20 March 2016

Tell the Stories

I want the long version; I want the long story.
I want your voice vibrating off my clothes, off my glasses,
off the thin walls of this yellow room.
We are tied to a location, a smell of fried meat.
We are tied to forgetting.
And I will tell you that I watch men on TV
saving me over and over
but that I do not want to be saved
once the screen is off.
And I will tell you that I want ambiguity and shades
of gray in my books and shows
but that I do not want them in my life.
I want the long version.
I want you to sing to me;
use a dead language if you have to.
Tell the stories that tattoo the walls of your bedroom.
Tell the stories that will carry me, the hot air of
your breath filling the balloon of my craving.
We are tied to a location,
but that doesn't have to be true.
We are tied to forgetting,
but you can remember me
for as long as you need me.

02 March 2016

In like a lion

One spring breath, lilacs
and grass, would be
a happy ending--not a
wedding, sure, but
there is a knife in the gut,
the origin of the daily pain.
Oscillating like
a pendulum between
wanting to live and
wanting to die, I don't want
to disappoint anyone.
So I stay,
and the dirty names
leave grease marks
on my heart. Why do I
decide to disappoint myself
instead? Why am I
never my own muse?