5

And when I listen close
I hear old words of an
old heart that's lived for
100 years or more,
waiting to speak to
me, of all people,
as if I have some aged
wisdom to reply with.
Phrases that bounce
off of the dusty corners
of the room that is your
soul, crying out to me
with a sweetness I've
never heard until now.
And because my lips
are weak and lame,
I simply smile as wide
as my cheeks will allow
to echo your sentiments
and to tell you of my
growing desire to
belong to you.
Please know, that my
eyes are trying to tell you
all the things I have
no words to say, and
I hope you can understand,
because I desperately
desperately
desperately
need you to hear me
out.

Groan

Birthed into black,
my head in a bag
unable to breathe
without feeling the
suffocation of your absence,
slowly spinning my eyes
backwards into the sky
where they cannot be
retrieved.

Raised on baby-bottles
filled with milked soured
by salty tears,
weaned by dirty pacifiers
and torn blankets,
with holes of your making
cut with the same scissors
that separated us
and my bellybutton still aches.

Grown and groaning
for the lost days
of light and fresh air,
your smudging hands,
and crocheted blankets
decorated with promises.
Offered to other
more fortunate babes,
that I will never be.

You ought to remember,
that I didn't choose you.

Leaves

Drunk on tea leaves
straight from Dublin,
and my eyes see
everything much clearer,
with more warmth,
and more colour
than when I am seemingly sober.
I see visions of you,
your strong hands and
your good heart,
overflowing and
filling the space between us
until I am swept up
in the tenderness of your love,
the strength of your voice,
your honest faith,
and your oversized devotion.
And it's only when I notice
that you're fading from my view
that I reach for the kettle,
grab the sugar bowl,
and make another cup of tea.

Almost

Another night and I am
cold
writhing between sheets, paper
thin
wondering, if somewhere you are
just
as cold
as me.

Your hands, grip the edge of the
bed
and your eyes refuse to
shut
and you're hoping I'm still awake--
just
as restless
as you.

I only know the warmth of your
heart,
and the sound of your strong
voice
though I've yet to hear it, I am
just
as impatient
as you.

You sleep knowing that
soon
you'll be led in my
direction,
and you'll be
just
as thankful
as me.

Wicklow

To often have I aimed
to construct a seamless set
of eloquent phrases
made of only the ripest words,
but each time my pen
falls inches short from the page,
and my heart wrenches and pulls
at the truths I keep concealed.
I wish them to be thrust
into the light of all that you are
but my own crippling fear
keeps you wandering in the dark.
I can't offer you anything,
no match, no candle, no lamp
only my hand.
Though I'm unable
(at least at this point and time)
to offer you more than these worthless reflections,
I will do what I know best:
I'll remain.

One Day

They sit in the front seat 

after a pleasant evening 

of friendship and laughter, 

as typical as any. 

And on the way home, 

they share hopes for the future, 

and she listens to him dream

while she quietly dreams too. 

His eyes cannot see

through the glaze that covers 

her little brown irises, 

brimming with smiles, 

as she says a quick lie 

to hide a small truth 

that she accidentally let slip. 

Just as well, 

since he hasn't a clue 

that she's hidden things from him 

for what's turned into years now. 

She always meant well, 

and didn't see the point 

in ruining something 

that would never be more.

All her accidental truths 

have become hardly accidental 

because her silenced heart 

is screaming to tell him 

that every time she quiets her mind, 

her thoughts always go back 

yes, her thoughts always go back, 

to him. 

"One day", 

she says to herself 

as she steps out of the car 

and walks to her front door. 

"One day", 

she prays to her God 

as she crawls into bed, 

and gives everything up to the sky.

Wild One

My bones long for the
incongruity of tomorrow,
to be aligned with chaos,
to be forced to be free.
Because even today
I have already conformed,
to the linear systems,
to the obligatory movements.
Is it really so much to ask for?
For a little bit of unevenness?
to be unleashed upon the world,
to be left to my own devices.
Not with the intention
of forsaking all the virtues, but,
to be wild, like the wind,
to be bold, like the lion.
My bones long for the
ability to break and mend,
to be beautifully untamed,
and to be carefully unkept.

I always knew,
there was a wild one inside me.

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.

An Open Fist

My fist is clenched,
knuckles white, palms red,
and it's clear that I'm holding on.
Because if I don't,
I'll lose you to the wind,
lose you to the rain.

I'm tired,
of the give and the take,
the give and the take take take,
so I will keep you hidden,
from the One who always sees,
from a God who always sees.

And we sit and cry
as if the end has already come,
as if the wind and the rain have won,
but we've yet to step outside.
We compare, contrast, categorize,
making sense where there is none.

Our incapable hands,
will be chaffed and bruised
if we continue this foolishness.
And as much as my heart
wants to keep you tucked away,
I know if I do, I'll lose you indefinitely.

So stand with me,
and raise your hands.

Block

There's a blockage.

The eloquence of my words
has fallen apart in the execution,
and when my heart yearns to speak,
nothing ever comes.

There's a blockage.

Each day filled to the brim,
yet nothing can be squeezed out
of this metaphorical creative stone.
I long for my voice.

There's a blockage.

Sweet Dreams and See You Soon

My closing eyes are a warm hello,
Because I see you as soon as they're shut,
And I can't stop you from coming,
Not that I would try in the first place.
I miss your voice, and your stupid laugh,
Sending my heart into palpitations,
It's what you do best,
And what's more, is that you're oblivious.
I may only see you when my eyes are closed,
But as long as you're happy, it'll be enough.
I couldn't ask you for anymore.