Monday, August 29, 2011

Fishbowl Monday

I had a fish named Jude
I killed him, accidentally
by not feeding him enough,
Before I starved him.

Jude lived in a fishbowl
It was so small.
His whole world was in that fishbowl
The whole breadth of it, everything, all.

"There is a whole big world, out there, Jude!"

He never did hear.
Believed he was the biggest fish in the world
Because in his world
He was.

These days,
thick with bubbly interlinked, understood chatter
About things that never touch the under-blessed, under-dressed.
Nothing, never...
Everything's always blessed.

Makes it difficult to remember
When I was deep in dark too far up
To reach my head over
The lip of the cup

It sounds nice
Dwelling daily in fishbowl days
And, yes, it is.
Sometimes it drags, milky footprints, shaking Wonderbread crumbs from my scalp

I see the vibrancy and angst of my younger self
Writing songs, songs, words scrawled in any empty corner
Colors of rainbows Noah never saw

From behind the pane of window glass
Fogging up the surface
My finger traces, "You'll be fine"

She never will hear
Believes she is the biggest fish in the world
Because in her world
She is.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Another Kind of Always.

There is family.

And then there is the one who held your hand on the cusp of midnight darkness, leaned into you, barely looking up, teary eyed, saying "I have to tell you something."

You didn't know what would be said would be what you'd been dealing with.

There is family.

And then there is a moment.
A moment after quite some time.

Where a person who drifts in and out of your life, who knows the core center of your rotting apple heart, drifts back in with nary a hesitant glance.

There is family.
There is that, always.

But there is another kind of always, the one that keeps you inspired while others belittle.

I don't think I'll ever understand, why I so easily, nonchalantly even, hurt those who've shown me this other kind.

I don't know what compels me to hurt these angel-lead lovers of my life, the very soul of what makes me mine.

I think, just last week, I might have lost words..

All I can say is, despite all my culture, I can still be a biotch.

May angels lead you in, wherever you are to arrive.

There is family...
And then there are friends.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Ah, the joys of having a sibling

I sit, centered, cocooned blankets, en masse.
Black hoodied-silence, ponder breathlessly how perfectly you mocked me.
...On our way home before we would leave to pick up the knives that were left to be sharpened...

Ironic metaphor, meta-rivalry, meta-escapist.
I never met a brother quite like you, man.
Punctured through the gauzy film I spread around my head to avoid the nasty words said
By you.

Rollin' like a big shot, not caught, fightin' words all crisscrossed,
X'n through my ears like lead, hot.
And here I thought,
that we were...

Was it mature that I didn't lash back?

I sit, feel the mist, rise up to meet my eyes, my fist.
I never met a brother quite like you, man.