~ two-bit poetry on a stick ~ |
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Frustration Sometimes it feels as though I just wandered into this life. Most mornings I wake up wanting to go back to sleep. But breathing gets easier every day. And maybe instead of leaving everything in all its inchoate undoneness, it would be kinder to plod along pretending I know nothing of the inexorable end to this story. It is not a love story. The weather was dry and hot today and my skin had begun to crack. I amused myself by scratching your name on my skin with a toothpick. There you were etched on my skin as though you belonged there. And I smiled. This is my safe haven of frustration, your name written all over it. Sometimes I stare into a blank wall. It is pure in its white solidity. I wish I had the courage to dig my fingernails in it, and then slashdrag then through, piercing its nothingness, making grooves, making a mark until I bleed my truth and the fingernails fall off. I want to roll into a field of nettles until I bleed dry from every pore, and then take clumps of my hair and plant them, and someone will come along and harvest my pain and make their bread with it, and eat all my lovers along with it. And I would be willing to be sea foam for love, and trade my fins for legs, and knowing that I will bubble to sea spit in the end means nothing if I can understand you. Understand this, understand us. I. love. you. Steam - 19.01.07 |
-- friends --
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-- diaryland -- notifylist -- |
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©2005 two-bit poet ©2007 image rdk ledrew |
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