Posts Tagged ‘emotion’

of when your eyes connect with another’s

and heat jumps through your body

and you want to know them,

and you want them to know you;

you want them to want

to understand

like you want to

understand

them.

I listen to music with the lights off.

It’s like being asleep,

like lucid dreaming–

aware of the sounds,

but only the sounds, the notes.

I close my eyes

and the music fills me up.

My ears are what hear it;

my heart is what feels it, and pumps

the feeling that is more than just one feeling

throughout my body

and my head is empty,

devoid of probing thoughts,

but quickly filled

with music

and feeling.

Last night I had an anxiety attack.

I fell asleep at eleven,

woke up at 2,

and couldn’t go back to sleep.

I was hung up on

schoolwork, relationships, my place

in life. Not so much wondering

as letting it all spiral into chaos within my head.

At lunch I felt depression settle in-

the feeling of Not Feeling.

I told myself that I wasn’t going to wallow,

that I was going to feel things

because I was better than this,

but my body barely listened.

And all I want is for a friend to listen.

I may be in a new place,

but I want to keep my old, good friends.

I don’t want to feel ignored,

isolated,

alone.

Seconds are spent making scribbles

into words.

Then the abrupt

change,

the buzz sits like a heavy crown

and hurts like a bruise

on top of my head.

 

Electric eels no bigger

than worms

crawl beneath my skin.

They work their way down

my neck-

 

my spine, a railway-

and enter my arms.

 

I feel them squirm atop my bones.

 

Words change.

They are mine and no longer

mine. 

Each dark letter is

an abyss

pressed onto paper.

Love, friends, is

the real double-edged sword.

 

Human love can be absent

on one heart’s part

and thus be sweeter than a lie,

poisoning the other person.

 

Love is what can split a man

in two.

Love is what can cut a man deeply-

losing love, that is.

As humans

we look for love

in the in-sync beating of two hearts.

Which is why we are fools

who destroy

love.

 

But love

can be taken

and melted down

into plows,

and till the fields

so that buds may push

through and taste the air,

and blossom into strong stalks

and stand against wind and rain and storms.

Love is always there.

Even if the stalk is knocked down,

some seeds were shaken loose

and stuck in the fertile ground.

There they take root.

 

Love, dear friends,

is never a lost cause.

While some people go

for cigarettes and alcohol,

they light up to calm down

or take a shot

to make the next move,

I’m not one of these people.

Now, I’m not bragging

or nagging, because this emotional

stew I sup can burn and boil,

or freeze and shatter me.

As messy as life is-

with the bottom of the pit

being brought nearer by red-faced,

angry screaming,

and hitting that dark place

where one curls with legs and arms crossed,

like a baby in the womb, within

a dark corner of nameless room,

I would rather ride this

strange and wonderful tide

(for my pen thrives in this

mixed, primordial sea)

because I know there are smiles

and applause from which

I get my high.

is not impossible.

Van Gogh’s body fought off gangrene

to live with it.

Orpheus survived the depths of Hell

to live with it,

for however short a time.

It may be difficult,

one may become a phantom,

or cycle through labyrinths of fire, water, and snow,

but they will survive.

The human heart has adapted

to be a phoenix:

reborn with new fervor

after fizzling out.

I walk steadily onward, remembering you.

Do not believe, in any instant, that I could forget you.

You are the hands which formed part of me;

you set my stones and built me, guided my hands

and taught me how to paint.

It has taken me until now to realize

that I etched those marks, dark as bruises, under your eyes.

I was the one that made you cry.

I dried you out and gave you nothing,

and for that I am sorry.

But my apology, I must acknowledge, is too late.

Sadly, I have written songs and poems in your honor.

I beg you now to forgive me for whatever poison writhes in them,

those snares have been forged but have yet to see daylight.

For now, I walk the city’s edge,

minding the tide where waves unfold

like wrinkles pressed out of velvet sheets.

You mind the bitter air in the heart of the city.

We’ll stay at these poles.

I may never know whether you read this.

I leave you, ask you to get plenty sleep,

and smile recalling your face during the conversations we had.

We are still teeth in the same mouth,

but we are not close enough to touch each other.

If I were to peel back your skin,

what would I find underneath?

Is there some sort of baby there–

howling, malnourished,

thin as cardboard with veins

bulging underneath its tomato-skin like fat worms?

Is there nothing but an idol

whose limbs operated so humanly,

but only after the pale curtain was pulled away

was the inhumanity of its brass knob joints,

rigid gold stature,

and manufactured glass eyes revealed?

Or is it human?

Is there a heart?

Small, churning

and humming like an engine;

taking shape not as a crimson fist,

but as a flickering light,

fluttering like the sun,

nestled under your skin

in the cavity of your chest.

I am reaching into me

and killing this love.

I don’t know if I could call it that,

I ignore its screams as it dies

like a baby bird at the hands of a great blizzard.

It makes me want to cry,

and yet my eyes are dry steel

as I strangle this,

this stagnant love.

See, you left it that way.

Unreciprocated, and since my hands can’t reach you

they’re entering my throat

and killing this love as it rots in its own salt-filth.

It hurts, but I cannot cry,

because I am only on the edge of a desert

dancing at night

and walking, walking each day.

It has taken me over a year to journey

from the red, vacuous, and boiling center

to this edge where a bustling city moves

like opportunity.

I am killing this love to move forward.

I am leaving what fantasies,

what memories I have of you

to suffocate and burn on the sand.