Life Itself

Tiny feet in shoes too big, trying to hide from yesterdays of guilt. Frantic pace in a whirlwind of treason largish steps afraid of the reason. Clitter, clatter, spring, winter, autumn, there's no end to dreams unforgotten. 8, suddenly 19 tomorrow is yesterday smack! her creation, her destruction. A pitiful picture, feet too big, sticking out of shoes too small.

Brew me a cup, for old times sake. Sit with me and hear about my yesterday. Laugh as I recall all my lovers and men. Weep for every broken heart and each forgotten friend. Cheer for dreams held onto and every happy end. Regret each lost chance and every failed attempt. Be my childhood friend or be the one from school. Be the father that never was or the mother who left too soon. Be the religion, or be the hope that carried me through. When I reach the end wipe my tears and yours too. Then slowly drink your cup and leave mine on my grave. Tomorrow again brew me your special, for old times sake.

I see her carry the baby across her chest. He clings to her with hands, abnormally small. Half dressed, smeared in her selfishness, I see him shiver. His greedy, selfless eyes, his ribbed chest, his mud-clogged hair. A bloody bandage, Covered with ants, wrapped, protecting his head. She begs at my window with an empty bottle. I almost give in, then turn to my magazine instead.

I am the colors in your palette spread within your boundaries fading when the picture is seen I am the notes in your music held together by guitar strings vanishing each time you sing I am the images in your words held together in your metaphors complicated as you compose I am the thoughts in your diary crafted within each belief stored away in shafts I am the poetry you write woven silently on bathroom walls washed away after every bath I am me, dimming as I grow I am me, complicated and alone I am me, left exposed.

We are always in and out, one day here - tomorrow there. I am always left wanting; sometimes a little, most times a lot. We are always playing those games, pretending we care; being people we're not. You are always giving me hope - loving me hard, hating me soft. We are always in transition, changing our faces, trading our cards - I am always just the same girl, with mellow eyes, and a broken heart.

I see her see you I see you see her Then I close my eyes and deafen my ears I look at random music and kill the feeling inside I slowly stub the passion the want to pull you aside Then I see you touch her and caress her with your eyes I see her want you I see you want her Again I look the other way pretending not to care I hate you for loving her yet love you every time

Disheveled, dirty unkempt, unclean. A smirk that covers everything seen Notorious sad movements hiding innocent dreams Cut, bruised hands behind pocket seams. Eight, nine maybe, experiences deceive and observing minds perceive -E ighteen. A child actor On an old broken stage With shimmering ways and eyes that assuage He understands yet pretends to remain just a little child smiling while the innocence stays.

Where’s the remedy Where’s the cure Where’s the answer Who made you so unsure Where’s the conviction Where’s the reason Where’s the honesty Who brought in this treason Where is safe Where is home Where is protection Who left you this alone Where’s the hope Where’s the light Where’s the trust Who will make it alright Who am I Who are you Where are we Who will know?

You are my secret, dark, twisted and leashed. You are my horror kept inside, unseen. I shooed my thoughts, burnt the malady. I deafened my senses blinded my dreams. Then The radio-silence The tortured screams The clandestine pain The aghast belief. Erased? Maybe, will never be.

I am an idea sown in unrest I am an ambition surreptitiously kept I am a movement unheard, unfelt I am a rebellion precariously held I am a question loud and blunt I am a silence forced and abrupt.