Stolen clockwork

It is not mine to give this curse.

It does not belong to me to decide who to put this burden upon.

I cannot lay my hands on any particular man

and transfer this precious sickness

with a thought or even awareness.

No, it escapes me while I speak,

in the presence of those

whom I have no desire to please.

It sends its rotten roots shooting out

into any crevice it finds,

digging deep inside,

widening the fissures it finds

till it rends in two the thing

it had once fought to be a part of.

The blood in my heart is brown now,

due to the length of time.

The blood rust,

more machine than human,

yet still so delicate,

still flesh like a human thing.

And he creeps in silently

to take what doesn’t belong to him.

He quietly steals away my heart.

My hands are tied.

A little piece today,

a little more tomorrow,

soon enough he’ll possess it all

and I am utterly helpless to do anything

but stare in amazement

at the fact that someone could desire,

so strongly,

to own this broken clockwork inside of me.

Amazed and thankful, too,

for his will to try and take it.



Keep your head down.

Keep your chin up.

And smile;

it’s what she does.

Always look on the bright side

even through dark skies

and clouds and tears.

And she remembers a time

when she felt so alive,

but it isn’t now

and it isn’t here.

And she wonders what changed her

and made her be sorry

and constantly worry

about things no one could ever change.

And how does she feel now?

And why does she want more?

She used to be smarter.

She used to know better.

She always thought it would be that way.

She took them for granted,

the things she was handed,

and now they have left this place.

And her good parts, they followed,

and left her alone here

in this apathetic world.

Now all that she’s left with

are opaque memories

and hazy outlines

of better times.

So bittersweet.

Ugly and glorious

in the same sentence.

Hated and loved in a singular breath.

And she thought she should change back

and be more than she is now, but she is scared to death.

The tides, they have turned;

all bridges have burned.

She’s stranded in this melancholy place

with nothing but time,

inconsistent rhymes,

and that odd look upon her face.

Lay down the pen

Say a word, sing a line:

something about a stitch in time.

Fix it now, before it gets worse.

Lay down the pen on another verse.

You don’t say aloud what you put in ink,

and he needs to know what you really think.

Make him smile or give him strife,

but hand over words he’ll have for the rest of his life.

It’s not yours to make him act today,

or even if he’ll choose to hear the words you say,

but you’ll be to blame if you hold them in.

If you don’t reach out, then that’s your sin.

Say a word, don’t write it down

on paper to get lost or blown around.

Say a word, put love into it.

If he wants to change, then help him through it.

Speak your mind, let the words flow.

If he keeps it up, you’ll have to let him go.

If you need to speak,  don’t stop and question why.

You’ve learned it hard: there’s nothing worse than unsaid goodbye.

Poor players

Let’s just call it what it is:

small talk and a symbiotic relationship.

You play the part of a friend,

a part once played by a better actor.

At a desperate time, you came along

and you were so like him, it seemed at first,

that I had hope once more for this little production.

And you are like him,

his shadow almost,

a shade changing more with every day

short and long and not at all.

And you are not him,

but what choice do I have?

You talk to me, twisting a knife into my skin,

piercing flesh and bone and marrow

till the tip pricks my heart

and I remember what life is.

And I pay for your services,

feeding your habits.

And I had always thought

I would never buy a drunk a drink.

And yet here I stand, stricken with realization,

while you drown yourself to death

in debauchery.

I think I’m starting to understand:

I don’t have to watch you do this.

I can say my peace and go on my way.

You’re a man.  It’s up to you to choose to follow.

But, no, I don’t have to be an audience,

for the second time,

to a slow, painful demise of another player

on this imperfect stage.

I don’t have to watch you fail to live up to

tasks asked of every actor.

I don’t have to be here when the curtain falls

and instead of applause, there is only pain

for an actor on whom the curtain shall never rise again.

Still trapped

There was only night now.

As far as the eye could see,

only black and stars

and a moon holding its place

against the whirling fields of space.

There were only thoughts now.

Quiet, nagging thoughts in her lonely mind:

lies screaming, formed by desperation,

and truth quietly eating away at her.

Why this was the case, she wasn’t sure.

No, that was a lie; truth poked her wounded mind:

she brought this on herself.  She always did.

But why she had to keep the cycle going,

that was the mystery to her crowded brain.

She questioned her judgement and whether she was sane.

There was only night now, stars and moon,

facts and fictions, questions and theories,

and soon enough dreamless sleep.

She looked at the the clock: 5-10, when she woke it would be 5-10 still.

She was trapped.  He left her much against her will.

Turning on the lights

I drove past your door.

The lights were on; it made me smile.

I was so happy for such a small thing;

a thing that shouldn’t really matter like it does.

How can I even think to deny the feelings

that you evoke when you are in my mind?

Do you think of me?

Do you know who I am and what I really mean

when I say all of the nervous things I say?

I know who you head home to at night:

a pretty girl who I hope loves you half as much as I do.

Because you deserve all of the things you think you want.

But I wonder if when you touch this beautiful girl,

who encapsulates all the things that I am not,

do you ever, have you ever even once,

when your fingers met her skin,

wondered what it would be like if that were me?

What would it be like to lay

your pretty heart upon your sleeve,

forgetting judgments rendered

by those who don’t know what we might be

and the consequences of actions such as these?

What would it be like to clear the doubt and worry from your mind,

forget the weighty troubles that bind us up

and hold us back,

and to do one thing quite unplanned and act?

To try me out if only for your curiosity’s sake?

In a brief moment of passing joy,

or perhaps foolishness,

we were laughing so hard

and you forgot yourself

and grabbed my arm,

perhaps the way that lovers do.

I think I will spend many long hours caring for you

secretly, but not insincerely,

quietly, but with enough power

to light the whole house

that you call home

bright enough for the whole world to see.

The sweetest tangerine

I saw you with her.

God, she’s beautiful.

That is something I can never be, not really.

Sure, there might be flickers of it,

traces from time to time.

An observant person might see,

underneath all the mess

and layers that worry has added,

that I might have been pretty once.

But that was many years and many miles ago…

So far away, I doubt I can ever get back there again.

I’m not like that goddess sitting in your car,

who’s never known what it’s like to feel awkward,

who fate has never had the audacity to scar up.

That perfect angel has never known hard times

or trouble

or struggle.

I’m not bitter,

only jealous a little

that life did not deem me worthy enough

to treat kindly.

For your sake, I hope she’s half as kind as she is pretty.

You’re a good man and you deserve, at the very least, that much.

Tonight, rain is falling and I’m feeling blue.

I really didn’t need the burden of seeing her with you.

I think you must have seen that in my face.

Some things I can’t hide with a smile,

even though I’ve had years of practice.

You try to be a good man, even if you don’t know it:

You offer me pity,

which anybody else would take.

I don’t want your pity.

I’d rather keep my dignity.

I’d rather be able to look at myself in the mirror

without feeling more pathetic than I already do.

Instead of taking your pity, there are

words that I must give to you, words you have to hear:

Keep your pity for yourself.

She might be a good girl

and she’s damn sure beautiful,

but there’s no one who will love you more than I do.

There’s no one who would treat you better than I could.

If you could see the truth, you’d know there’s no one

 you’d rather grow old with.

But you don’t see that now.

You see flawless beauty.

I’m the sweetest tangerine in the world,

but you can’t get past the blemished peel.

This Place and You

They are working on the wires between here and the island,

and I couldn’t talk to you for a couple of days.

I hate the salt air, the water, and the sand:

they conflict with all of my ways.

You can’t grow anything in this dirt.

There’s not enough worth in it to make anything grow.

And when spring comes around I feel the hurt

and the longing for the times I used to know.

They took away all the things I remember:

my grandmother and snow in December.

They thought I wouldn’t miss it much,

but where is the cold and knowing touch

of all the things I had to leave behind?

You love this evil place. I know you do.

This tourist trap town is a part of you.

Whereas I was torn away from the only good I can recall,

 you and this place will never be separated at all.

I guess I should have let go of my fear

and I guess I am jealous and I envy you, my dear,

because I am sick of always saying good bye.

Am I a fool to ask silly questions (or maybe a fool all the time)

and expect better answers from a young man in his prime?

Have you come to realize I am more naive than I seem?

That there are things that make me shudder at night when I dream?

You’ll kindly make up some good excuse so I don’t feel too bad,

and you’ll can be the only good mistake that I have ever had.

But please, not for me to feel loved, but just to feel alright,

wrap your arms around me for one more dark night,

and I’ll pretend we are stars up in the sky

that lovers ponder with the change of tides,

you and I, you and I.

At least I know, whether good or bad,

what things have had me, and what things I’ve had.

Wish me luck…

I am in the wind down mode of cleaning now…doing the last of the laundry, loading the dishwasher and finishing up cleaning my craft room.  If it doesn’t get done by tomorrow night, oh well…it just isn’t getting done.

The appraiser is coming late Friday afternoon, so hopefully we get a good appraisal.  Everything else has gone through, so this will be the thing to make or break the refinance…and I really, really, really need that to happen!

On a different note, at least one of my teeth got the death penalty, and will be taking the last train to Clarksville next Thursday.  I will not be sad to bid him adieu…he’s been nothing but trouble and is completely against reform, so he’s got to go.

Keep your fingers crossed (and your toes too, if you can), because I’ll need all the luck I can get!

And now for something a little different…

I miss you guys!  I have been sick six ways from Sunday for the past few weeks, and haven’t been up to blogging (or rolling out of bed for that matter…).  It’s been way too quiet around here!

First, I just had the creeping crud, aka a bad cold.  Then my dumb teeth decided they would try to kill me.  I got two hours of sleep a night for about two and a half weeks because my teeth hurt so bad…you can only function like that for so long…and I reached critical mass.  Anyways, I went to the dentist, finally (I’m stupidly stubborn about not going to any kind of doctor…), and he gave me some deliciously strong drugs and as soon as is possible, I am saying goodbye to at least one tooth and hopefully two…  I’d like to say I’ll miss them, but truthfully, they’ve kind of been jerks, so I really won’t miss them at all…

I am also trying to refinance my house, and the appraiser guy is coming sometime next week, so I have been little miss cleaner/fixer whilst suffering with my teeth/cold.  So cross your fingers for me, because I really need this to go through…

And finally, you may notice that I changed up my theme a little…this is so I could add some widgets in my side bar…and as you’ll notice in my sidebar, I am starting a new blog:  I will be posting under both blogs, with ice and sparrow staying my poetry/writing blog.  Remy Made is going to be for posting about art/craft stuff that I make.  I decided to make a new blog instead of just mixing it into this one because I have some followers (are you just as shocked as I was?)  and I don’t know if you guys would like to read about crafty stuff, so I figured I’d keep it separate just for you…  But, if you wanted to go check in on Remy Made from time to time, that would be awesome!  So far, there’s just three posts with some pics of stuff I’ve done in the past, but I plan to add to it very soon and regularly…with some future plans for tutorials if you want to try the things I’ve done…

So, if you have any thoughts, comments or suggestions, as always, please let me know…