"Repeating" (in memory of Amanda Alexander) - Sarah Bush

http://qctimes.com/news/local/article_8cddba12-64c9-11df-bf0e-001cc4c002e0.html

Take a breath and feel it, feel it

filling up your chest

all day long, heart beating strong

it never stops to rest.

You'll go and go and go and go

like you know what's in store

Then it's all erased

except the look on your face

as you waved and stepped out through the door,

and that's all I can see anymore.

It's repeating, repeating

I can't talk, I can't think, I can't move

Just you leaving, just you leaving

Who guessed,

who imagined,

who knew?

You look over your shoulder,

I smile and wave,

Your heels tap the floor

As you're walking away,

The dark of the night outside

swallows you in

as fate turns our "later"s

into "never again"s...

It's repeating.

You don't know, you don't know

Never, for sure...

Though you'd like to pretend that you do,

Our perceived crystal balls that can

show us it all

A 20/20 foresight point of view...

But there's only so much a human can take

And crystal's just another fragile thing that can break

It all shatters and scatters

Little pieces everywhere

As we reach out for things that

are no longer there...

It's repeating, repeating

I can't talk, I can't think, I can't move

Just you leaving, just you leaving

Who guessed,

who imagined,

who knew?

You look over your shoulder,

I smile and wave,

Your heels tap the floor

As you're walking away,

The dark of the night outside

swallows you in

as fate turns our "later"s

into "never again"s...

It's repeating.

Your words become powerful, as they no longer fall

Your presence leaves gaps in midair,

Your flaws, your mistakes, no one will recall

As they look at your photographed stare...

You've become news that no one can believe

Though they've watched it, they've heard it, they've read...

And forever, forever around us you'll be

Just a sweet song stuck in our heads...

Repeating.

You're repeating.

Just repeating...

hearts are bleeding.

And it's repeating.

Breakup

You are so fun.

Oh my word, you are fun.

Talking to you is like

playing with mud.

It's filthy and thick

this snide game we are playing

as the mud all goes slinging

and the bricks we start laying

build walls up around us

to keep the hurt out

and gossip surrounds us so

we shoot and then shout

and cry out for redemption from

ourselves, from each other

with such loathing, we fall...

by regret, we are smothered

and we are, none of us,

even one inch taller

as our height in character

gets smaller and smaller

compared so the tall, thick brick walls

that we build,

and we drown in the mud

with which they

have been filled.

To Be Happy

My fake friends

tell me that what matters most

is that I'm happy.

Then, when I say I'm happy,

they proceed to tell me all of the reasons I

shouldn't be.

My true friends

see me laughing, smiling, and

filled with a joy I haven't felt for years,

and just let me be

happy.

Need I Say Less

The truth is
I once spent hours and hours
conjuring up lengthy words
and profound expressions
to immortalize past
"love."
To make it seem extraordinary,
heavily cloaked by the
intricate
elaborate descriptions
of my creative mind.

Oh, it always appeared so grand,
all those beautiful
brilliant
empty shells.

But you made me halt.
Engines, gears, slowing
an olfactory shutting down
til it's only

peace
and quiet
and you.

And I neither want
nor need to
disturb it.

You just are.

Everything I used to try to
build
with my imagination,
and now
no longer have to.

So I shall just be.
For nowhere else
would I rather.

And nothing else
need I say.

Orchids

He found me lost.
And waited while I took my time
and his.
He held me when he saw you in my eyes
And apologized
for the things you could never be
sorry enough for.
He took those little broken pieces
In his calloused hands
And worked them until they
Healed back together.
He touched me like I was fragile…
looked at me like I’m a story he could not believe
someone was telling him.
And when I showed him, regretfully,
the places I could still feel the dirt and filth
you left behind,
He used it as a place to plant
My favorite flower.

That Which Devastates

Around is that which you have slept.

A broken cry is that which I have wept.

A promise is that which you have not kept.

Save your “sorry” for the ledge from which I have leapt.

A Spine that Failed Me

Paralyzed in the worst way
by you, your concrete obstinance
colliding with my
leap of faith, an impact, then
I'm still.

Immobile.
Others coax and call but I can't answer,
cannot whisper.
I reach for you, but not a muscle
heeds my screaming will.

They all grow sad and angry
at my silence, so confused at this,
a useless, muted
heap of broken masterpiece...
a shame.

They leave me
there, bare...
tears staining the gray where I have shattered
And as if I never mattered, you
glance down

then do the same.

What are Dandelions?

"Dead Flowers" - Miranda Lambert

I feel like the flowers in this vase
He just brought ’em home one day
Ain’t they beautiful he said
They been here in the kitchen
And the waters turnin’ gray
They’re sittin’ in the vase but now they’re dead

Dead flowers

I feel like this long string of lights
They lit up our whole house on Christmas Day
But now it’s January and now the bulbs are all burned out
But still they hang, like dead flowers

He ain’t feeling anything
My love, my hurt, or the sting of this rain
I’m living in a hurricane
All he can say is man ain’t it such a nice day

I feel like that small string of lights
You said we won’t go far but we’re still rollin’
I look in the rear view and I see dead flowers in the yard
And that string of lights they ain’t glowin’
Lyrics are provided by Geniusbeauty.com

Like dead flowers
Like dead flowers

He ain’t feeling anything
My love, my hurt, or the sting of this rain
I’m driving through a hurricane
All he can say is man ain’t it such a nice day
Hey, hey, I guess we’ll just go to waste
Like dead flowers

Like dead flowers

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yej7_IcACB0

Why we say 'we do'...

(post I wrote in November)

Today, during my lunch break, I passed an elderly man in the park. He and I were both crunching through the leaves, admiring the hundreds of flags up everywhere. As he passed, he said, "Beautiful, aren't they?" and I said, "Yes." Of course. With the sun behind them, the fall leaves around them, and children running around beneath them, they were breathtaking. He smiled, gave a lingering glance at me, and contined on his way...a few moments later, I saw him meet his wife on the sidewalk, and they walked on through the park hand-in-hand. I pondered this...then become lost in thought on the whole thing. Then, had to finally write down the deep reflection I'd had on age...and companionship. I thought I'd share, because a little bit of insight, from any age, can usually only do good...

Ponderings...

When you are young, you think everyone around you is interested in what you think, what you say, what you do, how you look, where you go, etc.
And in most cases, because you are at the peak of your vitality and potential, they do.
They call you beautiful. They call you wise beyond your years. They praise your talents and achievements. They admire your energy and abilities.

But a strange things happens as the years of your life crawl by, etching lines on your face and patience on your heart:
you don't matter as much to other people anymore.
As harsh as it is to say it, it's true.

Your beauty has been worn out and stretched with time.
Your wisdom is no longer impressive, but expected.
There is little left to achieve, save contentedness.
And life has made you tired, and limited in the things you are now able to do.
At this place in your journey, you will begin to be interested in the young ones that surround you...
what they think, what they say, what they do,
how they look, where they go, etc.

And they will tell you all, eagerly, excitedly,
their hearts so full of youth
that they can't even see the faint ember of youth's existence
struggling out from behind your eyes.

This is why we choose a companion.

This is why we need another human being at our side,
who has seen a similar amount of sunsets and sunrises...
heartaches and happiness...
successes and failures...
greetings and farewells,
and can understand and appreciate the journey we've been through
in a way more profound than anyone else can.

Because when everyone else ceases to care,
or cares...but simply cares less,
the companion can be there
to squeeze your hand with empathy and say,
"I do..."

When everyone else cease to look,
or looks....but simply sees nothing to admire,
the companion can be there
to touch your cheek with appreciation and say,
"I do..."

When everyone else ceases to consider where you're going,
or considers...but knows that wherever it is...it's not far,
the companion can be there
to wipe away a tear as they say,
"I do..."
Because they care very much where you go.
And worry every day about when you will do so.

They look at wrinkles, and see laughter.
They look at frail limbs, and see adventures.
They look at gray hair, and see trials overcome.
They look at tired eyes, and see love.

And that is why, during youth,
we say "I do."

Because at the end, when youth has left us alone with nothing and no-one except that companion,
those subsequent "I do"s mean more than anything that ever came before it.

Rough Drafts

It felt like taking off my own skin
And then walking around with every delicate,
Tender and fragile inch of what was inside,
Exposed to the elements,
Nothing left to hold me in.
Nothing to ever fit like that, that well, again.

It felt like someone pried open the soft shell around my heart
Just enough to that the thick, liquid contents
Could seep out slowly, slowly…
Weighing down my insides and drowning the small,
Fluttering wings that used to alight below it,
And I have no way to reach in and seal the gap.

It felt like a thick scab removed gradually
So that each separate cell ripping from the wound
Made its own sharp outcry,
As I let you go while still holding you in my arms
Cried tears for you with the smile still warm on my lips
Said goodbye as I walk toward you, hands outstretched.

And I’m finding holes in everything.
Cracks in the ground I walk on…
Gaps in the walls around me…
Pockets of empty space in midair,
And each time I find them, I shake my head miserably
Because I hadn’t even known you were in all those spaces
Until you weren’t anymore.

And the drafts are bitter cold.

"Gone"

-Matt Nathanson

love,
I'm aching to believe
give me something real enough
give me somewhere to fall from

'cause in the dark
I can't find my feet
built my world on promises
colorless and cold

I'm short of breath, I'm sure
gone, let it wash away the best I had
gone, and when I disappear
don't expect me back, don't expect me back

lost, sweetest things get lost
in the static far away
painted pictures of you
I fold
don't want to be holy then
don't want to be sold again
the way I was with you

I'm short of breath, I'm sure
gone let it wash away the best I had
gone and when I disappear
don't expect me back, don't expect me back

I'm short of breath, I'm sure
gone, let it wash away
the best I had
gone, and when I disappear
don't expect me back
don't expect me back

at its worst the heart is sober
at its worte the heart is cold, cold, cold

I'm short of breath, I'm sure
gone, let it wash away all the best I had
gone, and when I disappear
don't expect me, don't expect me back

gone, let it wash away
the best I had
gone, and when I disappear
don't expect me back
don't expect me back
don't expect me back

....for the times when no words will do except someone else's....

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Doors Are Always Closing

I stand at the bathroom sink

begging for time to think,

But the mirror does nothing but mock.

I cannot take this anymore...

I hear your voice through the door,

But darling, everything's locked:

My gaze on my reflection, my sights on "the end,"

The way to your affection, the path to being friends,

locked up tight...

no key.

And we're both

lonley.

And you say

"oh please,"

but it's no use. I'm done with the abuse.

By the time the tears have dried away,

I find that you're well on your way...

Your footprints in the carpet by the door.

And I can't see your face,

just parts of you I can trace,

and a pair of your socks on the floor.

Drops of oil in your parking spot, scrambled eggs on your plate,

Fingerprints on your beer can, and a big marks on your clean slate...

And those flowers...

they bloom.

Odd colors

in that gray room.

And your breath

still looms

in the air, but you're no longer there.