I am of the sea

◄

one year,

one year 
has come 
but not yet gone

and you should be 
here
not gone,
not lost.

s   l   o   w   l   y
our happiest memories
become tainted with pain
as time comes by
to steal our lives
and break our hearts

but no
this shall be a
happy memory
so I will heal
one
breath
at
a
time 

 There is a moment
             at an intersection  
                        when every light is red

red

            red

                        red


  the color of a dressing gown
             or a winter hat
                         with a hole cut in the front
wait
            wait

                        wait

 or the walls
             or your lipstick
                        or that secret layer of your skin


stop signs
             may encourage you to stop
                        but only for a moment

green lights
            may come and go
                        but you were meant to stay

stay

            stay

                        stay

tonight
            I understood what sylvia plath meant
                        when she said

“ I am,

             I am,

                        I am.” 

For Taylor Marie Marshall, my soul sister, the girl with the butterfly lungs.

crimson sheets

We held each other
throughout the night
in case the stars dared
to separate us

It was unlikely 
but we couldn’t bear
to take our chances

So our limbs twisted together 
and formed a cage where
we kept each other’s secrets

And it was in that 
deep, locked away place
between us 
where I lost her.

"

by drowning
in words
i have seen a twisted loneliness
everything a reluctant poison
among surprises

i may be broken
and because of what i never had
what you see
may be
my
dying
dreams

"

(Source: corduroy-skies)

I will remember this week
when the city that never sleeps was euthanized  
and the sea made its presence known
(it didn’t even bother to wave)

I will remember this week because of you
and how I need you to be okay
you,
the girl
with the butterfly lungs
don’t you fly away quite yet. 

let me be.

I could give you 
twenty eight reasons
why I shouldn’t wake up tomorrow morning
I could teach you a lesson in drowning
while we walked the length of the water
you
turning over every rock
as if you expected the high tide to bring you a cure
sometimes I feel like bottling up all I am
and tossing myself into the sea
I’m curious if anyone would notice
when I wash up on the shore
after however many years
will anyone be around
to pick me up
and toss me back
or take me home
and maybe it’s just wishful thinking
but I like to pretend
you would swim across the seven seas
explore the twists of every creek
just to find me
and take me home
and let me out
and let me be
let me be
let me be 

Even though 
your light is golden
the trains are spiralling
out of my control 
further and further
away
from the jar I left
on your doorstep

and in it
a single candle 
half-gone
and flickering
until it too
                goes
                        out 

never turn your back to the ocean

growing up by the sea
you quickly learn
what it is
they all say –

never turn your back to the ocean
for it knows not
how steady you may not
be 

what are the waves trying to say?
the way they
relentlessly
pound the shore
over and
over again
must mean
something. 

their lives
barely last a second
yet they follow each other
to the shore
where they crash
and disappear
knowing they will
never be
again. 

that must be dedication.

“Twenty eight.”

When we were four
Our favourite word was Why
And we smiled
Because we could.

But as time went on
We never stopped waiting
For the night Peter Pan
Would fly us away.

And despite our attempts
To prove to our parents
We were ready to grow up,
We weren’t.

I’ve often wondered
At what age
Do we become old?

When do we stop
Climbing trees
And crying wolf?

And what about those
Who don’t live long enough
To ever be old?

I suppose they find their way
To Neverland.

Fragments of a Love Story.

Certainly,
we can both be in love.
But time calls
and I must leave
to fight our war 

Is this goodbye? 
Let it be not 
For I will die 
Of a broken heart 

I’m coming home
To stop her with words.
Our final chance
Is here on the train 
Beneath the tracks

A door opens,
But she doesn’t notice, 
Not at first.
She’s too occupied
With sorrow
To watch the sky.

But look, Alas! 
‘Tis what we call peace
Behind the glass. 

I’m never leaving you. 
The war is over for all of us. 
I’m staying with you. 
I love you.
This is love, right?
It’s more than that. It’s life.
I’m laughing because I’m not afraid anymore.
Marry me?
Hold me. 
Don’t ever leave me.

I won’t.

Inside; I prate.

now,
wouldn’t it be lovely
if I could bottle the sky
if only
for the sole purpose
of perfecting
lonely winter nights
so unlike these?

time is young,
and time is sacred.
 
as we are
and shall 
always 
be 

(Source: corduroy-skies)

the days go by.

today
is merely an introduction 
to tomorrow
and yesterday
continues to make history
in
our
hearts 

and I stand here alone
crowded with pieces of you
questioning everything 
that has ever come along

including
the number
seventeen
and the possibility 
of an earthquake

all which seemed important
at one time or another

but for now,
I shall not speak

I shall choose
an opportunity 
to wait for
tomorrow

and if all else fails
I’ll write to you

and tell you about
the forest 
the sky
how sweet the plums are
and how much 
i need you
here.

six months

six months
to the day
         minute
                           second.

and why
is it
      significant?

perhaps
we tend to mark things
by the time that goes past
because 
                  time

is the
only
thing  

that seems
real

in
           situations
such as
these
 
in which
for some
unfair
reason 
         parts of us
leave

and

s      c     a     t     t     e    r

about
much like
our whispers
afterwards

quietly,
and
everyone
seems
to
hear 


what
we
want
to
say 

and

what
we
will
say

in
     time.