Maple

The bottom of the maple tree 

suited my purposes, so I 

dug down with my bare hands 

until I uncovered the roots. 

I took the tin box filled to the

brim with you, and stuck it 

between those mighty veins. 

The dried blushing roses, 

the letters and the poems, 

and even your marbled heart

arranged between the tissues

that dried all the tears you 

gave me, buried in the ground. 

And there my love can grow, 

warped in the roots of that big 

maple tree, rather than inside of 

a heart that can no longer 

sustain life. The only evidence 

left behind is the black dirt 

on my hands from covering 

it up. 

You no longer deserve

the cries of my heart. 

Seven Sisters

Seven sisters
sitting in the center
of my rust-ridden heart,
shining like the light
I only long to be.
I have so much love
pulsing through the blue-red arteries
but it leaks through the holes
of this decrepit little heart.
I hope you see my intentions,
as I try with all my might
to muster up enough emotional stamina
and show you I care
at least a little bit.
I've got stars,
in the middle of my chest,
they've just forgotten what it's like
to paint the night sky.

I've hidden them away,
along with everything else.

Hypochondria

My name is hypochondria,

And I swear,
that my clammy hands,
and my palpitating heart,
are clear signs
that my heart is stopping.
And my closing throat,
and my want for sleep,
is alerting me
to some kind of cancer,
growing, and spreading.

The more I sit here,
the more ailments I count,
and the more I worry,
the more my worrying sickens me.
I live in a circle,
only every once and a while,
where I'm afraid of my fears.
And it's only when
I realize that I'm fine,
that I am free.

Davy Jones

Reconciling you
with the you you used to be
has become my only task.
My heart fills to the brim
with confusion, with thoughts
and my eyes see what they want
and my ears hear what they need to,
while my heart feels
everything, simultaneously.
My mouth doesn't want to talk
my mind doesn't want to think,
and my heart doesn't want to feel.

Yet I harbour this ship,
constantly sitting in my port,
carrying everything I've had,
along with everything I've lost,
with no hope of leaving,
but yet it's never really here.
A captain who can't decide
and I, as uncertain as the tide,
unable to hide the emotions
from our sea-worn faces.
We are drifting here,
through storm and calm,
just drifting here.

We have no other choice.

Six

Dear Mr. Blue,

I don't understand.

My heart can't tell up from down,
It's missing in action,
So I wish I knew how to react, but
Sadly, I don't.

You're asking me to do something
Over and above what I expected, and
Until now, I would have ran the other way.

But I can't. 


Yours,

Eleanor

I Know I'll Repent of This in The Morning...

I have nothing more to say,
than this:

You saw my heart,
You knew my emotions,
You let them develop,
then you took it all away.
You've broken me,
to a point of confusion,
and I can't see You
or hear You
and I want You to know
that I'm not impressed.

You saw my fleece
and my honest cries
and you stomped all over it.
You saw us on the altar,
and our offering up to you,
and you provided no lamb.

In my anger,
I have nothing more to say than this.

Tag

I sat in the third seat, 

facing the curtain-covered window, 

beside a dark haired girl 

who had the same shoes as me. 

You sat in the sixth seat. 

Some simple conversation, 

and some awkward words 

echoed in my mind 

in the weeks that followed. 

Months from then, they still do. 

So many hours laboriously spent 

asking Mr. God-of-the-universe

to slow down just a little bit, 

so I could decipher you. 

So I could decipher my heart.  

Then you created and destroyed me, 

exposed and protected me, 

until you couldn't understand anymore.

Your confusion has yet to change my certainty, 

but my heart can't keep waiting. 

You're still that man, 

sitting in that sixth seat, 

but I've gotten up, 

wiped my eyes and said my prayers, 

and walked away. 

Whether or not I'm worth chasing after is really up to you.                                

                                                                                                             

Five

Dear Mr. Blue, 

I've tried writing you this 

haphazard, scatter-brained letter

for days now. 

The right words don't come, 

and though I strive to write to you 

with eloquence and grace, 

my only words are harsh and blunt. 

I long to gain that honesty 

but I can't tell what's truth anymore, 

and I want to think what I feel, 

but I don't know that I have a heart to feel with. 

All these things I wish to tell you, 

that you may or may not wish to hear,

are now lost. 

Even more painful 

than the confusing of my heart, 

is the taking of my words. 

Yours, 

Eleanor 

You Never Learn

You never learn your lesson.
Making the same mistakes,
Taking the same missteps,
Leading you down the same paths.

You grieve once you hit the wall,
but you overlook your own folly,
that brings you there every time.

And you call yourself careful,
and you call yourself wise,
but I witness none of these things.

You're playing the same game,
spinning the same web,
trying to catch something,
only to throw it away.

You never learn your lesson.
Or maybe it's me that never learns. . .

Rambling

Unfair, how the very same words are said,
to mean entirely different things,
and how cruel it is for you to sit there,
watching me try to figure it out.
All I ever did was make my way through,
the barricades that eventually led me here,
and all I get for my hard work
is the uncertainty I longed to be rid of.
Let me go, let me go, let me go.