Days of You

Sun, 11/04/2018 - 17:13 -- gahvee

 

Janurary

Give me a beginning

of ring rash as a hobby;

Of awareness of all the colors I can turn.

You are on a trip to Oklahoma

And I am on a floor somewhere,

drinking from a straw,

still formless

still unaware,

of everything I am getting into;

thinking only of filling myself with the noise

of you happening to me.

 

Feburary

 

The moon, pulling at my silly strings

Throwing me into a humble puke

Of thoughts of you ruining me,

sweetly.

Curling my legs up to my face,
feeling the blush on my knees;

Holding me up into the oblivion

of the distance I could fall.

 

March
 

The sun finding focus,

through the branches of a tree

that sees too much

hangs over

the entire world we’ve made.

Blurring shadows together,

Holding all that has fallen

in its light,

While sensitivity breeds.

 

 

April

 

Misophonia,

and someone’s teeth on me

making a home of a stray mattress,

and all its ghosts.

Pulling me into

destructive defense mechanisms,

Giving me a black eye with my own knee.

(a very opposite of synchronocity.)

There are new eyes in my head

and “oh”, a smitten minty thing,

thrown into an adorable amount of fear.

 

May

 

Ive collected you

in my favorite bucket,

filled it to the brim,

with everything you’ve ever touched.

I carry it around

really slowly, really carefully,

it always threatening,

to spill out of my face.

But I catch you,

into my cupped hands

Tangle you between my fingers,

and drink you.

 

June

 

For the living,

It is like when you lose too much blood too.

Dizzy and blurry,

Afraid,

but mostly unaware.

Too fast, too slow,

to grasp the shift in alignment.

For the living too,

time is stretched,

mixing and melting together,

tangling the fractions

in our eyes;

so slow

and all at once,

but still present enough

to remain at the edge of an entire world,

At an edge

of life and death

 

July

 

I buried you six feet into my heart,

until you were in each pump,

in my veins, reaching to my fingertips,

Until you reappeared,

in trembles down my spine,

In a caress of words and pictures

that they create.

A tan of formlessness, sad and tickling,

Like in dreams where you have your back turned to me.

Rock a bye nausea, missing eyelashes for wishes,

yearned only from under a blanket,

heavy with the weight of mortality.

Please turn on the lights, I’m afraid of what my mind makes in the dark.

 

August

 

I am pulled into a pool,

before the realization that I’ve forgot how to float.

I am trying to remember how to be alone

-and without your hand again.

I am trying to find the pieces of me I’ve dropped everywhere,

but all I keep finding is pieces of you.

I am drowning in everything you’ve ever touched,

and starting to think you picked mine up as we went;

Im starting to think,

my pieces died along with you.

 

Sitting outside our window,

An ache lifts, while feeling close,

But still so deprived.

I’ve shrunken myself to make it enough,

to crawl onto the sill &make a blanket

out of the dust bunny memories,

and the still bugs that you can probably talk to now.

I have planted a tree out of season,

to take care of,

because I couldn’t take care of you.

I am determined,

to manipulate time,

turn the apples upside down,

get the juices flowing,                                                    

pour what’s left of me into the soil;

still giving all my energy to something

I don’t want to stop believing in,

My body tied to the earth with yours.

 

September

 

I haven’t spoken a word in weeks,

Besides the slow whispers,

into the in-betweens;

Searching afar off a sidewalk,

for anything familiar,

for a feeling,

of playing scrabble in hospital socks.

I tell you I want to understand the crickets,

ask what you would do if I started talking to you in chirps.

Would you understand me?

Maybe I’d be too whispery,

you wouldn’t hear me telling you,

how many degrees it is,

inside.

With each chirp,

You’d keep getting further away.

But still,

I have given myself to you,

to hold;

because I can’t seem to do so anymore.

My spins are back,

and throwing me into open wounds,

wanting to see me

turn myself inside out.

 

October

 

Laying in an empty parking lot,

wearing nothing but a nosebleed trailing down my body,

and a detached sense of wonder,

falling back into my beginning

as a primordial soup.

There are bugs nestling into my hair

Reaching for the crumbs of you under my skin,

that have left an itch, unable to be soothed.

I am trying to get used to the taste

of coconut in my mouth,

while my heart is still under an umbrella

-with you.

 

November

 

Can’t get past the gloss eyed film of dirt on everything.

A grocery list of sleepy things,

a feeble scrunch whimper thing

-in a backseat,

spitting stomach acids at predators,

and can speak to the dead;

but sometimes,

kisses nice.

I am talking to you, but looking at everything but you;

Cry into the sun, and everything glistens.

 

December

 

A girl like dim lighting,

holding the ominousity

of doom

in every corner,

like a light breathing over your shoulder.

Nibbles of static

and concrete burn under my ribs,

telling me my palms were meant to turn into trees,

carrying explosions with me everywhere I go;

telling me

“I hope one day somebody finds everything you’ve ever buried.”

 

This poem is about: 
Me
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