Tag Archives: night

The Dark Corner

Sometimes

I just like being dirty

I like the way I feel when people don’t even want to look at me,

but I still hate the way they look at me,

so sometimes

I only go out at night.


Once known

I want you to know,

that I was the one who turned the leaves different colors for you,

because I wanted to give you a rainbow in the trees.

There was a time in my life

when I had given up everything for you

and it’s now a time that I still cant get away from.

I look at my watch

like it belonged to someone else

and in the blink of an eye,

these years have shattered

and these fingers have splattered blood drops

just trying to pick up the shards

long enough for me to remember.

You haunt me, even under the brightest lights,

in the rooms without shadows,

or noises from the mouth-breathers.

You haunt every thought I have

and I feel like I’ve died for you already

because my mind

has a death grip

on the memory of us together.

So I want you to know

that I was up all night

carving out the snowflakes for this winter,

making sure they were all small enough

so that billions of them could land without waking you up.

 

I know we don’t remember things the same way,

but in my mind,

it was my refusal to back down

that stabbed me in the back

and the noose around my neck gave only just enough slack

so that I could stand on my toes,

but I could never be the ballerina long enough

to keep myself from choking

on all the ticket stubs, pictures and first date gum wrappers

that I still keep in the drawer I never open.

I want you to know

that I know

that this depression in what pushed you away

and i made you do the one thing you were too afraid to say.

I made you leave me.

So I left you a trail of clouds

so that you could find me one day,

somewhere between the lightning and the thunder,

but i always kept myself somewhere beneath the rain,

somewhere behind the wind.

 

I want you to know

that I know

that you know

that…this can go on forever, but

when you thought I was sleeping

I had kept one eye open

watching you poke holes in the sky to give me the stars.

Maybe I just want you to know

that i still think of you

and our first night sober

when you looked me in the eye

and pulled out the blue ribbon of my secrets

and used it to tie our hands together,

maybe that`s what connected us,

this love.

The kind of love that was never meant to be chained,

but was never meant to be set free.


Inside

Now I know you all want honesty,
but believe me sometimes standing here
is difficult enough,
but here I am and here it is.
I think I’m going crazy
because I’m out of place where the age has numbers
and standards
for the thick thoughts
that poured off tongues
into the open minds who’s hungry ears
took every last word we had.
Like something hiding beneath my bed at night,
I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s there
because something’s just not right…
I don’t know why,
because at best it’s just a guess,
but I got so mad
it was like holding fire in my hands.
I had acid dripping from my eyes
when they started crying
without even asking me
if I was ready.
Because this is the skin I’m in,
wrapped too tight to move
so I take stretched steps
wrenching my own heart out of it’s place
with the pace of a drumbeat
beating and pounding on dried skin.

It’s like just being awake
makes me want to break myself against
something larger than life
where the blood drop stains
might linger longer than the bodies
of those who feel the same as I do.
Those who’ve refused to be given their names
and those who’ve fused their fingertips together
just to say that they touched something,

but I’ve only got a guess at best for why
I want to show you my hands, but not the fingers.
Maybe because these fingers are what lingers when I’m trying to hold on
and I just want one memory that doesn’t seem fake.
That doesn’t sound sad when I tell people the story.
Because sometimes
I want to break my face against glass
for when the times move too fast
and for when things have no meaning until they happen.
Where special moments are seen fleeting
like there were bee stings covering their backs
and with this lack of devotion
it’s like
we let the cracks in the ocean floor
take away what made us whole.

So I want to break my hands
against the beautiful backdrops
you hung over a concrete wall.
Because my minds been spinning out of control
with thoughts thinning out
just to fit into something else
because rebounds were meant to bring us back to each other,
and not to someone else,
but you’ve kept me like the money I was worth to you,
saved only to be spent later
where craters are created
as if to keep the ground from being sound
along the things we’ve already paved the way for
and already payed for.

I don’t feel free,
or even taken seriously
when the people I’ve been getting to know
are beginning to admit things to me,
that they have already seen
the things I see
and the plea went by unnoticed
beneath the focus of those
who’d share only within their own race.

So I want to break my fists
against your beating heart
so that at the start
we might part ways
like we were parting waves the moment before
they crashed against everything we’ve ever known.