if you were there, beware

found in the bottom of a bag of things from class:

The queen stands, precarious, on a chair
She never aspired to find herself there
speaking great words to the rest of the town
she sees the boy’s eyes when she looks down
she loves the way they’re so big, so brown.
She rose to this place only from frustration
sick of the idolatry corrupting her nation
so suddenly strong words grew into a creation.
In meaning to remember personal responsibility
there was gentle strength, rambunctious tranquility
singing its way into each person’s mind
a glow, a hum that seems to find
its form in words sung, those that bind.
The notes rise high to the ceiling tiles
The love within resonates for miles
They all remember to be, with style.
The music fades and the queen descends, free of fear
weaving her way to the boy she holds dear
Later, with her own, she holds his hands, his eyes
They talk, they kiss, something inside her dies
to see him like this, but to see him, like this, something else flies.
Of how most things are, she is far from sure
There’s a kiss, there’s a smile, there’s friends forevermore
but there’s also truth: always, love’s an open door.

slightly edited because of ideas about how to fix problem spots.

I’m aware that this isn’t very good. It’s what came out of my hands, though, the afternoon after the Tuesday of, depending upon perspective, Disappointment or Appreciation.

she stayed awake all night watching the colors change.

In my house there is someone sleeping; I can hear the shallow, even breaths.

The air here is saturated with fear: if I breathe too deep, the world might collapse.

Hiding in the tubes I feel safe, away from sleepers, from piles of work, from the clouds, from socialization.

Mornings are better than afternoons because when you open your eyes, it takes a moment for your memory to catch up, and you can be free.

Waking up is always a soaring feeling.

I want to go to sleep.

loud

hard work and perseverance really do pay off, sometimes. with time and effort the problem has been eradicated or at least proven solvable. is this my “reward”? (see below)

ahem

is there only one way to read this, or do I just have a one-track mind?

family restaurant

Poppa: “What is that? ‘Things I Like’?”

Me: “…Yes.”

2:32 and I’m going crazy

i can’t sleep through the snoring but for their sake i must type very, very quietly – in this silent-but-for-snores room every keystroke is the bang of a drum.

my brain and heart are on fire, wishing for big brown eyes and a fuzzy voice. my skin tingles, wishing for the touch of his. he writes for me, delightfully dirty things, and i throb with every word. sometimes i can feel my heartbeat all the way through the core of me, from my heart through my stomach and lower still. he drives me wild, he drives me mad, but for some reason (i blame the little green pills, this was a possible side effect) when i leave him my hands are useless. just like when he’s telling me stories and i’m ordered to bed, my body won’t let me trick it all the way – and suddenly it all slips away, and i am just tired but not sleepy and desperately insatiable.

i want to sleep, so badly. with open eyes i dream of dreaming. but the bed is hot, the snores are loud, the air conditioning rumbles, the mist outside the window is aglow from streetlight reflections…it’s impossible.

i feel like i am shriveling up from my inability to fill my basest needs. just bread, thank you, just water, just sleep, just love…it doesn’t seem so hard, does it? oh, but it is, it’s that mountain that seems fairly small until you try to climb it, that tangle in your hair that seems all right till you try to brush it, that recipe that seems so simple until you ruin it every time you make it, trying exactly three times a year for four years before you finally give in. i am searching for some escape. i can’t see the door, though, the building isn’t up to code: the green exit sign doesn’t glow anymore.