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Poetic Revolution II

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Maybe Tears [17 Feb 2011|12:54am]

birdybannon
You ask why I’m crying.
I don’t know.
You say I never know.
I know.
Maybe because my heart is too full,
Or not full enough.
Maybe because I’m wishing I was better on my own,
Now that I know I’m not.
Maybe because Valentines Day is easier when you’re single,
And I thought it wouldn’t be.
Maybe because I want you back.
Maybe because I want you to go.
Maybe because you’re a terrible liar,
And I almost wish you weren’t.
Maybe because I’m afraid I can’t be what you need,
And you won’t be what I need.
Maybe because I’m tired.
Maybe because it’s cold out.
Maybe because I play what if,
And dream of winning the lottery,
And pray that something shifts.
Maybe because everything is better
When we’re together.
You ask why I’m crying.
I honestly do not know.
Poetic Injustice

Sometimes your knight in shining armor is just a dork in aluminum foil. [11 Jan 2011|10:24pm]

birdybannon
[ mood | lonely ]

Cherry Blossom
Fallen flowers on a pond.
Floating pretty before sinking,
Drifting down, side to side,
Hitting bottom.
Settling in the sand,
And lying still.
Preserved for a short time,
Then wilted,
Decayed.

Embraces
You hold me like a little boy holds his mamas waist,
Scared of a spider found in your shoe.
You squeeze me like an orange,
Hoping to catch the emotions that drip out.
Hug me like you're trying to imbibe some part of me,
And hanging on for dear life.
At night, asleep,
Your arm wanders over around my waist,
And I hear you sigh as you drift deeper,
Snuggle closer.
I wonder if you sleep better when I'm there.

Beloved
I believe in time lines and schedules,
But I would blow them away for you.
Give up my expectations,
Relinquish the hold of my neuroses,
I could do that for you.
You just be sweet, and work hard,
Help me build something.
That's all I could ask.
Just keep loving me, and I'll return it.
Keep saving me as I save you.
We are better than this,
My beloved,
My deepest hope is to prove it to you.

Bubbles
Hiding under a blanket,
And kissing,
Touching,
Breathing.
A warm little bubble
Occasionally punctured
By cold attic air.
I like the bubble,
The hiding,
Like the little forts of childhood
Made from cardboard boxes.
Hot, and dark,
But safe.

1 Poetic Revolution| Poetic Injustice

I love you too much to tell you I don't... [25 Jul 2010|08:44pm]

birdybannon
[ mood | pensive ]

Bad Moon Rising
And we watched the moon rise over the canal,
So big and full and pink,
And I thought about how I missed this.
Just talking, just friends.
And your arm was on the back of the bench,
And the debate in your head was so obvious!
To touch her? To not?
And I missed that too...

I knew, going in, how it would end.
I knew it would be easy for me,
And you would be nervous.
I knew, but it didn’t stop me.
It doesn’t matter that we look so different,
Because every freckle is the same.
It doesn’t matter how many changes we’ve made,
Because we still read each others thoughts.
And it doesn’t matter how it ended...
Lord knows, it never ended.

My stomach had butterflies that I was better at hiding,
But still that sick nervous feeling remained.
And then you were kissing me...

Oh please, please, please,
Do not fall in love with me.
I love you too much to tell you I don’t...

...you asked me not to regret it in the morning.
I looked out the window and saw the moon,
Pale and bright and high in the sky,
And sighed.
I couldn’t regret it if I tried.

Poetic Injustice

Sometimes, I don't write at all. Sometimes, it's a bunch at once. [16 May 2010|01:42am]

birdybannon
[ mood | bored ]

Allentown
Sitting on this city street
Reminds me of New York in the summertime.
Watching my goddaughter dangle
From branches in Central Park,
Chasing turtles and admiring the lilies that
Float on water below my favorite angel.
But this is my city, no longer hers.
Now I wait for this work that feeds my soul,
But not my stomach.
Work that makes me whole,
But leaves me broke.
People moving out and on across the street,
But nor far,
A few block away.
I wish I were moving
Closer to the hustle and bustle of those still moments
With her, in the park.
Closer to the city that never sleeps,
Just like me.

Letters
You write,
Say there’s something else on my mind,
Something you knew I wanted to say.
You see,
When I write I find words come easy,
Like old friends.
My pen to paper never fails me,
But oh, these words for you?
I stumble.
I trip and I fall.
If you could just read it…
And yet, I cannot write that letter.
I write others,
Happy things, some sad,
But always hoping to make you smile
When you see my handwriting.
(Like I do for yours.)
But I don’t fear poetry so I’ll try for this:
I don’t deserve it.
We share in this one thing-
The worst day of my life is the same as yours.
And I don’t deserve that to be true.
You wonder what I don’t say.
I don’t say that I love you,
Because I don’t know if it’s true.
I don’t say that it hurts,
Because I don’t have a right to tell you.
I don’t say I miss you,
Though implied,
Because I miss you less than I did before-
Before you went and broke my heart-
I know you know you broke my heart.
But I stumble,
I trip and fall,
Unable to say all that aloud.


The Playwrights Excuse
I dream in lights like switchboards,
Cross faders and dimmers,
Sound like stereo amplifiers,
Sets and costumes,
Scripts with blocking,
Actors like pawns on a chessboard,
Whole productions in my head at night.
And then there is you.
One passion bleeding for another,
Cut open on the stage of my dreams.
Strange,
I can hide it all inside,
These things I’m supposed to push away and forget.
Conditioned to act as though you never existed.
But not me, no, never
My therapy is in these dreams,
Laid out under lights,
Worked through in three acts.
I don’t worry what you think-
If I forgave you for everything,
You’ll forgive me for this.

Jaime
When I worry,
Sure enough,
Reminded-
In three hour long conversations,
And these never ending roads
We’ve driven before.
Kitchen floors,
Cold linoleum,
Warmed by laughter and fear of spiders.
Accepted, unquestioned,
Reassured at the sight of her.
Growing always upward,
Yet as silly as when we were chasing rabbits
And sneaking cigarettes.

Strangers Who Know Me
Tonight I saw a face,
Old and weathered,
Familiar.
My heart hurt,
From missing you.
He turned to the woman beside him
“This is her niece.”
And she smiled a smile I’ve seen a thousand times,
“It is so nice to meet you.”
And my heart hurt,
From missing you.
I knew what she meant.
Putting a face to the name so often heard,
She looked at me how they all do.
Showing how you loved me,
Spoke of me,
Made me your life.
And my heart hurt,
From missing you.

Spatial
My mind does blank spaces,
And sometimes you fill them
Sometimes, remaining empty,
I forget.
I wonder which is better.

Were you to love me, I’d want to shout it-
Barbaric yawp.
Rooftops.
Ring the bell from the cathedral tower,
Petition strangers on the street.

But I can’t.

So better then, that you shun me.
Just let me waste,
Silent,
Mouth useless,
Tongue still.
Let me instead die lonely and quiet.

Because, Lord knows…
I couldn’t keep my mouth shut if you cared.

Poetic Injustice

Dueling. [06 Feb 2010|09:50pm]

birdybannon
[ mood | bored ]

The Crushy-Crush
My friend,
She calls it the crushy-crush,
I tell her I don’t smushy-smush,
Defend my twiterpation always,
Never be That Girl.
It’s lies,
I’m a born trier,
Rest assured, a midnight crier,
Every time that pretty passes,
I feel my stomach swirl.
I say
It’s only just an organ,
A functioning part of the bargain,
That makes us human,
Makes our blood run through.
But lies!
I do enjoy the feeling
Of my heart’s furious dealings,
When I see the one I want
Coming out of the blue.
So yes,
Despite my best defenses
I major in false pretenses
And dream of when I finally say
What’s really on my mind.
But no,
I’m shy at this thing only,
And if I weren’t I’d be less lonely,
But I guess I’ll try it out,
So please, my dear, be kind.

Familiarity
I know you better,
Now that you’re so far away
Than I did before,
When you were close enough to touch.
We slid easily into familiarity,
And I guess I shouldn’t be surprised…
We were too familiar to begin with.
Years spent struggling
Keeping up appearances,
And who are we if not a couple of liars?
I thought it would feel strange,
But it doesn’t.
My strangeness lies in other places,
In old friends turned foes,
In best friends who try so hard.
I sit and I touch my pen to paper,
Black ink on white,
Little lines dividing
The things I need to say to you.
In response to your curly-q letters,
How am I suppose to know what you mean?
This familiarity is both a new suit,
And the oldest sweater I own.

Poetic Injustice

The middle of impossibility [19 Dec 2009|01:31am]

birdybannon
[ mood | melancholy ]

12 Years on Tuesday
Today I’m tired, and unsuspecting,
No lipstick, no hairspray, no perfume.
Real, untouched, and sad.
Kick me when I’m down,
why don’t you?
Oh, but it isn’t your fault,
not this time.
I could handle anything anyone could throw me,
I could fight with valor and strength.
Any day, but today.
Today I’m tongue-tied, and surprised.
No smile, no jokes, no laughter.
Just broken pieces,
Masquerading.
And damn you,
You were there to see it.
You saw me a mess.
And since when have we been reduced
To small talk? To chit-chat?
I didn’t even feel like myself.
Behind my lips it bubbled,
“I miss you.”
I’ve known you since we were children,
You would never judge me,
You might even agree.
But today I was tired, and unsuspecting.
I was tongue tied and surprised.
I didn’t have my game face on, for once.
“Don’t let go, don’t let go, don’t let go,”
says the voice in my head.
But you always do.


As Much as I Remember
And I got drunk.
My buddy picked me up, in a suit,
And drove me to a party.
My two oldest friends sat with me,
I couldn’t believe they were there.
I left the church five minutes in,
My tears were too much.
The boy I loved stood beside me,
Attending to whatever I needed.
My other half held my hand,
Crying with me as we shared stories of you.
My two best friends helped sort pictures,
I had to keep my hands busy.
My other mother held me,
Shivering and scared

By morning you were gone.

We went for milkshakes,
And I slept on the couch.
I watched them pray over you,
Held your hand and wouldn’t say goodbye.
Me and a guy I used to know,
We snuck out for a cigarette.
I ran to the bathroom and got sick,
My aunt holding back my hair.
I stepped off the elevator,
Saw my father crying.
They called right before dessert,
Told me to come.
I made Christmas dinner,
And my parents weren’t there.
I was dancing in the kitchen,
planning to see you later.
You were in the hospital,
It was the first Christmas I didn’t set a place for you.


Merry Christmas
I used to think I could think of you,
And maybe you would think of me.
I knew that was foolish,
I was foolish,
Even if I was the only one able
To hear you smile.

These days, though, I wonder.
I think of you so often,
And I know, for once,
I’m there, somewhere,
Undoubtedly in your mind.

And no, I don’t push it away anymore.
No, I refuse to run.
No, I can’t say it doesn’t scare me,
But no, I will not budge.

And it’s been years since I’ve been merry,
But I’m trying.
Lord, He knows I am trying.
And what of you,
Who I think of?
All I think of is how you’re alone.

So even if it isn’t tomorrow,
Even if it isn’t next year,
Even if it takes a while,
You’re welcome.
There’s a place at my table for you.

1 Poetic Revolution| Poetic Injustice

Poetry in Motion [16 Jul 2009|04:21am]

birdybannon
[ mood | blank ]

Contracts
It is July 5th, 2009,
And it is 11:56 pm.
And I am thinking about you.

I am thinking about love returned and reunited,
Unrequited,
And out of control.
I am thinking of the tangle of limbs and hearts and regrets.
I am thinking of how no one else understood,
But you.
And you.
And you.

And I gave up on coincidence five summers past,
Because that was when fate kicked my ass.
That was when diners were banquets,
And liquor was hard to find.
When cigarettes were arguments,
And psychics were always right.
Remember that?
When red and white and blue were sirens and fireworks
All at the same time?
I smell rain in the summer air,
Every time I picture us.
Me and you, hugging in the emergency room.
Me and you, praying like we usually don’t.
Me and you, on the phone all night.
And five years ago I didn’t think I would be
This far away from you.
And you.
And you.

I’m having one of those moments,
The kind that break my heart.

Philadelphia is too far for me,
And I don’t even know you anymore.
And, you, who is still so close,
I keep forgetting to call.
And Boston…
I miss you everyday.

But then,
No one calls here.
No one comes home.
I guess we’re all guilty
Of breaking contracts.
You, and you, and you, and me.
I hate it.

Ste. Anne
A snapshot from the lesser years.
My four single friends,
They’re all married now.
They’re all lost to me now.
And I don’t feel anything
Because I didn’t feel it then.
The precipice of my life
Was in that alleyway,
Where the city folk spoke a new language
That only one of us knew.
Dreaming of futures and friendships-
Me, taking the picture.
Wishing I was somewhere else.
I'm sorry.

And now their lives have left me,
On accident, on purpose, through time...
And I still wish I was someone else.
Ten years later,
And I'm still worried about high school.

6am
Have I slept?
I can’t recall.
Nothing is real and the sky is purple.
So early…or maybe late.
My body doesn’t know,
Past the hour when it can tell.
I’m out of blue pills again,
But usually that’s ok.
Usually I can shut down and turn off,
Close for repairs.
Not tonight.
Tonight I am hurting something terrible.
My finger is throbbing,
Counting heartbeats on a paper cut.
Disgusting,
Like this sleepwalk version of myself.
These headaches are new and scary.
I haven’t slept yet…
At least, maybe not.
I sleep to dream,
But dreams don’t come either way.
I wish there was a pill to turn my brain off.

Tuesday Mornings
Its gray and noisy-
Cars headed to work and birds awakening.
My father’s alarm clock
And my mother’s coffee pot.
My sister, refusing to get out of bed.
I remember days like that.
And outside,
There is bleak sunshine-
Signs of better weather’s arrival.
I wonder if old Mr. Son
Just woke up?
Does he need to rub the sleep out of his eyes,
Before showing off his brilliance?
It looks cold out,
But I could be wrong.
I’ve been wrong before.
It’s just so LOUD.
Every morning is so loud.

Niagara River
The waters depths remind me
Of the day I almost downed
In the literal sense, for once-
Not that figurative swallow of time and event,
That took me under so many times before.
My sister dreams of Fiji,
And I’d like to take her there,
Where waters are clear and blue,
And I can escape the imaginary undertow.
The breeze makes me feel so small,
Or maybe it’s the strawberry daiquiri,
Turning me into this childlike drunk.
I’m starting to wonder why I bother waiting.
I guess that’s all I know how to do.
I quit smoking.
But I can’t quit waiting for you.

Poetic Injustice

Found amongst some scripts.... [26 May 2009|02:02am]

birdybannon
[ mood | awake ]

Scenes
Second chances on stage,
Bear second glances at change,
And we dance like frightened heroes.
But the career is a preacher,
As we stand at this door,
Unprepared,
Fresh as babies with souls twice bared.
And movement with words seems easy to some,
But we,
The vaudevillians,
We come undone.
I trust in lights in my eyes,
The blinding white that hides and
Keeps me from you,
You from me, too.
Can’t see or hear-
No doubt or fear…
To breathe!
Or, perchance, to dream!
Oh, and this is only the first scene.

Poetic Injustice

Caught in between all you wish for and all you seen... [20 May 2009|05:41pm]

birdybannon
[ mood | nostalgic ]

May 21st
She’s the queen of the bad day anniversary,
Amongst a million other kingdoms.
Whatever the weather brings,
Be it sunshine and warmth or
Those cold rainy October mornings,
She marks these days the same,
With her careful precision.
She treats it like religion.

She doesn’t remember birthdays,
Or the milestones of relationships,
Or the date of death of those long gone.
Just bad days, hers, as well as his,
Because they shared so many.
Too many, for a broken bond such as theirs.
She has no tears left behind her eyes,
And Lord knows, he shouldn’t be surprised.

Poetic Injustice

"So for once in my life, let me get what I want... [26 Feb 2009|02:14am]

birdybannon
[ mood | lonely ]

...Lord knows it would be the first time."

Deficient
My heart, at its center,
Is sure of very few things.
It does not know what I want,
Any more than my head or hands.
It knows that I have a friend that makes me laugh,
Unlike any other laugh I have.
Another, who makes me feel like I’m home,
Even when I'm far away.
And it knows a certain smile, inside and out.
(But he comes later.)

And yet,
It does not love them.
Is it deficient?

Two years and four men later,
And I am still as alone as I was-
When I fell out of love
With the math equations of broken friendships,
That I think of often…
With liberty bells and rock and roll museums-
When Georgia was on my mind.

And oh I miss you I miss you I miss you…
But you’re not the reason I'm all alone.

Is it that monster with his honey coated smile?
He who pulled me out and up and over,
Carrying me away from myself?
The man who saved me only to crush me?
No.
Because believe it or not,
He did what he does best…
And it’s in his silence from his cell
That he saves me all over again.

And speaking of cells,
What of the one who loved me back?
No, he was hardly anything.
I wished he was more…
Oh, but as I’ve said…deficient.

Three down and three to go.

How about the first,
And our 12 year struggle?
I sometimes think “I love you” and “I hate you” mean the same.
But we don’t talk,
Not often, at least.
And he’s not on my mind anymore.

And my star.
Oh, my star that shone so brightly.
And burned out.
Burned out when he came out,
And broke my heart.
Him I do love.
Him, I will always love.
But that love is different,
It is true.
I laugh…my purest love is for a boy
Whose love, they say, is tainted.

So last but never least,
The voice in my head.
I haven’t any more words to spill over him.
I will not wait anymore.

Why am I here?
What lessons must be learned before I can be loved?
What task must I complete?
I am tired of waiting for God to answer…
I still maintain He does not hear.
If He does,
I am tired of Him replying with denial.

And then there is this…
It has been months.
I asked, politely.
I demanded, profusely.
Still, He will not take it away!
He will not wipe this latest hope from my thoughts.
Because I am,
As said,
Deficient.

And yet, this heart,
It survives, even when I do not.
It beats despite my best efforts.
So much is despite my best efforts.

I am so sick of my best efforts.

Poetic Injustice

"She's got her own special way of magically making my day..." [07 Jan 2009|01:33am]

birdybannon
[ mood | lazy ]

Pour Me a Drink
I haven’t written a poem in a while,
Two months and counting, I think.
I guess I could make my excuses,
But the truth is just me, on the brink.
I am peering over the edge
Of this thousand foot deep hole.
I am fearful for falling this time,
I am starting to feel so cold.
And maybe its winter,
And Christmas and such,
The memory of her death
That still haunts me so much.
Perhaps it’s the end of the year,
With October that makes me cry,
Because I still cannot forgive him
For turning my life into lies.
Or maybe it’s that old hopelessness
That lies in lack of work,
But probably just the little post-it notes,
Left from the demons that lurk.
And I am not falling,
And I am not cold,
But you’d never know by looking at me,
I’m just starting to feel so old.
Usually my poetry is the stuff of love,
Unrequited or otherwise,
This is not one of those poems,
I can’t recall the color of his eyes.
So somebody hire me,
Or at least pay my health insurance,
Get me out of my own head,
Strengthen my endurance.
These people who are new here,
They don’t know my past.
They didn’t know me without my red hair,
They didn’t see me fall so fast.
And is this heart of mine still beating?
If not for me, maybe for you.
I would like to take a moment and say thanks,
But then what was left for you to do?
And I am drowning in my doubtfulness,
And I am smothered with my pride,
And I am so lost in the want of him,
It’s been so long since I’ve cried.
I haven’t written a poem in a while.
Two months and counting, I think.
But don’t expect it, don’t look for it,
If you have to do something,
Then pour me a drink.

Poetic Injustice

It's been a while... [15 Dec 2008|12:22am]

birdybannon
[ mood | crappy ]

Unplanned
I’m sitting, after hours,
In a room named for a color,
But none of the rooms I’ve sat in
Have ever been that color.
I am fighting tears,
Even though I am alone,
And could express that emotion so easily.
But I refuse, because I do not know why…
It isn’t my family.
It isn’t my friends.
It isn’t my lack of a 9 to 5 existence,
Or the pressure of the evening hours I keep.
Still I find myself fighting tears,
Because this time it was harder.

I don’t know why it should be,
As I am not deep in this.
I am not too invested this time,
Due to my better judgment…
(Despite the fact it usually likes to stay home on game day.)
Still, this time it was harder to say goodnight.

I should have taken that one chance, damn the circumstance.
It is unlike me to shun a possibility.
I cannot help but think that if I had, things would be different…
Oh, but probably not.
It’s never really any different.

So I’m alone in this room,
Not for lack of trying on my own part,
Or the roles of friends.
I’m fighting tears because this time it was harder.
And next time, the last time,
It will be worse.

This wasn’t the plan.

Poetic Injustice

Why okcupid sucks: you're not on there. [04 Nov 2008|12:59am]

birdybannon
[ mood | anxious ]

Online Dating
I’m on the web.
There’s something I haven’t put to poetry before.
I’m on the web, and I’m missing you.
These sites I go to,
Just browsing, hoping…
Feeling like maybe someone here will catch my eye.
I’ve tried it all before,
And it’s never worked,
But I hope it will someday.
Different faces and names,
All kinds of questions…
I answer for you.
Ideal match? Describe yourself?
Smoke?
Drink?
Do drugs?
Yes, yes, and yes.
I’m starting to think this is self mutilation,
My own form of torture, these useless men.
Please come and stop me from making another mistake.
Favorite band?
Job?
Political affiliation?
Same as mine, same as mine, same as mine.
What am I looking for?
Who and what and where?
Do I really know myself as well as I play pretend I do?
These little paragraphs are not me.
Get me off this website.
Do you have an education?
Are family and friends important to you?
Are you single?
I do, they are, I am.
I don’t care what they all answer.
We go here looking for someone,
And the only someone I’m looking for is you.
Please, look for me, too.
I’m signing off now.

Poetic Injustice

How could it be that I must say goodbye and fade in your memory? [25 Oct 2008|07:38pm]

birdybannon
[ mood | lonely ]

Arms and Neck and Chest
You lie on the floor in temporary exhaustion,
Arm outstretched and sighing.
I would fit there perfectly,
In the space between your arm and neck and chest.
I held myself back, kept my seat so as not to crawl to you.
I cannot describe what this is-
Another bad poem that says little about nothing.
I watch you when your not looking,
Despite my best efforts, or because of them.
A feeling of comfort so unexpected,
Like someone I’ve known much longer than you.
I am scared of you, and yet,
Never less so of any man.
Dreams of you catch me sleeping and awake,
Seeing your arms, so strong and inviting.
Your smile weakens me, both in heart and knees,
But also resolve.
I wish to say what I feel,
And yet, if you don’t feel the same…what then?
Could you kiss me once?
To see, to taste? To know?
Could there be a moment between us and no one else?
Oh, but I felt it before, yet so fleeting-
I do not know the thoughts in your head,
Or at least, I don’t know if I do..
I think I’m supposed to be with you-how silly of me.
But I beg you, say the same.
Let me crawl to you,
To that space between your arm and neck and chest.
Do you want me to?
I’m not the kind of girl who falls like this,
Head first, arms akimbo.
I’m not her, but I want to be,
Entirely over you.
I want to blame you and hate you,
Or rather I want to want that,
But I never could.
Wrap your fingers in mine,
A spider web between us.
Say something,
Before I have to.
Say something,
Before I don’t.
Say something,
So I can take my place
In that space between your arm and neck and chest.

Poetic Injustice

For Jaime and Molly... [20 Oct 2008|10:32pm]

birdybannon
[ mood | loved ]

Three Trees
In a hundred year forest stood three trees.
The air has seen plague and pestilence,
Hope and despair.
Love has been won on these leaf covered floors,
And lost just the same,
To the branches in the trees.
The sap is the blood of the dying and those just starting to live,
And these beauties stand still, despite desperate measures.
The mighty oak,
That pledges strength but dies from inside,
Diseases it cannot feel.
Showing its leafy beauty in vain, wanting for something it cannot have.
The red maple, small and beautiful,
Straining for the light the oak hides.
Living in shadow and chasing the wind,
Hoping these dreams are real,
And striving, forever striving…
The evergreen, always steady and strong,
And yet fragile as glass.
Changing climates but not colors,
And living as though to die tomorrow.
Three trees in a hundred year forest,
And nothing really matters but the blue above.
My friends, nothing really matters but the stars in the sky.

Poetic Injustice

And this, right here, is why he scares the shit out of me... [06 Oct 2008|11:18pm]

birdybannon
[ mood | anxious ]

New Smile
Should my fingers write these words?
Should my old world come crashing down?
Am I really hoping for that?
Or hiding, as always,
Do I fear the thoughts in my head?
Smiling was such a game for me,
A chore at times, in fact.
As a physicality,
A best quality,
So many words about how I don’t want to and then…
He came and he made me,
Pulled it out of me,
Drove me crazy.
Still, it’s almost ten years later and I remember it so well.
I never thought,
Never dreamed,
There would ever be another that made me
Do knees weak,
Heart ache,
Face smile back.
Today I said it, almost regretted it…
And yet knew it was true.
Is this the sign I prayed for?
Are you the answer in the wind?
Has He heard me, all these years,
Pleading and begging and hoping through praying,
Did He listen?
Was I wrong?
Oh, how this wrongness would be so right.
You came and you smiled at me,
And I’ve never seen one so beautiful.
That’s saying something you see,
Since I’ve said it before,
And never thought I would again.

Poetic Injustice

"You say you wanted more, what are you waiting for? I'm not running from you..." [03 Oct 2008|05:38pm]

birdybannon
[ mood | high ]

Buzzing
I wasn’t sure it was time for your poem yet,
I knew it was coming but didn’t know when.
I would see you in the hall and smile,
But those feelings hadn’t followed me home yet.
But now…
Now it is time.
Now I am sitting here, buzzing over you.
Or was it the beer? Or the weed?
Or all of it combined with you?
Whatever it is, I’m smiling,
And I’m falling for you.
Oh, unplanned as always,
Oh, unavailable, who knows?
But here is me,
Looking at you with eyes I didn’t see.
I want to know you,
I want to learn everything about you.
I find myself awed and surprised,
As my fingers type these words like note on the scale,
And I feel absolved by some ghost of a God I keep looking for.
What was I dreaming all these years,
Who was I waiting for?
I don’t know if its you,
Oh, but if that much is true…
Please tell me, say something, say everything.
Can I float up to your place in the sky
And fall asleep with you?

Poetic Injustice

On a train at night.... [27 Aug 2008|08:33am]

birdybannon
[ mood | lonely ]

Going Home
Outside the window,
Trees blur by me, a bevy of colors,
In reds and oranges,
But mostly greens as summer lingers.
Faster than a locomotive,
But it doesn’t seem so fast.
It would be easier if it were.
Like pulling off a Band-Aid.
But instead I am slowly leaving,
Slowly being pulled from you.
I looked at monuments to monuments,
Buildings so tall my neck cramped up.
Every subway station from Battery to Dyckman…
I wanted to stay there, in that place I idolized for so long.
Who knew it would be you I would visit?
Now I’m leaving and I’d rather not,
You’re the closet thing I’ve got to my own family.
I want my own family.
Now I’m on a train in the dark,
And I wonder where you are-
At home? Out to eat?
Is your life suddenly different without me there?
How am I to react now,
My dreary little life in our dreary little hometown.
I want this weekend back,
I want your family at my side,
As I stand undecided,
Speeding through countryside’s.
Going home, in the dark.
Going home, alone.

Poetic Injustice

Just thinking of the only boy who truly loved me the very best he could... [19 Aug 2008|07:27am]

birdybannon
[ mood | nostalgic ]

Tokens
Like any other day,
I sat in your presence.
Wishing it were just us,
Two old friends catching up.
Not another party,
Not another drink.
Just a cup of coffee and an inside joke or two.
Yet we grow,
And we change,
And here we are.

And on that any other day,
For the briefest of moments,
I remembered you as I loved you.
I blinked back the tears,
Restrained the urge to run to you.
We are not those people anymore.
We came out of that box,
Untangled and whole.

This is nothing, I swear.
Just a little remembrance
Of how it used to feel
To be in love with you.
Just a little token,
So you know you’re always in my heart.

Poetic Injustice

In opposite world, you'd be my best friend and I wouldnt even know youre name. [09 Aug 2008|08:59pm]

birdybannon
[ mood | crazy ]

Dear Deborah

Do you think of me, as I often think of you?
Somewhere behind the lies and illusions,
Out on the precipice of past affairs,
I wait.
I hide my face, say I came from some place else.
Those who know me know that's untrue,
And so do you.
Funny that you should,
When we met only once:
A brief second, before doors were slammed and cold shoulders thrown.
We know too much about each other
For never having known one another.

And I wait, because I'm good at it,
And my mind turns to you.
How long did I hate you without a reason to?
And you, the same for me.
I was jealous, and young, and disbelieving.
But you should have known better.
Maybe that's my reason.
I've known so many people
That should have known better.

Last night an old friend brought up an old memory,
And I realized you’re not the witch I thought.
You could have crashed walls and broken other homes,
Plastered old pictures on magazine covers,
Dragged the world to testify.
Yet you didn't.
Were you protecting those men in your life,
Be they saints or sinners?
By default, you protect me, too.
And friends,
And acquaintances,
Little secrets you never knew.
But what do we know, any of us?
We know propaganda and press releases.
The true story belongs only to you.

So I wait in this canyon,
For nothing imparticular.
I wait for a change in the winds again.
I think of you,
And this whisper leaves my lips:
“I'm sorry.”
But my apology does nothing to ease the sting
Of truth uncovered and past exposed.
I don't know what I’m even apologizing for.
So I try again and whisper my thanks,
But that is too new,
Like raw skin.
I'll have to wait for this scar tissue to cover me again.

I wonder,
Do you think of me?
Sometimes I think of you.

1 Poetic Revolution| Poetic Injustice

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