wordplayground

there are ants outside again
ants
carrying things i can't even decipher
and i'm supposed to be okay with that
here i am
trying to handle my own insanity
when all i can really do is obsess
ants
obsess about the fucking ants
"the ants on the ground can't walk straight"

you were one of those people
that i just loved from the beginning
you shined like a bright star
and i always had a thing for the stars
but the brighter they burn
the faster they fade away

my hands will be shaking
and useless
when your hands are full
it will remind me
that mine were left alone
empty

i was up in the skies yesterday,
i saw beautiful rays of light and white clouds,
but there was no heavenly throne and 
you were not there.
someone is telling us lies.

i've lived my life in crisis
by that definition 
i am a product of 
abuse
abandonment
rape 
homelessness
death
by that definition
i can rationalize
my lack of attachment
by that definition
i can never be
anything more

what would age be
if we weren't counting?
would we measure a life 
by its richness
in smiles and laughter,
experiences,
dreams fulfilled,
by the amount of love she gave,
or its brightness - 
the only word i've found
to adequately describe you -
how would we count your life
without the numbers making us cry?
how can we replace the measurements 
of years, days, hours, minutes,
with all that your life really was?

running water
and i cry
because i can't find the right combination of hot and cold,
which becomes another overwhelming question, 
and i'm too little to answer.

in every introduction
he used to say
i was 
thirteen going on thirty,
so grown-up i would think
i could do it all alone.
was he mistaken?
what if i was
thirty going on thirteen,
so grown-up that later
i would look back and
cling to remnants of a childhood,
refusing to be
so grown-up.

your name becomes synonymous with death,
among those too young to give the word other meaning.

if there were a story of us the climax would come at the end of the first paragraph. the remainder of the text would stretch on for eternity, a meaningless epilogue about the course of events in a day or the glare of the sun in our eyes, all highlighted by occassional memories of that first paragraph. how long could we remember?

she’s the kind of person you could take in and love and never stop loving just because there’s so much good even if she said something you didn’t want to hear, you could nod your head and smile and still love her just as much

in my mind
i am always
telling you off
telling you off
again.
but i sit here
silently
without a word
who is in control now?
you think this is
your time?
your space?
your idea?
i won't give in 
i won't give up
so who is in control
now
i'll just keep 
telling you off
telling you off
again.

my cat covers his eyes as he sleeps
to shut out the world
or maybe just me

they'll say i was just a baby,
how could i remember?
but how 
could i forget those hands?
they'll say i didn't scream.
but with babies,
you don't even have to 
cover their mouth,
they'll scream and cry
so blatantly 
silent.
babies will still love you,
defend you,
protect you.
and even when the hands are gone,
the images will still be there.

you're dead,
i relive you,
and still i can't scream.

i chose to be empty. 
not feeling was better than fear.
i shut the world out so i wouldn't have to explain.
you tried to love me,
but i was just an empty body,
afraid to feel anything real.

i want you to know that i'm stuck on that one little kiss two nights ago -
your lips soft and only slightly open.

...and that kiss the other night -
it had the passion of a first kiss.

and it needs to keep going
because this
is no sort of epitome
you would be so self-centered
to think we're the top
just cause you can't see
a million years ahead
just as you can't see
a million years back
we're so great
that we'll manage 
to kill everything off
single-handedly