Magpie 225

Mine Is—
Me
I just want to lay lie
to the world.
A beautiful world reaching nothing,
Roses in my hand and bare skin to air.
Don't let the impressionist touch me,
too strong will the curves be to surrender.
Feet don't forget where they've been,
but I do,
and my mind wanders free of all the strife
when I lay lie
to the world.
Winds can't won't
creep up if fans lay somber beside
me.
Then,
with wind no longer the problem,
who am I?
Am I not the water splashing to the surface?
Are legs not the pillars that hold me up,
strong?
Is blood not the sash that stains my waist,
or was it?
Faces don't forget where I'm from,
but I do.

Summer Solstice Part 1

The Wall And The Arm
"Let's catch up,"
said the wall to the arm.
After all this time,
wow, you've grown.
There is so much more of you
that I could possibly love.
Our elbows will hold each other in the dark room
push against and sway
and I will avoid your eyes
when you sing the songs of yesteryears
those songs of our parents
the songs where "baby" and "lovin" are
so much deeper rooted into the movement.
Each song.
And your laugh is terrifying
because it sounds forced
and like you're trying to get me to laugh
or get my attention,
but after listening to your mother's laugh,
I know it's probably because I don't actually know you all that well.
But I remember you had this white car that I loved
and I moved awkwardly when we kissed by it in the parking lot,
but you still kissed me,
still.
And you would kiss me again.
And I have a boyfriend now,
but I let my farthest corner touch your elbow and—
Lovely and—
Quiet and—
Remember me and—
I am finally here again, and
with you of all places.

June 22, 2014. 1:07 am.

Magpie 223

❥

Magpie Tales (223)

*note: this may have been the first time I came up with the poem without looking at the picture immediately before or while writing it.... I was supposed to be trying to sleep and the thoughts just hit me and I made myself write it down instead of letting them be lost in my brain.

because then they'd be gone from the concrete world forever.

This is exactly how it was written out on my iPhone.. 11:21 pm June 13, 2014 and exactly how it is laid out, by whatever chance, in my "Notes" app (fixed just a couple typos).

 ∞∞∞∞∞

Tonight

I really don't want to fall asleep

Hugging my pillow

Nothing is good for that kind of thing

That kind of hugging thing

It's like a broken record the tape

slung out the voices eternally set to

a shriek

It dulled my head

And I think

I know I pushed it

Kept pushing it

Saying it was beautiful music

And now I am here

After each push the tap lasts for a 

little longer

The recording still holds its face

together for a couple more months

And what if this is the final tear

And I've finally ripped the present

Torn the music apart

It's gone

-June 13, 2014. 11: 21 pm.

❤♥ ❥(>‿◠)✌ ☮🍗🎉

Quote of the Dayze

If you hate a person, you hate something in him
that is part of yourself. What isn't part of
ourselves doesn't disturb us

- Hermann Hesse

WHERE WOULD YOU most like to sleep in a sleeping bag???

^2/19/10

[Update: is this a question from somebody? Did I come up with it myself? Was it a conversation at school? --I was in 7th grade lol--. Again, the world may never know. *le sigh*]

Dear Oak Ridge Visitor, I will get the picture up in a little bit.

Dear Oak Ridge Visitor,
   I've been very curious about you for a while now. Many questions run through my head like the man who sits and thinks all day. Like that man who sits and thinks but cannot see for his eyes do not work like yours and mine, I wonder if I know those who pass by me. By some random act of chance, do I know ye who passes by my blog? By some random act of chance, does the man who sits and thinks without really sitting or thinking know those who pass by him? And what about those who come back repeatedly? Does he recognize their name, or how they speak, or the sound of the footsteps? Does he notice that they come back repeatedly and wonder why they do such a thing? Does he wonder, as I do, if he knows this person, or at least does this person know him? By some random act of chance? Maybe they weren't close, but maybe they were...in a different soul or a different life? Or maybe they knew each other in a strange dream and each one has the same exact way of being as they had in the dream. Or maybe...maybe there is something wrong with the Feedjit thingy at the bottom, and it just picks me up as the Oak Ridge visitor...Maybe there's something wrong and the man who sits and thinks without really sitting and thinking thinks he recognizes a repeated visitor when it's really just the air-conditioning turning on, or someone flushing a toilet, or his own, barely touchable, thoughts that imagine the breath and the touch and the footsteps for him. Maybe there's just something messing with our heads

....

^5/16/11

[Update: man = human. I know someone who lives there, but I was just going with whatever passed through my fingers, in this case. Maybe it will make you think. I hope so, anyways. I don't know where I was going with it, and I will tag it as unfinished, but I don't want to touch it right now. Also, I don't know what picture I was talking about. Maybe now, this can be the picture. Or maybe, someday, the finished product can be the picture. Or maybe, another day, the second take at this, a sister letter, could be the picture alongside this one.]