Tread Soft

Truthful screams. I wish I could release them. My dear friend Eva, who I envy more than she knows, always says what's on her mind. Some people claim to, but no - she really does. And people accept it. And I thought I was fearless.

Zingers. They always come too late. In writing, I could dictatively pummel you. In speaking? My Nice-ness is itself not a nice creature. Nice is like a boa constrictor. Twists itself around me until I can't say anything, can barely breathe.

Nice is tyrannical.

But then there are times I wish to God my mouth would just, just...shut up. Stupid spews at the most inopportune times. Typically during a first impression. Ramble, ramble. Wait...no...God, stop...STOP!

Too late.

Slap a "RETARD" stamp on my forehead, why don't you. Oh wait, was THAT the thing taped to my back? Thanks, Stupid and Nice. Remind me never to introduce myself to anyone I like ever again...

Cast Away

Trailing fingers in mercury
Velvet water and memory
Paddling for my life with broken hands
Silver drops from overhead
Music splashing on my bed
As your sailboat slips away to foreign lands

Don’t say “I love you”
When you’re setting sail
And I’m still on the pier
Don’t say you love me
When your voice has gone
So far that I can’t hear

I am flesh and blood and heart and soul
Taking heat but you’re oh so cold
Talk about dreams and silhouettes of love
Horizons of icy arctic blue above
Watching reflections swallow themselves
They say remembering is a lover’s hell

Sun cracks the earth chaotically
Whispering now “Come back to me”
Outer space ignites shattered stained glass
And your ship keeps sailing
Though my winds are failing
Left my sight but light came as you passed

Don’t say “I love you”
When you’re setting sail
And I’m still on the pier
Don’t say you love me
When your voice has gone
So far that I can’t hear

I am flesh and blood and heart and soul
Taking heat but you’re oh so cold
Talk about dreams and silhouettes of love
Horizons of icy arctic blue above
Watching reflections swallow themselves
They say remembering is a lover’s hell

But I was wrong
I see that now
Trying to belong
When I didn’t know how

I am flesh and blood and heart and soul
Your absent mind has made me bold
A dawn of endless promises above
Turns out my dreams are more than just your love

Slow Dance (Rough Lyrics)

We build possessions out of roles
Nametags sewn on flesh and soul
Our lovers attached to invisible strings
Cuz I don't want to be owned
But I'd sacrifice it not to be alone
They can't imagine how deeply this cut stings

So tell me, do you feel it now?
The aching in his wounded chest
Trying to tell me breaking is what is best

Spin me around again, lovely
Spin me around again, boy
Spin me then let me go

Play me a crying minor key
Riff of blues and melody
Grand piano fingers fall too fast
I have my hands held out to you
Feel the shivers rushing through
Won't you play slower, let it last

So tell me, do you feel it now?
This tangle in our chests
Jealousy is just anger at our own loneliness

Spin me around again, lovely
Spin me around again, boy
Spin me then just let me go

It will break
It all will shatter
Cause nothing lasts
But does it matter?
Breathe on me
Believe with me
For just a glance
For just one dance

Spin me around again, lovely
Spin me around again, boy
Spin me then just let me go

Spin me around again, lovely
Spin me around again, boy
Spin me then please let me go

Spin me around again, lovely
Spin me around again, boy
Spin me around like a precious toy
.......

Pretty Ghosts

I'm in love. Ok, maybe not in love. But I feel it. Sort of. Well...ok, I guess that's infatuation. I know the difference. The problem? Oh so many problems. First of all, I don't know if I want a relationship right now. Isn't it hypocrisy to go from complete and utter cynicism to romanticism in a single week? What gives? The question is where to begin. It seems I have a problem with falling for the people that I shouldn't, and I know that everyone feels that way at one point or another, but I seriously have a history. This new one (we'll call him Mr. Mentry hereafter to preserve his identity) is not only sweet and smiley and generally darling, he's also musical and deep and romantic. This made no difference to me until now. I didn't really know him well and a friend of mine had liked him longer than I. This (and the fact that I previously wasn't attracted to him in the least) did not encourage hopes for myself whatsoever. It was only a chance meeting at school that sparked my curiosity. And a song that nailed me straight in the gut (in a good way). Tonight, listening to that song (which I had actually heard before, but did not remember how moving it was to me) tears misted my eyes. His voice. The words. It was the kind of song that every girl wants someone to write about her and made me feel instinctively, as I'm sure many other girls have felt, "This song was written for me." Just like the "Hey There Delilah"s and "Must Have Done Something Right"s and "Chasing Cars"s of the music world. I wanted then, so much, to be an idealist again. To believe in true love. To believe that there are men in this crazy unfriendly crap hole of life that DO think of more than just getting in your pants, for God's sake! After this encounter, I had the feeling of soaring, of sighing, of falling. Falling in love? Maybe not. But falling in hope? Truly wondrous and truly unexpected.

Wounds

Here isn't just there without a "t." Here is completely different than there. And I want to be there so much more than here a great deal of the time. But what is it about here that is so depressing, boring, routine, imprisoning? I blame it on the weather, on family, friends, on occupation and responsibility. But what is there to blame, when all is said and done? And who listens anyway? No one. Everyone else is centered in their own mini-verse. As, apparently, I am also. Otherwise it wouldn't bother me so. But recently, contentment seems to be sidling gently beside me, petting my hand in dusk without promising to stay until dark. I like being content, being happy. Perhaps I've outlasted myself. Dug deep enough, kept up the impression of happiness long enough to wait for the sun. Like a soldier braced against the blood and mud and rain, arm mangled, rifle cocked, death overhead - when at that fatal moment, the relief arrives, diving into the trenches and pulls the soldier out to safety to heal him. I want to believe that. But time will tell. I just. Don't. Know.

Welcome to My Mind...Take Care