Writing, Ideas, & Stories
i ask for this dance;
your hand in mine
the curve of my palm at curve of your waist
we won’t waste the song
either my own or one that is slow-
slow enough so our steps sync with our beat
it is
unique
our beat
drums come
the night
stay; in
our arms
we will
dance till
our hearts
recall
every
note played;
the song
our song we will humb on the way home
humb in our bed
humb in our dreams
the golden x on the map
was your address
across unnamed land
a festival featuring a panda as a king
around the parade featuring that same panda
i’ll bring you flowers and a stuffed bear
yes, the panda from the festival
and will come back for cotton candy
patience was a gift;
gift from a screaming child
with a torch burning down the rafters-
as the smoke fills this locked shrine
my sense of justice leaves my eyes
the stained glass melts through my palms
the child hands me the torch
vanishes
into the black of the night
like a piccolo pete
it’s what home smells like
the aroma carries my clothes in my place
like a soft hand across my cheek
floating-
a memory shaped in a circle
never-ending
a reminder that you were here,
but when the scent fades
i crave you
a little taste to carry me for the week and the next
to be closer to home
found on the tip of your lips
the palm of your hands around my waist
leaving your lavender imprint on my chest
burning deep enough
so home is always with me
i want it more than you
so keep my name out of your mouth
i don’t have the ego for this era
and it’s on the low
you can read my name from your couch
you’ll go to the internet and vouch
that your time was stolen
that i never punched out
this wasn’t your shift
and this isn’t overtime
i’ve been here putting in two times
working two times as hard
putting in two times the effort
and you’ll complain two times as much
but i never learned your name
but you know my story
i worry that i’ve wrote it before
said it before
and the words lose meaning
like white out to a dictionary
i mutter white noise
it’s not that this was my goal
or i over say these words
i don’t want you to question or forget
i don’t believe in ten seconds you’ll forget
it’s the eleventh i want to be remembered
and after the twelfth i’ll be there to hold you
thirty i’ll build you a fort that we can live in
a map will be in your email in the morning
on a porch
not my porch, a quiet family owns this porch
they go away on the weekends
i like to imagine they have a country house so their kids can play-
i feel apart of it when i sit here
the tire swing
star-gazing past our bedtime
never going to sleep cold,
on the porch
i go to sleep tucked in with a kiss on the cheek
but like a dream it’ll end
in the morning they’ll return
and i’ll be gone
i don’t believe it was a dream
that brought me into your life
it wasn’t a boat dancing in rose petals
it was the warmth of your two arms
reminding me that it’ll be okay
that this job isn’t going to be the end
a rose petal boat ride didn’t bring me here
but i’ll bring you across that river
and will enjoy the view:
a sunset, one that pauses time-
a palace in comparison;
in comparison to the dump
where i find myself foraging for berries and a necklace
a necklace to present you:
i see it in my dreams, it is beautiful a single gem
the color of a lawn that exist longer then one summer
and i want to put it around your neck,
a present for a princess living in her palace
anyway to distract the fact that i live in the dump
and i want your parents to like me
and i want to be invited back
but i only have the one necklace
i am not a seer
a witch or a god
but i knew i’d be here
falling;
falling through the depth with arms outreached
trying to grab onto anything
anything more than the absence of screams of help
falling;
for you
is nothing less than colorful
like a rainbow slide with a green hat at the bottom
falling;
i don’t want to stop
i worked tirelessly to fall this long and hard
and flying feels like walking over cement
until falling with you
the bottom never comes
not sure it exist
and i love it
