Emotions

She could hear the outcome of this dialogue
All the while she began the summary of her emotional inventory
How in fact she’s been feeling off, yet today without authority
Nothing to justify save for the simple pawn off
Against the pellet of rain who’s deliberately thrown themselves
Into the pool of their lost doppelgängers
Rather that she said, “I’ve been feeling moody today and I
Can’t figure out why.”
“Why figure it out?” The voice asks,
“So that I can assess and come to terms with
The reason why and not feel this way anymore.”
“Why is it not okay for you to feel low,” her own conscience now speaks
Separately, seeking her to consider, “what if the disturbance is to be okay
With this emotional baggage instead?

Expression 1

Staring at her nails painted the color of steel
Like bullets on end, that has on occasion severed her better conscience
Despite her best efforts, against him
She says, “sometimes I want a write off, I was so young
Surely it was a disturbing love, but I can only determine
love nonetheless.”
But he never says anything back, thoughts flashing verbatim, drumming
The sounds of war that she had painted on, the color of proud obsidian glean
Instead, unworn by time, the grayed sentiments satin stained,
“But I can’t forgive you, you were my first love and
You broke my heart.”

 

Celebrity

She was all kinds of intelligent, I’m sure
At least, being in public eye wasn’t easy
After all, somehow all that remains of her is an obscure quote
I had already forgotten where I’d read about
Her titular style, enough to garner all sorts of
Questionable wrath, to them she replied,
“Whenever someone comments, it makes me think ‘I want to pull it tighter, make it higher;
It feels like falling in love each time I look in the mirror.’ ”
And maybe it was due to the false advertisement of her life, or even the lack thereof
Of my own questionable reconnaissance
I could never quite decide where on the spectrum that statement landed
Albeit crass or bold, for if I were a man in life
Would I have no doubt, doubly fallen in love with her

 

A Classical

What drew me first of course, was the design
Tattooed on his temple, following the numerous imprinted jewels
He set as stone into his face
Punctuated by the girth of his rings, I had thought, “those must pack a punch.”
And even entertained to comment had he not been
Otherwise muted by his headphones
For no other reason than this tangible compulsion I felt
To ask instead, “May I listen to your headphones?”
Hoping you would not decline,
You ask why?
“On the off chance that you’re listening to classical, I might have judged you wrongly.”
Gamely thing to say, I applauded myself with the swell of wit
Diminishing as your retrieving figure stood at the corner
Of the intersection while I crossed the road
Out of the corner of my eye I saw as the bus rode past
You embracing another dark figure
Go figure, I thought, “that’s a classic.”
I finally said aloud

What You Know

“Because when you meet someone prospective, you become curious
To dive through their archive, a token treasure trough of who they once were
Despite what you may know, or come to find out
In fact they were far from they are now, and far from one you would love,
Only then you’d seek to ask yourself whether this was for better or worse
In finding ultimately more of yourself, for turning a blind eye
Or to laugh at what may have been many moons ago, as you were
And forgive us for what we’ve done.”

The Artist

“Is this what they mean,” she stares at the blank page before her,
“When they say only tortured artists can create.”
And as he trailed his finger down the trace of her back
Out went the stream of conscious that was her creation
Dug out by the assembly of emotions, intangible currency ran
Swiftly before she had known to remember, unfair exchanges
For words she meant to deliver instead
Before she had met him, as if there were no words to prescribe her
Not when one is happy and content, so she believes
She has alas ran out of words this way

Imperfect Love

“What you’re saying only exists in a perfect world. You know it doesn’t work that way.”
Refusing to pout, she only stared blankly in reply, “I know that.”
“So why do you buy into the belief? Why beguile yourself that way?”
With a sigh she confesses, “it’s not about the likelihood of coming true. I’ve read lots of book on people and it is probably a losing faith to invest into,”
Squaring her shoulders, she went on, “but I’d like to believe in the concept of unconditional love among people.”
A pause. “I’d just like to.”
He looked onward, stunned, not by her words, as he had heard them before
Yet stunned all the same by the imperceptible strength of will he saw
She possessed in love,  because the fact was, she hadn’t given up on him.

A Lifelong Search

An embrace ought to be more than
The singing of our atoms pulling together
Vibrations in the air, often mistaken for a spark
A deep stare between dilated pupils suggests
Pivoting orbits whose axle chanced to align with yours,
With precision I cannot tell you true love apart from
A familiar anecdote you might have once heard,
You’ll know when you find it
Is what she said

Therapy For The Restless

“So what if we had to wade our way through the streets
Ever since all our thoughts became tangibles left in our wake?”
I could already see the engines starting in gear behind your eyes
Though you divert it with an interruption –
“Now why would you say that?”
“What if someone in this world actually lives like that today,
Feeling inundated by all our covert thoughts that up until now
They have felt blinded by.”
But the proposal was lost on you my friend, the scientist, I could already see
The questions burgeoning on the eve of clarification
As to whether our tangible thoughts trailed after us
Rather than just lingered in one place, enough that I exclaim,
“Can’t you for one moment entertain the idea of an abstract universe?”
Yet your eyes scanned my pupils for detection of hinted exasperation
Without being able to see what is incalculable
By virtue, that is the breadth of our minds.