When it comes, It doesn't come all at once There's a trickle A downpour sometimes A river to ford, a stream to cross A lump in the back of your throat A shower thought, a lingering morning dream A lake to push yourself up out of Other times A vast ocean, A torrent, a storm capsulated in bursts Heaving, gasping Salt burning into your lungs When it comes, It doesn't come all at once Your memory is not, never painful Just there, soundlessly Something in the periphery That weighs my viewfinder a little more & sometimes not at all People say when you lose someone There's a lot to process, unpack and analyze Like an seashell echo or a too far off sound in the distance a low growl trapped in your throat While I agree That's mostly true, it doesn't Explain the tremors, the spray, the leak It actually feels like, for me At least My entire body has become a spout Without any way to control the pressure at first & over time, it will feel less, but not It will become more
I built a pedestal of iron In your image Without ever really looking at you directly I looked away for some long moments A apple Became a pear As you left me to paint I drew a halo around your image, green grass, wishful images Due to feeling you were the only one who ever saw me Knew my value, knew my worth I tried to absorb everything you taught me so I could get everything You said I deserved Someone else eventually reached out When I was splashing as much gold I could into grays Exactly the right distance in others Too far away in some ways That dotted line threaded through the trees Tonight I met the person at last, Painted halo above his head Cracked, incomplete Making comments and observations About a person I was two years ago Puzzled I looked at him expressionless And tried to reveal the true me But his eyes looked off into the distance His image of me, still the same, not grown somehow still too young again As if I'm always behind, always won't understand The painting
of endings and beginnings. by misaoseta, literature
Literature
of endings and beginnings.
i put my hands up and surrendered when i could look into your eyes and find forever the night we met, remember what I said? I wasn't looking, I was just finding myself we spent weeks working up the courage to meet again both of us with a lot of loose ends we could have just missed each other, knees scrapping on some subway, elbows and shoulders barely touching at some grimy concert venue in LA ships in the night, completely separate storylines I never thought one kiss on a cheek would start an unquenchable fire I'd never made the first move, and never thought taking hold of that would go well hearts are sharp and misunderstood, most of the time our first date, you animatedly talked about music and bands all night i could barely eat anything or hear a word, nervously trying to remain calm i'd never felt that way before completely and totally in love with the way you laughed, free and without a hint of restraint the way you held open doors for me, and pulled out my chair as if it
my cells, my body dying every milisecond, molting like feathers or fur the air thick with memories in the wind, in the water something and nothing all at once it's enough to tighten my throat, the emotion clogging me when I think of us all innocent and young we pretend to sit in our captain chair, simple ghosts manning a small ship in an ocean of stars here but not built of memories like a beach is built of sand shifting, erroding changing it was all so easy then, when I was nineteen and wanted everything everything at the tip of my fingers, just barely too out of reach while sad, it is still sweet life has become a treasure and everything I remember is a different key to an echo of some part of me
more restless than sad my heart not one to linger long what words will ever resolve how I feel about you tell me now how to end these conflicting feelings stranded alone on this island of your memory the good-bye I was never able to say to you but you, you're still with me like some indescribable, unbreakable spell or pathetic curse I keep carrying your corpse on my shoulders and it'll come suddenly, like during a shower, or on a drive, or brushing my teeth and suddenly, the tears well up like a spout inside of me tell me, what kind of tomorrow were you expecting of me did I ever become what you wanted from me? the tears that fell that day have long since dried and stayed underneath like a sea serpent in a mystic lake more legend than a pain I deal with today if anyone asks if I did or did not love her, which to believe? someone who I was close to died that's the whole story because it's too hard to describe grief even though I may forget your voice the love I feel for you
Unpoetic Summer Camp for Adults by misaoseta, literature
Literature
Unpoetic Summer Camp for Adults
The wind rushes through the rolled down windows of that car you bought off craigslist
No AC, clear coat paint cracked on the hood from driving to California from Wisconsin
The man who sold it bought a motorcycle and was selling off his past
For something bigger, new… in Simi Valley
Bright smile, saying that Sherman Oaks is not a place to raise a family
Well I have no big unreachable teenage dream, to leave the state to find a meaning
Just a 9 to 5 that’s goes much past 5 all the time
A vapor plume out of the window, a quitter and a victor riding the line
More roaring hot air mingled with commuter blues
Each frustrating Prius, a