Monday, March 9, 2009

Little things stick in my brain like cinnamon in Vaseline
I coalesce my every moment, sucking my own memories
Every day is remembered in image, every moment narrated in rhyme
I look to my left to recollect a refuge; I look to my right to recollect the time
In front is a crater, in back is a smile
But I can’t walk backwards – I was there for a while
I abused my own presence and I’m not the same
It doesn’t matter, we walk forward anyway
I was told by a fake rose in a slim-jim jar
That, surely, table salt can’t be very far
Keep your head up and don’t forget your name
A paper flower is still a flower, and it burns just the same
It’s not that I’m afraid to open my eyes
It’s that I fear what I might say to some
And I worry, fervently, to ruin your lives
By the words that my arsenal uses as guns
I love pictures, but they make me sad
I love to be good, but I love to be bad
I love your face, and I love your hair
I love how you don’t know me, I love how you don’t care
You don’t notice me. You’re so damn busy
Flipping that pencil over your fingers in that way I can’t do,
Reminding me just how out of reach you are,
So that I try every day to learn how to flip my pencil, too
As if, when I do, you’ll give me a certificate of achievement.
What am I expecting? An unusual message online
Will never be the true cure, and you’re too quiet for that anyhow.
Please don’t stalk my mind with your dark hair and your tired eyes.
I know it’s on accident,
But you don’t understand
How far, every first hour,
You make my hopes rise.
And every time you pass up your paper in fourth hour
I examine your name, curiously
Like some kind of addict
Hooked on the idea of something they’ve never tried.
Little things stick in my brain like cinnamon in Vaseline
I coalesce my every moment, nourishing my hopes and dreams
I wish that I could focus more, and I wish that you would notice me
I’m a whisper during the last sunset, casting shadows in a sea.