after effects of a dream

i read so many exhales, buzzings of purported truth and it haunts me.

he hates when we aren't self-aware

but how can we be

we only know our faces in the mirror

which is the opposite of how we look, in truth

i see his opposite of preach quite often and

everyone hates a hypocrite

so i guess it is truth

afterall

but who am i

a sucked-soul dry of seeping

and weeping-wet from wonder

exploited affection and cabin-talks

the highest hopes we've had since infancy

what happened to them,

and why am i alone

lonely strands waiting patiently for a grooming

unkept brows and an addiction thats bad for my skin

(and my sanity)

needled-nails and ivory stained brown

i used to think i could be pretty if i tried

but my face is the same colour as my neck

and i can't remember the last time i used a brush

i haven't changed much but i feel a little different

choosing battles has never been my strong point

but i've always been a good listener.

tragedies

an invitation for a stroll, fingers forever on that pulse now, searching for the most beauty in these ninety degree angles

(china has one without any, i didn't think it was possible until i saw it, and then i did and it looked like every other, just on a slant. Funny, i found traveling to be such; something familiar, just on a slant).

hummed and haa'd for a while, frustration pushing others out the door; this isn't all that new to me (though i'm always learning), i just felt some need for another kind of method.

(kind of like this one, in a sense).

got to thinking while on that saunter, one of the few tragedies of time + place

how beautiful he looked in the moonlight with that old chunk of metal and its colourful strap, among a slew of other things, too perfect for paper (it would seem)

How these impressions are bestowed only on the street, away from any reason to apply

trapping feelings unless burned...

because i was on that street the thoughts be gone for ever

but

had i not been there i never would have thought them at all.

on this day

tired eyes seeking open hearts and closed mouths; famished minds seeking nourishment in

truth,

which is what they won't find here, i've been told.

i read a lot about being dropped, and i hunt for more quite often; sometimes i feel i wont be complete

unless it hurts

and i am justified to fuel the hurting myself.

i never dropped you; or at least i never meant to.
but i guess i did.

hands-washed, calendar-pages-turned-to-kittens-kind-of-dropped i feel

and how do i tell

a famished mind seeking truth

(mine, yours)

that your incessant eruptions push me so far i don't know that i'll never get back.

still

We mentioned while we were there how similar we felt
Entrapped with beauty but hearts still beating to that same drum and every morning waking up to that sandy-eye'd gaze
And it wasn't until I looked back that I realized how far id run
With him but, still running
Bittersweet song and sigh
That was never for me and I should have known that
But
I can feel it reeling me in again and I don't want it to
It felt so cold when I saw it there
(from there)
Perhaps because I was surrounded by honesty
But
That really shouldn't matter
Because until then I thought this was real truth

You don't remember all the promises you made me
And that's ok
I don't remember much of what I don't mean either
But I know what it's like to feel like you mean it
However
When you locked me in that corner and forced my gaze I could feel you drinking me
And it hurt almost-- I remember feeling as though you could see me naked
And it frightened me

But then I look in the mirror and see mine
Overgrown with unkept
And freckles that look like dirt
Recurring red bumps and the hair
I don't deserve to have.

Sometimes I feel all I need is this book and her... Though not crying beside me
I'd rather she walked freely but
We are both scared
Naive and
I really do love her too much
him when we are both reeling in new
Helping to get to where we need to be
And sometimes
I really feel like that's what I've got
And I like that

apperatif

Toes curled
Hair of white and grey
(blue)
20 year old scotch and irish
Yes
Thank you
It's good to be home

old wordings

When the sky is so grey
It can only burst white
And I am in a place unknown
Reeling something but
I don't know what
I can't even force a smile
To apply my blush

But hey, at least I can
Apply my blush
At all

It's always too much or too little
Or not at all
The truth is I am doing it so often
All around my exhausted lumpy head
Feeling it or holding it or
Thinking how I can keep it in a sentence
Forever
But I never can
Even here right now

How could any tongue-d sounds tell

this warmness
And the light of a growing red
Deep inside
And the rumbling of that hunger

That I feel

Don't you know that words are dead anyway?

You told me my eyes were beauty
i thought that meant you could see my truth

Amsterdam pt. 1

Nothing more than laughter
Cats kneading paws....makin' muffins
Excited from the beginning
From my desk at work
To the floor of their one-room flat
To the canal'd breezed room with smoke sun rays
Littered with the things I usually hide by morning.
To the meeting at the phallic statue
To his Canada goose jacket with
The Montreal sweat shirt from twenty years ago
To his love of this place
To his reading addiction and the way he kisses his wife and his honesty with fitting us in
Baby sparkles in her eyes
Talking to her while they smoked
(indoors, for once, though in another room)
I could feel warmth from her
Pure interest in what bellows in
Her pupils
I was jealous of that
But from the moment she kissed me on each cheek when me met
To the third one paused by a thank you
The strongest thank you i had felt in a long time
Eyes latched on mine an I could feel her taking me in
A thanks for a congratulations
Baby sparkles his/herself
And she probably has forgotten

These are moments I remember and hold
Beneath my skin
Latched to the muscle of my eye and the string of my heart
Sitting in the dimmest of the quietest I had seen there
Realized it's romance less raunch
Not that it was anything less than sheer pretty

It was a whole other pretty because of them

wien pt. 1

trickled nightly in the middle; dripping wet with white shine

if you told me they washed them down to make them pretty

i'd believe you

its only more sparkly that way

anyhow

we saw a man doing it on our way out

soapy water around the corner

he almost splashed us and i hoped he would

and he smiled as he apologized

(at least i think he did)

i saw what she held one of the days

small strokes filled large in comparison

i don't have that patience so i appreciate

yours

and those ones that literally shine,

lights glowing behind

wood, or canvas

hard-fibre and metal

i don't know how you did that

and i wonder if you did

either way

i hope i will some day

thank you for your sketches, they made me feel so human

its funny how much i hold it now,

that place.

even then -- i knew it was pretty

you'd be a fool to think

it normal

but it took me

even when i was hurt

and it held me

and i felt safe

i might belong there

but i might just still be

under its spell

i don't know

i'm not really one to fall

for new places

its funny how boiled - hot our entrance was

screaming a language we thought they couldn't understand

they always seemed to be laughing at us and

for once i didn't mind

and they didn't seem to dislike us

either

the moment i thought

this is where i need to be

may have been

when i saw the place that chooses only

to serve a baked potato, hot wine

but a baked potato

with tzatziki and cheese

and whatever

the hell you

want

i just hope that isn't just during

the wiener christkindlmarkt

and

only then

breath

I can hear it so clearly and it's surprising though I don't know why. (just wrote don't twice In a row)

the heartbeat in my ears. the pulse counteracted sounds
instrumental

intentional

slides outta my left one
and I don't know if that's cause
my left one I'd smaller or
bigger cause
my left one is bigger

(ad you know)

and fuck. it's cold in here

and I think I may actually put on some music.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Europe is honesty.