It's spinning faster around me
This world I've made for myself.
Decision after decision
Each one more wrong than the last
Could you offer me a cup of coffee
And a heartfelt hug?
Perhaps some decent grammar
A look into your life.
I want a faith that moves mountains
I want you and me
I want beauty that loves me back
When I gaze at my reflection.
Those days I loved
Blasting Jimmy Eat World and dollar tree deals
The moon makes me want to dance
Disco in the sky
Will you dance with me, baby?
Why is it always first person?
A subconscious need
To be the center of attention.
You need my attention.
But are you seducible?
I'll take that as a yes.
It's spinning faster
These lives we've made
And I'm still here.
Where are you?
Friday, August 31, 2007
Saturday, June 9, 2007
A fair lady
Beautiful girls wear dresses.
This was my thought the other night as I wandered under antique chandeliers that flooded the ballroom of my imagination with warm, inviting light. My fingers ran over the foreign texture of the walls almost subconsciously, like a little child reaching out for anything new and exciting looking. The colors criss crossed each other up the massive walls and the Worchestor began to play. I could hear it from the lobby as I swung my embroidered evening bag from hand to hand and tapped back and forth over the elegant floors in my black stillettos. When I was young, I had eagerly awaited the day that I would be allowed to wear high heels so that I might produce that pleasing click and tap on floors just such as this one.
But beautiful girls wear dresses I thought again offhandedly, gazing toward the grand stair cases that circled around each side of the lobby. I could try for chic in these pants I mused considering their tight fit and dark color. I could possibly even pull off classy with my lacy black camisole and prim evening bag, but beautiful...that was reserved for girls in dresses. Listen to the songs and read the stories.
The enticing popcorn smell tantalized my tastebuds and I looked longingly across the room at the old timey popcorn machine that brimmed over with buttery goodness. How I would love a bag of popcorn. But then beautiful girls wear dresses. They strike you don't they? They spin about and glide, I suppose, or sway or slink. They take your heart captive or so I'm told. I clicked about some more, relishing the sound on that lovely floor...who could tell when I would ever have such a perfectly clickable surface again? I fancied that some one was watching me, wondering who I was waiting on and perhaps, why I should be kept waiting at all. It may be a young musician with a love for theater who would write in his journal about the lonely girl in stillettos clicking around under the chandelier and swinging her bag. Would he ask me to take off and grab some coffee with him? Forget about the movie, the popcorn and the clicking? Would I take him up on his offer with a coy grin? I sighed. How silly. But of course beautiful girls wear dresses. I have never been very good at being coy anyway.
The Worchestor continued to play and I noticed a woman in a lime green sun dress come tumbling through the door. Of course she didn't really tumble, but the green suggested such and her smile tripped around her mouth in the same fashion. She had a young man on her arm. Mayhap it was my musician with a taste for coffee and good conversation. Ah well. Beautiful girls wear dresses. And I went back to clicking.
This was my thought the other night as I wandered under antique chandeliers that flooded the ballroom of my imagination with warm, inviting light. My fingers ran over the foreign texture of the walls almost subconsciously, like a little child reaching out for anything new and exciting looking. The colors criss crossed each other up the massive walls and the Worchestor began to play. I could hear it from the lobby as I swung my embroidered evening bag from hand to hand and tapped back and forth over the elegant floors in my black stillettos. When I was young, I had eagerly awaited the day that I would be allowed to wear high heels so that I might produce that pleasing click and tap on floors just such as this one.
But beautiful girls wear dresses I thought again offhandedly, gazing toward the grand stair cases that circled around each side of the lobby. I could try for chic in these pants I mused considering their tight fit and dark color. I could possibly even pull off classy with my lacy black camisole and prim evening bag, but beautiful...that was reserved for girls in dresses. Listen to the songs and read the stories.
The enticing popcorn smell tantalized my tastebuds and I looked longingly across the room at the old timey popcorn machine that brimmed over with buttery goodness. How I would love a bag of popcorn. But then beautiful girls wear dresses. They strike you don't they? They spin about and glide, I suppose, or sway or slink. They take your heart captive or so I'm told. I clicked about some more, relishing the sound on that lovely floor...who could tell when I would ever have such a perfectly clickable surface again? I fancied that some one was watching me, wondering who I was waiting on and perhaps, why I should be kept waiting at all. It may be a young musician with a love for theater who would write in his journal about the lonely girl in stillettos clicking around under the chandelier and swinging her bag. Would he ask me to take off and grab some coffee with him? Forget about the movie, the popcorn and the clicking? Would I take him up on his offer with a coy grin? I sighed. How silly. But of course beautiful girls wear dresses. I have never been very good at being coy anyway.
The Worchestor continued to play and I noticed a woman in a lime green sun dress come tumbling through the door. Of course she didn't really tumble, but the green suggested such and her smile tripped around her mouth in the same fashion. She had a young man on her arm. Mayhap it was my musician with a taste for coffee and good conversation. Ah well. Beautiful girls wear dresses. And I went back to clicking.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
I think I believed in soul mates and lipgloss
Living filled my senses,
The other night.
Soaring endlessly into an oblivion
Of stars.
Who knew I could take myself there?
Pushing with all that was in me
To escape this world
To truly be a part of it.
Laughter was our drug of choice,
The other night.
Talking of the past and future
Like the moment did not exist.
Then relishing it,
Ever so timidly.
Suspended above those pebbles
In a time that was finally ours.
"It's easy to believe in love
On nights like these,"
I mused,
The other night.
And you began to sing,
Your angel voice sending ripples
Through the breeze,
So that,
When we have gone,
We are still here
Going on in every direction.
Our futures stretch out before us.
We are adventurers by nature,
But the unknown has never seemed
So mysterious.
A risk we've longed to take,
No matter if the bribes with Lady Luck
Fall through.
We smiled here under the stars,
the other night.
We are together
And we are eternal.
And on nights like these,
That is more than enough.
The other night.
Soaring endlessly into an oblivion
Of stars.
Who knew I could take myself there?
Pushing with all that was in me
To escape this world
To truly be a part of it.
Laughter was our drug of choice,
The other night.
Talking of the past and future
Like the moment did not exist.
Then relishing it,
Ever so timidly.
Suspended above those pebbles
In a time that was finally ours.
"It's easy to believe in love
On nights like these,"
I mused,
The other night.
And you began to sing,
Your angel voice sending ripples
Through the breeze,
So that,
When we have gone,
We are still here
Going on in every direction.
Our futures stretch out before us.
We are adventurers by nature,
But the unknown has never seemed
So mysterious.
A risk we've longed to take,
No matter if the bribes with Lady Luck
Fall through.
We smiled here under the stars,
the other night.
We are together
And we are eternal.
And on nights like these,
That is more than enough.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Again with the Tea...
Do you still spell confusion with a K?
Or was that just for me?
A trick of the lighting
That fell across us in your bed.
Do your eyes ever sparkle for me?
A turn to that tender green that was mine only?
One look said more
Than any of your beautiful words.
Do your pages ever say my name?
A subconscious glimpse at a void I left?
Do not right my wrong
But let me bask in my unreality.
After all,
You still bask in yours.
Or was that just for me?
A trick of the lighting
That fell across us in your bed.
Do your eyes ever sparkle for me?
A turn to that tender green that was mine only?
One look said more
Than any of your beautiful words.
Do your pages ever say my name?
A subconscious glimpse at a void I left?
Do not right my wrong
But let me bask in my unreality.
After all,
You still bask in yours.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
I Had Planned On Being Angry
All your muses come and go,
Like flowers in a kitchen vase,
Changing with your fickle taste
For something bold or droll or chaste
To inspire florid words to flow.
Fiery locks or ocean eyes
Hearkening your tender heart
To piece together formless art.
And all these phrases you impart
To her, to hear her lovers' sighs.
And when her presence fails to evoke
Your pretty speech and fancy lies,
You send her on through dismal skies,
Ice cream melts before her eyes,
And she recalls each word you spoke.
You are broken and you are whole,
The lover of beauty so surreal,
The dreamer of things one cannot feel,
The player of hands one would not deal.
You are the artist of the soul.
Like flowers in a kitchen vase,
Changing with your fickle taste
For something bold or droll or chaste
To inspire florid words to flow.
Fiery locks or ocean eyes
Hearkening your tender heart
To piece together formless art.
And all these phrases you impart
To her, to hear her lovers' sighs.
And when her presence fails to evoke
Your pretty speech and fancy lies,
You send her on through dismal skies,
Ice cream melts before her eyes,
And she recalls each word you spoke.
You are broken and you are whole,
The lover of beauty so surreal,
The dreamer of things one cannot feel,
The player of hands one would not deal.
You are the artist of the soul.
Friday, April 27, 2007
An Unlikely Future
It could have been
Long talks in back alley cafes
And running in between the raindrops
All the way home.
The way you would grab my hand
Subconsciously
And I would cross the street
Without looking.
It could have been
Cereal for supper and a mattress on the floor
Saving all our money for coffee
And second-hand books.
The way you would look at me
Like you couldn't believe it was real
When we woke
In each others arms.
It could have been
Dancing in the dark
When the power went out
And splurging on a Broadway play.
The way you would buy me
That vintage dress
And tell me
"You look ravishing, darling."
It could have been
Eating at Thai restaraunts
And perusing modern art exhibits
When we had time away from our studies.
The way you would lightly brush my hand
Under the table
And give me a wink and a smile
In that way you do.
It could have been
Moonlit walks in Central Park
And hearing the New Years countdown in Times Square
As we sipped wine on a balcony with good friends.
The way you would make a show
Of kissing me at midnight
And all our friends would sigh
But you never noticed.
And so much more.
It could have been.
Long talks in back alley cafes
And running in between the raindrops
All the way home.
The way you would grab my hand
Subconsciously
And I would cross the street
Without looking.
It could have been
Cereal for supper and a mattress on the floor
Saving all our money for coffee
And second-hand books.
The way you would look at me
Like you couldn't believe it was real
When we woke
In each others arms.
It could have been
Dancing in the dark
When the power went out
And splurging on a Broadway play.
The way you would buy me
That vintage dress
And tell me
"You look ravishing, darling."
It could have been
Eating at Thai restaraunts
And perusing modern art exhibits
When we had time away from our studies.
The way you would lightly brush my hand
Under the table
And give me a wink and a smile
In that way you do.
It could have been
Moonlit walks in Central Park
And hearing the New Years countdown in Times Square
As we sipped wine on a balcony with good friends.
The way you would make a show
Of kissing me at midnight
And all our friends would sigh
But you never noticed.
And so much more.
It could have been.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Old Emotion
*I wrote this...over a year ago but I just thought I'd post it anyway because I ran across it*
Like a line from a song
You made your way into my abstract thoughts,
An uncertainty that terrified my heart
But truth staring me blatantly in the eye.
And what is it that I long for
More than heaven’s mercy
But truth.
To discover such a surreal treasure
In one pair of enthralling, emerald eyes
Must truly be amazing grace.
Just when my notions of enchantment
Were written off to frivolous fairy tales
And my concepts of an unparalleled bliss
Crushed by constant rejection,
An unknown ecstasy presented itself,
A poetic masterpiece of captivation and awe,
An ethereal inspiration that was long in coming
But well worth the wait.
Passions run high
As ebony entertains my nocturnal senses,
Reminiscent of midnights passed,
Yet how appropriate: the witching hour.
And I, spellbound beyond all sanity and reason.
I should be alarmed
But rapture prevails
And the fall into euphoria
Satisfies even my greatest desires.
Your kisses seem to pulse through my veins
Until they attain my heart
With the most blessed assurance I have ever known.
Somehow, your whimsical yet genuine words
Are unnecessarily perfected by the moment.
To live in this moment, this second, forever
Would be unsurpassed jubilation.
I’m aware that I am inanely selfish in this guilty pleasure,
Stealing your being and your very essence
From so many who deserve it more than I.
Somehow though, this all feels…
As it should be.
Something so memorable about these arms encircling my waist,
Yet fresh and exhilarating
As if this instant continues from another life, another heaven.
Now reunited after light years have passed
Between our wandering spirits,
We treat the time at hand
As an otherworldly yet indisputable destiny.
These emotions,
Like the beguiling clouds in a drunken sky,
Filled to overflowing with welcome tears from above.
And finally the heavens open
And the skies flash with fate.
Finally sweet rain pours down our passion and ardor,
And oh how I have always loved getting caught in the downpour with you.
Now the zeal rushes over me
As water droplets cling to my lashes
And I hear your breath softly in my ear,
A promise of always having some one to run to.
The security of this second
Is perfect.
Incomparable
To any lifetime before or after.
Suddenly, with perplexing lucidity
I hear the truth that I saw in those emerald eyes
So many times before
“I’m going to be the one to save you.”
Like a line from a song
You made your way into my abstract thoughts,
An uncertainty that terrified my heart
But truth staring me blatantly in the eye.
And what is it that I long for
More than heaven’s mercy
But truth.
To discover such a surreal treasure
In one pair of enthralling, emerald eyes
Must truly be amazing grace.
Just when my notions of enchantment
Were written off to frivolous fairy tales
And my concepts of an unparalleled bliss
Crushed by constant rejection,
An unknown ecstasy presented itself,
A poetic masterpiece of captivation and awe,
An ethereal inspiration that was long in coming
But well worth the wait.
Passions run high
As ebony entertains my nocturnal senses,
Reminiscent of midnights passed,
Yet how appropriate: the witching hour.
And I, spellbound beyond all sanity and reason.
I should be alarmed
But rapture prevails
And the fall into euphoria
Satisfies even my greatest desires.
Your kisses seem to pulse through my veins
Until they attain my heart
With the most blessed assurance I have ever known.
Somehow, your whimsical yet genuine words
Are unnecessarily perfected by the moment.
To live in this moment, this second, forever
Would be unsurpassed jubilation.
I’m aware that I am inanely selfish in this guilty pleasure,
Stealing your being and your very essence
From so many who deserve it more than I.
Somehow though, this all feels…
As it should be.
Something so memorable about these arms encircling my waist,
Yet fresh and exhilarating
As if this instant continues from another life, another heaven.
Now reunited after light years have passed
Between our wandering spirits,
We treat the time at hand
As an otherworldly yet indisputable destiny.
These emotions,
Like the beguiling clouds in a drunken sky,
Filled to overflowing with welcome tears from above.
And finally the heavens open
And the skies flash with fate.
Finally sweet rain pours down our passion and ardor,
And oh how I have always loved getting caught in the downpour with you.
Now the zeal rushes over me
As water droplets cling to my lashes
And I hear your breath softly in my ear,
A promise of always having some one to run to.
The security of this second
Is perfect.
Incomparable
To any lifetime before or after.
Suddenly, with perplexing lucidity
I hear the truth that I saw in those emerald eyes
So many times before
“I’m going to be the one to save you.”
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