Where you perch so high in my childhood’s tree.
If you ever turned your lantern on
You would see this heart in my backyard,
That you dropped when you said
You could not feel love.
Relinquish me,
My Inevitable Fall,
Set me free from these thorns
You’ve surrounded my neck.
But you stay
And you laugh,
And I scream
Desperate cries,
I beg for your pity, for your mercy on me!
In this dark your eyes pierce
And my bare heart pleads,
Are you brave enough to leave
My tortured heart where it lies?
For you’re blind in this dark
(I’m not ready for light)
And those dangling feet will be the first
My rising sun meets.
But now the sun sets,
The darkest light hides my flesh,
From your selfish hold
And your unknowing jest.
Yellow, sour, and raw;
My fierce sadness, it falls." My Blind Jester, May 2013
How her father planted a tree
Three days before running away
- stolen by a woman with hate in her heart
and a few missing teeth -
But that tree stayed with my mother
Long after daddy chose to leave
So she says that tree
Is more brave than he,
or she,
or I will ever be.
For how many creatures
That can live and can breathe
Will stand and will stay
For the ones that leave?
No, to me it seems
The things that move
That do the most damage
And do the least good.
For you and I could go running away
But when the tree plants his roots
It is there he will stay" April 2013
the darkness folds in on you tonight
with such unforgiving gusts
your eyes are closed already
to what has compromised your trust
but, fear, my blinded lovers
for love and life are not so kind
if you awake again tomorrow
buried love is all you’ll find
Violet was in the center of a fierce affair with a passion for life and the alluring whisper of death. They fought for her attention, love hiding beneath the sheets of her bed while desolation filled the space in between. She, too, filled the space in between.
What filled her?
Violet felt empty. Her head felt heavy and slow, and her words had this tendency to escape from her mouth in a jumbled, frantic fashion. Violet sometimes wished she could just stop talking. Carry around a notebook, write down her thoughts. Clear and concise, no room to slip the things that had never meant to reveal themselves, so naked and restless.
Violet’s eyes were tired of all the seeing. The quilt that lay across her bed. The pine trees outside of her bedroom window — | | | — obstructing her view of the neighboring home. The colors of the walls of the rooms of her home. Beige and pastel. The people who filled her space and time. The polish, chipped, on her nails. The clothes and books that littered her floor. The hollows of her dark, tired eyes. She was tired of seeing what she was seeing. Of seeing all but feeling none. Of feeling something and nothing, all at once.
Her life often felt like one big leap from a never ending cliff. The bottom was too far to see. Just the same barren landscape. The cliff wall. The beige. The constant falling.
Violet was waiting for the landing.
Maybe, then, she would know what to feel.
december 2012
