow
the words to hang
in between us,
never spoken,
never voiced,
so that I endlessly crumble
into nothing?

~Patience~

Facebook
Twitter

Puzzle Pieces

Patience:

Another reblog for your enjoyment!

~Patience~

Facebook
Twitter

Originally posted on loveletterstoaghost:

image

We are all made
of different parts,
stuck up with
glue and
tape and
tack.
Each of us beautiful
in the disorder
of our mingled pieces
chipped from moments
of our pasts,
our futures,
our presents.
I am cracked paint
and blue walls,
broken streetlights
and faded car rides
towards nothing in particular.
I have a piece
of you
sewed to my heart
and a part
of him too.
There is a spot
for every moment
in between
here and
then and
years into the distance.
We are this tapestry,
this collage
of frozen
moving pictures
wrapped in layers of
bone and
skin and
smiles and
pain.
We are all at once
and nothing again.
Each part
creates our puzzle,
each heartbreak
illustrates our soul.

View original