Starlight darkness

That night,
the clouds were so thick in the sky
they refused to let the stars shine
didn't allow a glimmer of hope to sparkle in my eyes
gave me nothing else to wish on.

The lunar tears were obscured from view
and instead reflected in my eyes
so that when I looked at the heavens
they seemed to shimmer.

The moon herself was hidden
wrapped in a blanket of gray precipitation
that hung in the sky like my anticipation
for the day that was to come

because I knew
that in the morning
I would be in mourning.

Preparation for loss
doesn't make the loss easier.
Just as you can build walls and retreat inland
in face of an oncoming wave
but that doesn't mean the tsunami won't hit

I guess it's fitting that the moon hid herself from me
after all, she controls the tides.
So she gives me one night of rest
of relief
of moments too precious to lose
before I had to lose you.

She knew that high tide would come all too soon
and that I'm not very good at keeping my head above water.

So the clouds will move on
and rain down on the mountains of my cheekbones
cutting out river pathways in my skin
streaking towards the ground
the final resting place
of all my memories.

I could say that I love you
but that's not enough.
So all I can do is look in your sweet brown eyes
that only ever trusted me
and tell you that it's okay.
That the warmth you feel is my heartbeat
keeping pace with yours

and when yours stops
mine will have enough strength to persist
for both of us.
So I'll wrap you up in the cocoon of my arms
and keep you safe
as you travel to somewhere
that I have yet to know

Try to be patient
wait for me
I'll be there.
eventually.

Short Attention Span

I listen to their words
the way they become one with the stage
the microphone as an extension of the vibrations of their vocal cords

and I wish my thoughts could fall onto the page
and arrange themselves accordingly
but I succumb to writing A.D.D.
and I write five different things at once
and combine them on the same piece of paper

and maybe why I call it a piece of writing
is that it is not whole. it is not finished.
it is part of something bigger
and it brings me peace.

It soothes the crashing waves in my mind
ideas that pull at the sandy shores of my subconscious
for me, it's always high tide.
and there's new jagged rocks of thoughts to smooth over with repetition.

Calms the voice in my head like usually only music can.
In case you haven't noticed,
I use my middle finger to push my headphones in
so fuck what you say.
I wasn't really listening anyway
and I'm pretty sure I prefer Jack Johnson's philosophy
to yours.

So you can tell me that i'm influenced
by having my thoughts be separate entities
that affect my reality.
No, they define my reality.
How I perceive it, not how it really is.

But I could only look at the world unbiased if I was blind.
Now use your fluffy letters to describe to me how a sunset looks.
How it feels to see a baby smile.
what it's like to watch a flower unfold

But I can still feel the petals
velvet soft in my palm
and maybe if I can't see that roses are red
it won't look like the bushes are bleeding.

Like I said,
writing A.D.D.
So I'll keep moving my fingers as fast as I can
trying to keep up with the rhythm of my mind
and hoping that one day
you, too will feel the beat.