Myocardium

Signals shot,
silenced by frayed
wires, connected to
your ventricles,
and haphazardly
stuck to mine. I
need a boost.

Not simply a jolt,
but an awakening,
to be enlivened again,
so you switch to
the defibrillator,
in the hopes that
I won't give up entirely.

I think we could
avoid all of this
frantic first aid,
if you would just
choose me.
Keeping me half-alive
is torturous.

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.

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.

To Try

...and I don't think it's due to

a lack of want or desire, 

but a lack of trying 

on no one's part but my own. 

Trying, to step over dividing lines 

and push against glass ceilings 

that cripple me. 

That cripple us. 

I don't try because I can't win, 

(or at least my heart tells me so)

and I know that if I try and fail, 

I will loose more than I ever wanted to. 

An age old weakness 

sleeps in my little heart, 

stopping me from attaining 

all my loftiest hopes, 

and though I point my finger 

to a faceless, voiceless cause, 

I know the fault is no one's but mine. 

If I never have you, 

it will be no ones fault but mine. 

Projectors

How do you stand
sitting in all our places,
with people other than me
and forget all the words
that cling to the walls?
And all the tears,
that soak into the fabrics?
And all the tensions,
that still float in the air?
I can't even walk
in and out of these places
without feeling heaviness
a pressing anxiety,
and when I close my eyes,
I see the memories like projector slides.
You slide in and out of my eyes
and I am unable to forget,
unable to wipe you away.
How do you stand it?

If you have a secret method,
I'd love to know what it is.

Grown-Up Hide and Seek

a song 

For years I've been trying to see
exactly what you're looking at
and when your eyes shine
I try to find the road map.

Once upon a summer night
you told me that your heart was fine
I stared at you a while
and finally saw your crooked smile.

And I always tried to hold you
a little bit tighter
And I always tried to know you
a little bit better
And I always tried to find you
in all my favourite hiding places
but you were still trying to find me
in this game we play called grown-up hide and seek.

There's nothing like yesterday
is what you'd always say
when covering up your silliness
and awkward mistakes.

And I always tried to hold you 

a little bit tighter 

And I always tried to know you 

a little bit better

And I always tried to find you 

in all my favourite hiding places 

but you were still trying to find me 

in this game we play called grown-up hide and seek. 

The First To Say. . .

Let me be the first to say
that nothing about your eyes,
nothing about your laugh,
nothing about your presence,
is settling.
You push me into corners,
make me run, hide, and cry
for some kind of resolution
when you offer no apology
no remorse,
not even an acknowledgement of my existence.
I loved you,
with the most ardent and earnest love,
and I kept no record of your wrongs,
until you crushed me with your words,
crushed me with your two anxious hands,
and now,
months removed,
my bones are still broken,
my heart is still torn up,
and you walk free, just the same.
Let me be the first to say,
that if you could really understand these eyes,
they'd tell you that this is far from over.

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.

Birdcage

Open up your chest 

to show me there's something

still beating in there. 

Behind your birdcage 

made of bones, 

has your lovebird 

died or flown free?

Did you clip it's wings, 

and stop it 

from singing? 

Because when we speak 

there's no words 

and when we run, 

there's no speed;

just silent glances, 

just stagnant motions, 

that mean nothing.

Your hands are cold, 

your eyes are empty, 

and your smile 

is dull. 

Where is your heart? 

Green Button

I make up reasons
to dial his number,
to say that I'm sorry,
or just to say goodbye,
so I can justify
this stupid decision
to myself once I've hung up
and thought it through.
I'll claim good intentions,
when really,
I just wanted to feel
close, wanted, and loved again.
I have no good intentions,
just selfish wishes
to rewind the time
for a few minutes.
Truth is,
I don't want to go back,
I don't want to restart,
I just want to feel that way
one more time.
And there's nothing in the world
that can make that okay,
and nothing I can tell myself
to ease my conscience.
So before I pick up the phone
and press that Green button
I think of what I'm doing
and who I'm doing it to.

I put the phone on the cradle,
and step away.

Keys

Dear You,

Often I worry, that this old house
is too big for you to find me in,
and that you'll give up
for an easier venture,
rather than pursuing after me.

And sometimes I worry
that the windows of my history
that still remain open
will cause too much of a draft
for you to be happy here.

Will my love letters,
and my loyal devotion
be enough for a man
who will see all my brokenness,
and who know my every fear?

Will the rooms be big enough
for you to feel at home,
inside this old house of a heart,
that I've invited you into,
not to visit, but to live?

Will you see my haunting memories
as heavy bags to carry,
or beautiful stories
of victories much bigger than myself,
that you are privileged to share?

Oh I must believe,
that you will find me,
and find me lovely.
And I will find you worthy
of a set of keys

to this heart.

Love, Me.

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.

Conundrum

Why is it,
that I can hear you stirring
at one in the morning,
when you said you'd be sleeping?
But rather,
you're awake in my mind,
racing about, mad,
with the sense you steal from my heart.
I was told,
to follow my heart,
but to listen to my head,
because the latter deserves more trust,
but you sleepwalk in both.
I am not rid of you.
So I am trapped,
with the conundrum of
figuring us out.
Because we are
a difficult and confusing question,
that I have only ventured to answer,
after failing at everything else.

What are we?

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.

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.

Held Up

He's held up 

by what seems to be

his own thoughts. 

Racing and whirring, 

like the wind 

over the flat fields. 

He has choices

but none of them are easy 

either way, things will change. 

She's held up

by what seems to be 

her own fears. 

Rushing and stirring 

her poor little heart, 

like rain on young flowers. 

She has a voice, 

but holds silence, 

because speaking up never worked before. 

They sit side by each 

and say nice things, 

yet all the while 

the things they want to say 

go again, unsaid. 

They're held up. 

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. 

Steelesview

I went there today.
To that little alcove
beside the playground.

It was cold,
and children were playing, laughing,
smiling. Like we would.

I hadn't the time to stop
to soak in each memory
that is held there.

I walked on.

But I remember
that windy night.
We were scared.

Our fears are soaked
into the red bricks
and the heavy doors.

We couldn't defeat them.
And though you held me,
we were blown away in that wind.

I walked on.

Funeral for a Friend

I'm in my Sunday best.

it's raining, 

just like it would 

on an occasion such as this. 

There are no flowers, 

or little candles 

to usher you out,

and no commemorative picture 

of a smiling and eager face. 

There are no sweet poems 

or small speeches, 

no awards, 

no songs, 

just a box. 

Just a hole and some mud

with a shovel at the ready.

And when I look around, 

I don't see anyone else.

It's just you and I my friend, 

like it used to be, 

and though the time is coming 

to tuck you in and cover you up, 

I won't walk away, 

until I'm ready. 

I'm not ready yet. 

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.