around you,a frail slippery
house,a strong fragile house
(beginning at the singular beginning
of your smile) a skilful uncouth
prison,a precise clumsy
prison(building thatandthis unto Thus,
Around the reckless magic of your mouth)
my love is building a magic,a discrete
tower of magic and(as i guess)
when Farmer Death(whom fairies hate)shall
crumble the mouth-flower fleet
He'll not my tower,
laborious,casual
where the surrounded smile
hangs
breathless
e.e.cummings
____________________________________________________________________
I went from hopeless/speechless with pen in hand as the late nights always settled in the colder dusks
to this.
all because a tender heart walked into a library and i with my
broken head
my fire craving burnt hands
my self-detinating techniques
decided to speak because the door was squeeking and he made a funny face.
(it really was funny.)
he ended up in my bed three weeks later. on our first date. that's what the last poem's about.
thats why those who know think I'm crazy.
all people want to see is sex
to see my bed as lure
and questionable morals.
because true love waits
(i.
think
I've
been
waiting
my
whole
life)
it makes me smile to think
we still haven't had sex yet (yep-virginIamstill)
it makes me so sad (really fucking sad) that before I could get one word of that poem out on the phone,
the need to doubt, criticize, question, the will to dissapprove conquered anything I could ever say about the first time I'd been touched in over a year.
the first time I'd listened to in rainbows and felt in rainbows
we stayed up the whole night, a week before finals, a week before the end of a semester of moving, changing, growing and feeling utterly lost.
a semester that someone wrote him as a verb, his movements/motions used to fill an empty space
a semseter I spent grasping at anything and fell. and was falling.
I don't know what I was thinking
I wish I could tell you what I was thinking when I asked (I asked.) but I can't remember.
he was tired, and I think I said, "well, are you taking the bus or are you spending the night here?"
(isthatok?)
I can only tell what I know, and what I know is what I feel. it's that poem. it's his heart and it's a fucking miracle.
(writing keeps me from dying, i think)
3 comments:
you're asleep on my floor in a bed you made of bedding from our many homes
and i keep looking down at you, so pretty and peaceful, smiling every time because you're the most beautiful thing i've ever seen and i simply refuse to get over it.
i love you.
It sucks quite a bit about my mom. I don't think she quite understands what pressure society puts on people these days and also the pressure she puts on people. I know she's going through her own stuff so hopefully in getting myself straightened out some, it'll help her.
I'm hanging on to that liberated feeling as longer as I can. It's slipping a little, but I have a tight grip :)
You are very, very lucky to have seen Arcade Fire twice! I really want to go to Montreal cause I bet their home shows are even crazybetter than on tour. That's a goal of mine.
Hopefully I'll get to see Cat Power and Broken Social Scene (again) at Bonnaroo cause I'm going this year (I never thought I would actually go).
I haven't listened to Radiohead too much but I have Pablo Honey and In Rainbows and I agree, In Rainbows is pretty fantastic. Have you listened to Thom Yorke's solo album? It's also way fantastic.
I welcome your music questions; it's good to talk to someone who has great music tastebuds.
And thanks for your feedback; it definitely makes it easier to be as honest as I can be and I thank you too for taking anonymousness out of the internet. It's refreshing. And long comments are ok, I don't mind reading them.
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