Scissors

And the final knot
is twisting in my chest
unravelling everything left
that keeps me tethered to you
until I can only see a few things:
your face red and pained,
your hands nervous and spotted,
feet, pointing toward me, then away,
and your eyes, searching mine.
I assure you, dear friend,
that there is nothing hidden
in these brown irises
for you to resurrect.
What has died has remained so.
I walk away whispering endless prayers
to a God who sees every single
frayed thread in this rope,
and I ask for him to ease the process
as this last tangle gives,
but he offers no promises.
Instead he reminds me
of what I hold in my shaky hands:
a pair of silver scissors.

I open them up,
and press down,
with all the strength I have left.

November

An extended branch 
from a forlorn soul 
hidden in clouds of 
periwinkle tears 
and silent cries 
that reach my heart here, 
down below
where leaves lie lifeless, 
crippled by sharp cold 
injected into each stem, 
and into my very bones. 
An extended hand 
to one who's only ever 
been beaten back 
by palms and fists 
greater than the heavens, 
(or at least in a child's eyes)
and cried elephant tears 
over aches and scars 
that are only seen beneath
thin, thin skin:
an emotionally malnourished babe. 
And it's only when my mother's eyes
shine back at me from the mirror
that I smile in spite of every 
melancholic bone in my body 
and stop sulking long enough 
to let everything I hold onto 
die like those stone cold leaves, 
and blow away, 
far, far away, 
to those pale clouds, 
where sadness abounds, 
leaving only hope, 
to remain.

Pleased To Meet You

Allow me to introduce myself,
as aloof and misconstrued
within your eyes and your eyes only,
as I search for the right way
to be as aberrant, yet as conventional
as I know myself to be.
Forgive my biting directness,
for I've only tried to show you
that I'm not as predictable as I seem.
See, you've thrown me off,
with your ability to read me
before I've even penned the words
to define my own emotion.
It's hardly fair.
I fight to stay one step ahead,
when I know I've been behind all along,
and you're fully aware, 
and I'm terrible at whatever this is,
but I'm a willing student.
So allow me to introduce myself,
as simple-hearted and deliberate,
within your eyes and your eyes only,
as I learn the right way
to be as honest and lovely
as I know myself to be.

My name's Lena.

Cinders

I wonder if the rain knows

about all my saddest days 

before it paints the ground 

with water that evades

the leftover embers 

that burn in the pit of my heart? 

Those coals are only kept alive 

by the frayed ends of a love 

I've yet to lay aside; 

never perfectly mended 

and never sound asleep.

Every time you walk by 

I resurrect memories of days 

that were better than these;

we smiled like children 

and promised more than we ought

in the sun-kissed snow 

and in the confines of silver trees. 

Now this chilly rain escapes my grasp

while a fire hazard brews 

in the depths of my chest. 

I just need a puddle 

big enough to swim in. 

Amber

You have
amber irises,
like the little pendant
around my neck,
that you always asked about.
I have forgotten you,
dear friend, distant dream,
forever-ago love.
But when I see
your eyes,
easy, and familiar,
unsteady and wild,
I remember it all.
Holding your nervous hands,
kissing your rough cheek,
capturing your lofty promises,
and waiting, for you to leave.
See, I fought tooth and nail
to be the apple
of those amber irises,
but it just wasn't enough,
to keep you
from turning your gaze
elsewhere.

Goodbye.

Shadows

The wind dances a shadow
of where you once stood
next to me with your teddy eyes,
smiling like a little child.

The dust spins a whisper
of your four letter name,
that used to leave my lips
with the sweetest taste.

The leaves fall in a melody,
to the tune of your last song
that I sang for days and days,
after you taught me how it was sung.

Now the rain paints pictures
of all our still-framed memories
that will never get hung;
they're just rinsed clean away.

It's not for lack of trying,
that you're fading with every second,
but an unforgettable pain
that you injected in my skin.

And the poison mixes and blends
with the water from my heart
until I can only see your shadow,
dancing, in the wind.

4am Honesty

I find it painfully funny
that I haven't spoken to you
in weeks now
yet you still have this way
of making me feel worthless.
Just hearing
of every uneven story,
every feeling you lied about,
makes me want to break
all my own rules,
just to raise hell.
But it doesn't make sense,
that this little green monster
lives inside a heart that is set
on moving on,
because I want to move on.
But I remember how we began,
innocently enough,
but your god
just couldn't make it work.
But now,
you seem to be sure
that a slighter,
lesser, shadow of me
(all pride aside, I swear)
is more than enough
for you to initiate something?
For you to use every tactic
and good relationship sense,
that I taught you?


Oh, Please.

Extension

Dial tone

in my ear 

droning on 

like a fire alarm. 

Hovering fingers

over numbered buttons

pressing 1, 

because you're long-distance. 

A voice 

asks for an extension 

I stop, shocked 

that I got this far. 

Slam 

goes the phone

back in it's cradle 

back where it belongs. 

I return 

to my bed

to scold myself

for even considering this. 

"If I were stronger", I say. 

But I'm not. 

Aconite

You weren't my lilac 
cut from the tree
on the eve of summer, 
that I treasure for days, 
smiling like a child. 

You were the winter aconite 
hidden on the bottom 
of the forest floor, 
that I held in my hand 
for at least a little while. 

You caught my eye. 
You were yellow 
like the grin on my face, 
and you were delicate. 
I could strengthen you. 

I held up your beauty 
for a while, in my hands 
like Atlas and the world. 
You were heavy. 
Too heavy. 

I plucked off
all your little petals 
and let you fall 
back to that floor
that I salvaged you from. 


I whispered "he loves me not" 
and walked away. 

Playing God

I have adopted

whatever looks similar 

to a concrete conclusion, 

because answers, 

no matter how inaccurate, 

are better than nothing. 

Right?

You have played this out
like a mad-libs game,
with "insert the name of God"
written under every blank space.
Because that's the only way
you can make sense of things.
Right?

And I have written

my own ending 

to this never-ending-story, 

because you already have, 

and I think it's only fair 

that I get the last word.

Right?

Wrong. 

Because we have both failed

in our attempt to be wise, 

to realize that we don't know the end. 

And you can say that you do 

until the cows and the pigs fly, 

but you don't. 

I'm sorry but you just don't. 

My My

My my, what we have here
is a no-good, no-win, mess.
And I'm grasping at straws
tripping over what was, what wasn't,
and frankly, what will never be.
We have so much to rehash
relive, remember, regret,
and so much to leave behind.

I just can't see what the end will look like.
Can you?

Twenty-Two

You say I've changed
I say you haven't.
Honestly, I think the latter
is more tragic.

You feel a sense of bitterness
when none exists.
And you're taken aback
by my wavering attention.

What did you expect?
After you ran me into the ground?
And what did you want from me?
When I already offered all that I had?

You can't be that oblivious, can you?

Titleless

You asked me to stop loving you,
Because you didn't want to see the pain in my eyes,
When in reality the pain was always in them.
It's part of my genetic make-up.

You told me to help myself,
Because you can't handle my reliance on you.
You flatter yourself, because in all honesty,
I always knew you were far from a sure thing.

You're the one they laugh about at high school reunions,
Never grew up, failed at everything her hands touched,
And that's not my fault.
Not anymore.

You asked me to stop loving you,
Not because you were concerned about my pain,
But because of your concern for your own conscience.
I guess dead-beats have feelings too. . .

I forgot your name today, and I don't feel bad about it.