day 165

Secrets, revelations,
things that need to roll off my tongue: vol 1

     Autumn, love,
     you are long gone. Today I said hello
     to a harsh cold soul.
     She's shy.
     Eyes wide open--        aware. I do not like her. Today she
     brushed her hair against my lips,
            She's persistent.
            Kissed me and opened my stomach for her to
            feel my guts. I'm too fucking vulnerable.
            I have lungs


scratching

There is so much I have to say

So much I pull myself back from saying.
That is bullshit.
                              How can I expect myself to be
                         a respectable writer
                         if I can't put my all into my work.


                 Relationship:

    How can I expect myself to be a respectable
    lover
    if I can't put my all into the words I
    am dying to say.
It kills me. You are fucking killing me.


                 Autumn, love
                 I thought the end of beauty
                 sprouts growth. Spring is nowhere
                       n   e        a         r.
 This Winter will be a long one.
 With women who want to cut lips on my wind chapped heart.
  Scratchy throats. WORDS CLIMBING FOR FREEDOM.
HOW FREE ARE MY FUCKING WORDS?
WITH ALL THE DISTANT LOVERS
   THEY PATENT THEIR LANGUAGE.
I CAN'T AFFORD TO BE DISTANT.

BRING ME THE LOVER'S LANGUAGE.
Loosely love me with your tainted tongues.
What accents
have your teeth
become
accustomed to?
How many dances has the wind
taught your tongue. Tell it to speak out to me.
Love me loosely with a strong heart.

                                              AUTUMN, LOVE
                                              YOU ARE NOWHERE CLOSE
                                              TO ME.
                                               I BURIED OLD STORIES
                                               IN YOUR DEAD HAIR.

       they have made worm's meat of you.
       bring me to the backyard garden
       where they buried your secrets.
I am praying for a messenger who will never give me the time of day.


                   Dear Mr. Postman:
                           How many letters do you see from lovers of distant lands?
                           How many mothers dot their I's and cross their T's with
                           curly-q Heart dust? How many
                           letters are lost..........

          How many letters are lost..
          Many letters are lost. Lots of letters to many. Lots of letters to
                           barely any.


       Fear:
       I will amount to barely anything. Just a lost lover
       hoping that letters of love have been tangled in the possibility
       of the dusted land of crossed T's. With hearts,
        the lovers of crossed teens.

        She loves her who loves him who loves him who loves her who loves you.


Everyone is loved.
        Everyone is alone.
                Never feel lonely.

                                                                        but I do


                                     Dear boy without a home,
                                                 sometimes me too.




Sometimes all the time.




      Dear Autumn:
      I fear the day your remnants disappear.
      I know the slight crunches under my boot are
      harsh farewells to things you couldn't say
      but wanted. Me too, Autumn.        My lips are broken.

          fear                      one day I won't be able to repair myself