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Half-Past a Different Kind of BrokenTrauma looks like my kitchen clock.
The hours,
minutes,
they are dead
and the second hand stutters,
heartbroken.
I imagine every inconsequential twitch
is a plea for the freedom
it will never see again.
When its futile heart finally gives out,
I won't try to fix the timepiece
because after all its wasted sufferings,
allowing again such a disjointed tic
would be a deeper level of cruelty.
Strung OutConsider me hanging on the line,
a dress without a body waiting for the sun,
vibrant when she's not heavy, waterlogged.
As a child, I enjoyed making orange smiles,
while wondering why we didn't have
a clothesline stretching from tree to tree
like I'd seen on the television.
I admired the way skirts became birds,
picked up by the wind they adored,
while sheets grabbed the wind like a sail,
and the clouds were always made of cotton,
and the denim sat like lead.

Now every time I put myself out to dry,
the sky gets heavy and breaks on me.
I am halfway towards being ready,
and then the rain rips me down again.
Maybe that's why
SleeplessBack pressed against the wall,
I stare into three o'clock nothings.
Left with watered-down thoughts,
exhausted, mumbled musings,
I have little more to do than
mutter myself down from
whatever fight I'm losing against myself
as the stars grow all the dimmer.
What about sleepless exhaustion
destroys the barrier between
stream of consciousness and the
structured mind?
Honorary Sun SpotI'm going to tie a string
around the new dawn
and make the sun my balloon.
I won't let go as it keeps rising,
I just need warmth and this seems
like the best way to find it,
the day taking me with it
round the world.
Take a picture of your rooftop,
and I'll wave as I go by.
HeavyWhen you let me go
by the side of the road,
please remember the string
that you tied to my soul.
I'm the balloon you inflated
just to let go;
the night is too cold
and I'm sinking so slowly down.

Why'd you have to cut this
delicate cord,
the thin wire trailing
from my heartbeat to yours?
Remember the science of
the desolate sky,
because the night is too cold
and I'm sinking so slowly down.
AwakenedPaint me silver,
to contrast the dawn,
and open my eyes to the twilight.

In this moment, I am the hills.
I am the mountain with his
white-brimmed hat cocked just so.
I am the breathy mist on the lake.

With the sun framing
my westward-pointing shadow,
the morning is my vestment,
and new warmth makes my crown.

I shiver with the bristling pines,
shaking off last night's frost,
creaking as we stretch into the wind.
GodGod is in her rocking chair,
wood creaking as she hums back and forth.
I want to climb onto her sun-warmed lap,
breathe in the smell of air dried dresses,
May breezes caught in her floral-print skirt.
Her hands are gentle as they stroke my hair,
her knitting going still when I rest my head
on her knees where her yarn was.
She holds me as I cry.
MeltI prayed for rain because
once you told me
that it was your favorite thing.
The sound of it,
the way it smelled on the concrete cracked,
how it felt on your skin
if you were to step outside and
let it soak into your tired shirt.

I told you that I liked the snow,
and for me it was because
nothing was more symbolic
for how cold I am when compared to you,
how rain fights with itself when it
races down the window,
but snow is distant, aloof,
floating easy.

And if I shared that thought with you,
I know you'd tell me that
I'm just the clear sky, a blessing,
because you love me in ways
that I want to love you...
but can't.

So
EasyWas there ever a girl so strange?
Smoky hearted, grabbed at the waist
by the next passing breeze.
She keeps one foot stuck in
the wrong side of her conscience,
the other grounded in nothing.
She replaces men like lipstick, she
wears her promiscuity like
last night's perfume.
For the Man Who One Day Holds My HeartI want to be your Summer girl,
peaches, sunshine,
and August thunder.

I want to be the Autumn hearted,
colorful and always falling,
vibrant.

And I could be your Winter bride,
clean and innocent,
blushing on the snow,

while my spirit smelled of Spring,
smiling with the lilacs,
every kiss a crocus.

We'd be more than seasonal lovers,
but steadfast as the years and
ever-dancing with the Earth.
AdriftRun headlong into the wind with me.
We are only ships on this endless blue,
without anchor, north star, or compass spinning.
Find me as I lose myself with you.
Burning HeartWe built a beautiful pyre,
and in my heart,
I'm holding your hand as it burns.
The sparks could become the stars,
jewels in Orion's belt.

I'd lace my fingers through yours
in a final act of faith
while we stare down the smoke
cradling the moon,
and each piece of kindling
that crumbles in on itself
leaves me a little less broken.

The light flickers,
so do the corners of your lips.
We needed this.
It's Not So Bad When The Ceiling Stares BackIt's almost five and
when the sun takes her
olympic strides towards
the westernmost curve in the horizon,
I find myself lonely.
But I know my shadow will hold my hand
as long as it doesn't get dark again.
So I brighten my room with an electric click,
shut the shades to keep out the night,
and search for myself to the tune of
nobody sitting next to me when
I harmonize with an empty bed.
I can almost feel our mutual heartbreak
when I stare into the ceiling cracks.
Since When Did You Surrender?You hold your breath like
there's a knife at your throat,
and your eyes hold nothing but
stormy resignation to this end.
Dream-chaser,
who murdered your spirit?
Were it a lover, a sister, a father killed,
you would run screaming through the thunder,
but you sit like a monolith in the living room.
Your heart and mind are flint;
your imagination sparks when they collide,
and I miss the blazes you created.
Clockwork LossYou stopped breathing
when the hour hand froze
and your blood quit running
when the minute hand stopped
and the death-rattle grind
of the second-hand's death
kept time with your empty eyes.

I've twice dissembled your broken watch,
bought new gears and a different face,
and even though your ash is in the earth,
I swear when it ticks
I will hear your voice again.
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More from *callerofcrows

Almost LifelikeMy very life is plastic,
similar in hue
to the dirty water in the sink.
My cage is windowed,
but still a cage,
and however dark my song,
I am nothing but his "little bird,"
a pet well-trained.
A doll.
Pose me,
playing house,
my aspirations poised
to burn it down.
SingularityI am content with my individuality,
my current level of solitary self,
but hiding in the corner of every imagined future
is the image of being someone's dream-girl.

Some days I ache to write love poems again,
written in my cursive,
gently perfumed,
every syllable aching for a kiss.

And other days I revel in playing house,
smiling at thoughts of domesticity.
I cook better when caught in romance,
which carries a flavor all its own.

Perhaps this is to teach me patience,
to make me a greater person
before I become a better lover.
It's ComingMy hands are shaking.
It happened between blinks and
now this house is not my house;
I'm convinced my mind's retreating.
I understand the symptoms.
I know I'm not quite done with sanity but
I am home alone and so unsure of
what else to do but step into the shower
calm myself with hot water down my back
and my forehead cold agains the walls;
it's a comforting duality.
I wish I had someone to call but
I feel as if I'm loved for my optimism only...
and once I cry out hurt, partially cracked,
I am an inconvenience unworthy
of whatever help I might receive.
I wonder what I've done
to make my mind hate me so thoroughly.
Dust in the WindI felt the crows' feet
growing at the corners of my eyes.
I always knew my soul was ninety,
that it'd take my body seventy years to catch up.
There are memories here
that I have yet to make,
thinking of children
I have yet to have
with a man whose face is clouded
by what I swear will be dementia
after I hit eighty-nine.

Or maybe this is just another life
waving at me from the wrong side of the mirror.
A Darker Shade of ReminiscenceI half-convinced myself
that my soul only played in a minor key.
I remember smiling at that thought
and feeling I should be guilty,
but I left all emotion with my heart
as it rested by the soap dish.
My world was black and white
but I thirsted for color like an addict,
I was so convinced
they didn't make medicine
for that brand of sickness.

Every time I breathed
I could've sworn I was exhaling in slow motion.
I recognized my mourning,
though I vowed my cries were empty noises;
Still, I wore that veil,
though it broke my neck,
though it owned me.

I remember
when I left its gauzy haze behind me.
I made myself a promise

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February 19, 2012
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Papercuts and Recollections

:iconcallerofcrows:

I had forgotten your love letters
until they cut my finger when I
grazed the bottom of my drawer.
Folded crisp and neat,
some of the ink had smudged like
the crimson filling the whorls of my thumb.

I could hear your voice clearly,
saturated in the scrawling script.
You promised me forever,
now forever's gone.

Lost in that rush of reanimated feeling,
I could almost remember
the way your cheek felt resting
warm against my hair,
how you smelled like home.

The traces of you lingered like
the last hours of yesterday
before turning to the smell of dust
and the feel of paper too dry
to write on again.
:iconcallerofcrows:
Accidentally found old love letters from Mike when looking for paperwork, and "Dust in the Wind" came over my iTunes. Needless to say, the love letters immediately went into the recycling bin and I burst into tears. Talking with a friend completely helped. Now to watch a movie, eat Ben & Jerry's, and knit my way out of this funk.
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:iconmrs-freestar-bul:
*Mrs-Freestar-Bul Feb 24, 2012   Writer
It hurts when you found pieces of a past. Beautiful poem my dear:dalove:
Reply
:iconcallerofcrows:
*callerofcrows Feb 27, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
:hug: Thank you.
Reply
:icondweckie:
~dweckie Feb 20, 2012  Student Writer
Real emotion and beauty in so few lines, I love the poem ^^

The experience for what it is, I'm sorry for :( But knitting always helps XD
Knit one perl one {drop one in my case} :giggle:
Reply
:iconcallerofcrows:
*callerofcrows Feb 20, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you. :heart:

Yeah, the experience of heartache and heartbreak is never fun, or easy. But at the very least, it generates some good art, and I know I'm not alone in what I'm going through. I also have an amazing amount of support from all of you here, in addition to my fantastic friends at home and here at UVM. I'm so blessed!

I drop my purls all the time, haha. I'm a perfectionist, so the moment I realize I drop a stich, I have to start all over again, lol.
Reply
:icondweckie:
~dweckie Feb 20, 2012  Student Writer
There's always people out there who've been through the same, and the art you get out of it makes a stunning read ♥

I'm actually awful at knitting, but I do enjoy it. I'm a perfectionist too, but when I drop stitches I just sew buttons over the top. Makes for odd looking scarves hehe XD
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:iconcallerofcrows:
*callerofcrows Feb 20, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
You mean AWESOME looking scarves!!!

Thank you for the compliment on my poetry. :aww: :love:
Reply
:icondweckie:
~dweckie Feb 20, 2012  Student Writer
They're unique, I suppose :D

Never a problem :aww:
Reply
:iconinklingirl16:
~Inklingirl16 Feb 20, 2012  Professional Traditional Artist
Awwwwwww, I'm so sorry. You can knit your way out. =(
I love the use of words in this poem, such as letters cutting your finger.
Reply
:iconcallerofcrows:
*callerofcrows Feb 20, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks darlin'. :heart: Knitting my way out, yes! :aww: I also watched the Walking Dead, talked with friends, and ate half a pint of Ben and Jerry's. XD Yaaaaaaaaay coping mechanisms!
Reply
:iconinklingirl16:
~Inklingirl16 Feb 20, 2012  Professional Traditional Artist
WOOOT! Ben and Jerry's - YES. XD
Reply
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