I called you up once, but I never heard your excitement

Your couch is permanently dented
From where we left our innocence.
Your table, permanently scarred
From where we changed our names.
Your door is permanently jammed
From when we became confused.
Your mirror, permanently shattered
From when we decided we hated ourselves.
And your hands are permanently unsteady
From your desperate attempt to hold on.
And your eyes, permanently glazed
From your new found lack of interest.
And though your house is busted,
And though your body is unresponsive,
I still lay myself on that couch,
And leave my bottles on that table,
And try to find myself between the pieces
Of that shattered looking glass.
And maybe you’ll come and sit with me
And maybe you won’t.

I wasn't joking when I said "I got this"

My hands were building a house when you came along.
You asked if you could lend your back for support
And I instantly resigned my bleeding hands and sticky tears.
With stars in our eyes,
Our feet found their place in the grass.
Silence warmed our bodies as we laid unsheltered
By my abandoned project.
When it came time,
We were careless in our laughter;
That's the best kind of smile.
We paid special attention to our hands, though
And the placement of our breath-
Bring careful not to collide
Or entangle ourselves.
We did run into each other's shadows on occasion
And we didn't let that stop us.
Before we knew it,
We forgot about the sound of silence
And could only remember the sound of our breath
Bumping into one another.
Our eyes were closed
So the stars settled for falling on my calloused knuckles
And your unwrinkled brow.
Their weight made us sink and we became tired-
Our mouths gaped for air to keep our minds focused
As we shivered while we laid unsheltered
In the grass by my abandoned project

Twisted Parallelograms

A half smile to the left which reveals your true cool confidence
A flick of hair to show that you’re the boss
I don’t share your fixated blue eyes
I don’t flaunt your layered, complex figure lines
You stole the simple, tasteful, carefree outlines of lips
And left me with grey on white, unanswering, and transcendent focal points on my face

And sadly
These lips are what I am most proud of.
My calves and thighs do not scream “I hope you don’t find I’m teasing”, “It‘s not really you that I‘m craving” as yours do
But they whisper “if you ever wanted me, I would never let you break”.
Your cheeks are sunsets while mine are strawberries.
I know your hands seek flesh and cash while they have been molded by shopping bags and colorful pens.
Mine reach out for the door knob of a place I can call home and the cheek of the one who loves me back;
They have been shaped by sweat and dirt and catching myself when I fall.

Yet you always seem to have your seat in the throne
Except when we follow the coastlines of your body to New York and Oregon,
Stopping at your shoulders, not quite reaching your head:
The rounded, flowing lines of our collarbones project beneath the fabric of our polos.
Something simple yet dangerously resilient and graceful.
Separating themselves from the rest of the body, jutting forward, in an act of defiance to the saying “we are but the sum of all our parts”.

We’ve always said we’re opposites
And I don’t have the heart to tell you about our shared wonder that you always look over.
So go on being daring:
Take your dear lilac graces and face the world with the sun in your eyes
And I’ll stand here and wait with the door left open,
My broken, yet steady hands are ready to guide you once you lose your sight.

Younger Sister, I'm No Savior

I've smiled before
I have held a cup to my lips while holding a boy's hand
I've spent the night halfway outside and halfway in
And I've been a little here and a little not at all
But I've always come back
Resignation,
Even those times when I wasn't there,
Was never an option
So I'm not saying I'm better than you
Baby
I love that laugh but I hate when it's accompanied by a cough
If your hair ever straightened
Or your pearls ever scuffed
I'm not sure I would be able to remember how to hold hands.

Things I write when I'm falling asleep in class

Sociology of War and Peace:
-Dear giver, my hands are bound to places I have forgotten the paths to.
-Hush child, you're pretty obnoxious.
-You just can't be her silverware. You can't be her carpet or her fish bowl or her fingerprint. It's not because you're not beautiful or gracious or amber enough, because you are, are you're more lifted than anyone she knows. But you can't be her table top because she is no one to be had. So stop closing your eyes and pick up your feet.
-It's like I've known your fingerprint all along.
-Hold your horses, because these are the times when we have nothing to spare.
-For once, I'm too tall to enjoy the surprise.
-Lose the shoes because there's no need to run. I'm seeking redemption, and you've solved it all.
-Carelessness out in the open. I still cannot be your apology.
-If you forgot how to speak, I'd let you read my smile.

Social Statistics:
-Your hips were not meant to bend like you have asked them to do. No wonder it's your mind against your body. Maybe try singing instead of yelling. I know your natural rhythm, but you just can't seem to keep the beat in your paradoxical mind. I'll buy you a metronome for your birthday if you're nice.
-Sometimes, I wonder if I touched the window on those below freezing days, would your window get foggy?
-You've got the cure, but, baby, I haven't even been diagnosed yet.
-I wish I could smile like a division symbol.
-There better be room left for this made up laughter.
-If you're so equal, why are you always tripping over your own shoe laces?
-You're full of red and green, you little gift giver you. Too bad she did your tattoos in black and white, though.
-It was my hand. Sorry I shocked you, but I was pretty shocked myself.
-Yea, I know I look like a movie star, but I just wish there was some genre other than horror.
-It's almost as if my hands began to crack even before I met you.

-Attention crisis= you've held my hand for too long. Not that I'm complaining, I just don't think this is an appropriate relationship for co-workers.
-If you could have grown up to be anything, you probably would have been a boat. And you would have been a good one too, since you always avoid stormy seas. You would have definitely been seized by pirates, though. It would have been too much of a shame to let you go.
-It never grew very big, that plant at the end of my bed. It did mature, though, and become a fighter for liberal ideals. I just really wish it would keep the rallies a bit quieter. You'd be surprised how loud a jungle in your room can be.
-Yes, I'm lethargic, but, honey, you're dead.
-Like a vetern on the ice, waltzing past children on new legs and people with no direction, it glides across the board. A love affair with the dry erase marker. Hating what it has to say but pleading for it to speak. Because your graces come so naturally, it's easy to slip up. Watch your aiming now. We wouldn't want you to kill your score.

"I fell in Paul's pumpkin, and I don't even care"

If it doesn't happen soon, I'm going to do it myself.

The attempt at waiting is causing almost more grief than the act itself. Sad thing is, I don't think I'm eligible for that shot of redemption everyone keeps talking about. I've never bowed my head at the dinner table.

Maybe I can write them a letter explaining my word usage. But even then, I doubt they would understand. I've been attempting to express my words with their words for years now, but they've never seemed to get it.

I bet if I could dance, they would understand, but I threw out my equilibrium a couple miles back in order to drop a few pounds.

Assignment

No Comparisons-
Green, unnatural walls curve inward for two feet. Topped with a fabric I don’t understand, this testament to coming of age stands tall even in the St. Mary’s air. It stands for everything the rebellious adolescent dreams of gaining when the law predicts that the mind can comprehend. Eye pleasing coordinations hide it’s natural beauty. I wish it wasn’t forced to conceal itself. Lyrics to the song of those who have already walked on don’t reflect the truth it pleads to tell. But still, it never wavers from it’s duty. An unsteady base causes the relic to dance in an angry fashion, and I can’t help but follow. I’m glad that someone has clothed it, though. Now it doesn’t seem so unruly.

Comparisons-
Your reflection is unlike that of your siblings, but that doesn’t make me love you less. While we find them behind doors unopenable, you stand proud by the welcoming bell. Your body is unlike that of shark skin, but follows the lines of a seal’s edges. What a shame it is that you have been betrayed by someone unknown. I still find your grace overwhelming. A crack to the side like a whole in the heart, but you’re not one to wear it on your sleeve. Your lengths are tattooed with words that mean little to me and even less to you, but you never let them slip. If you could dream, or if your dreams could be heard, I bet they would be filled with trumpets and ribbon for you would be the sort of dreamer who would smile and crave the laughter of others.