Floorboards, Clinging


There are faces and images in all of the
floorboards near the door of my bedroom.
A witch, grinning, a dog,
a wise old man, pairs of long legs
a nose, too. And I watch them while
I meditate, and think about everything,
and pray to not want to die.
Because lately, I’ve wanted to die.
My whole life, at times, I have wanted to die.

But now, there’s a baby, growing and daring
me to love louder than I ever could.
A creature from beyond the realms of knowing,
sprung from my body, not understood.
He tests my patience, I’m often impatient
I’m often a baby myself.
His job is not to love me,
but I want him to love me,
I want him all to myself, myself.

Enough of the wretched time spent inside
even though it is freezing, I want to go by
all the shops and go dancing,
eat steak and pomme frites,
curled up with the menu
curled up with what we used to do.
But still forever, I’ll live inside this body
that I could never reconcile.
it often feels broken, often feels old
and misused and aching,
Not beautiful. Not whole.

We all see the world now, through reflective rectangles,
and nothing means anything
and people aren’t fun.
And the news tells it’s stories, like a twelve year old girl
who is drawn to the drama and hates the whole world.
But never pauses to understand why people
do both good and bad things, why we all are the same.
And I wish that we could get back to the
faces inside hardwood floors, by the door
that you watch while breathing,
and let that be enough to entertain you
While you sit and try to be still.


At seventeen, I wore a long skirt, and he told me that 
it was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen
So I went home and changed 
Took 2 Ritalin,
and met you back here at your house
For a drink,
coke and cabernet 
Chardonnay, Marvin Gaye 
Russian card games and dancing on the lawn 
Used to smoke menthols, cut off the filter, tapped in a bump
We would go driving, listen to rap and I hated the words
This isn’t music
This isn’t pretty
Stared our the window, the Sunset scenery 
I was a child of the moon,
born of eyes that didn’t see,
I never belonged inside my family, so
I went in disguise 
Clinging to anyone, even if he said
that my skirt was ugly
my attitude, old 
Old soul doesn’t get you understood or laid
When you’re just teenaged
when the world is a stage
Now we are here
21st century information overload 
I want to escape,
but I have a child 
He loves me so,
he is the reason to cling.
And to still write things down.
I forgot for so long that I could still write.
doesn’t matter what any of it means,
Just to say something – Are you out there can you hear this
I played that song on repeat
at seventeen,
at seventeen I did everything.

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