Posts Tagged ‘wisdom’

The walls know of your financial trouble.

The walls have heard you and your wife

scream at each other,

volume and pitch ascending, a two-person opera.

The walls know your children’s contained secrets.

They know what your son looks at

on his computer, and lusts after.

They listen to your daughter’s conversations

with herself, her diary, her friends.

The walls know your struggles,

they see blood boil under your skin,

see tears run like beads of quartz

down hills and valleys of your face,

hear each footstep- feel the hammers

or leopard steps they could be.

The walls know you.

They have Guarded you.

Caught between lovers,

cat fights, heartbreak.

Caught in that grey area

where clarity comes

naturally, and wisdom flows

out like ink from a pen.

And it shifts, revolves.

The position is temporary.

Every friend is a middle man,

listening to stories- and nodding,

giving advice- not knowing

what is the wholly right thing to say,

opening and reading the pages

of their companion’s autobiography.

At the same time,

opening mouths wide

to flash white teeth in ecstasy,

cradling themselves

in the corner of a room

while listening to sad music,

and

writing their own stories.

An excess of absence makes the metaphorical heart dissolve.”- Original

It has been said that “absence makes the heart grow fonder,” but…

“If pain demands to be felt, I say: welcome it, but don’t let it overstay its welcome.”- Original

“That’s the thing about pain…it demands to be felt.”- Augustus Waters, The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

Here’s my problem with people ‘reading’ people: People aren’t concepts. They aren’t finished books- they’re stories that are constantly being edited.

When you enter,

you step into yourself

and confront all the things

that you’ve kept buried.

Green-brown spires 

with their limbs- gnarled like weeds-

cast shadows, block

out the sunlight-you must search for it.

The brown path is not worn,

the ground is cold, 

and singing seems pointless here,

because the wizened trees of your mind

will suck the joy out of the tune

and reduce your voice to a stammer.

 

Know

that there are more people 

than solely you in this forest.

All paths intertwine,

and people are never alone.

But be careful what you say

as you stumble through the woods;

you never know what innocent children

will hear your curses

from the thicket on the other side.

It’s an awful thought to have- 

the thought that you may have come between two people.

If you believe yourself to be

a Bighearted person,

then do not let anger

or grief fester

in your thoughts,

or come across in your deeds.

This may seem so easily said,

and not so easily done,

but the truth is

that bighearted people

are most easily broken,

but also the most forgiving.

A big heart

is a house,

with thousands of rooms

for guests-

for every person

the heart’s owner

has ever met.

Metaphorical hearts can only be large

if they leave room for love,

and force hatred

out their doors.

“Each morning when the sun is shining, I look out the window and see how perfectly shaped the clouds are and how bright blue and inviting the sky is, and I fall in love with that morning. But the next day, I wake up and see that the sky is gray, and my heart is broken.
I think that’s why people become so wrapped up within themselves. We’re afraid to fall in love with things we know will break our hearts.”- Original

“Lying doesn’t stop pain, it only prolongs it.”- Original

I don’t like being lied to.

My own body has betrayed me,

my cheeks swell like the eyes of fish,

my veins and arteries have reverted

to childish indecisiveness.

I want to run and I want to sleep.

But I am ill.

Have the prescribed dosages

in their plastic orange bottles

done anything for me?

I feel the gashes in the back of my mouth,

I taste blood.

When the needle went into my arm

they were laying me down

and I talked about how I wanted to write,

when I awoke I was in the car with my father

and there was gauze muffling the words I tried to form.

The taste of blood was stronger then.

True, it was a small thing,

removing four pearls

whose heads had just begun to grow

out of the pink sheath of my gums.

Gone in half an hour,

but exhausted for three days.

This aftermath plays with my mind.

Who knows where I’ll be, or what

I’ll be thinking,

when these four cuts heal.