Oil Rigs of Brokeness

We loved all the love out of love and were still unsatisfied, unkempt even.
Desperate for something, anything that would fill our empty bottles and lonely beds.
We saw the lovers in the movies and our souls screamed in uproar
at the fact that we couldn't act the way the actors acted
but oh, how we tried.
We could recite their lines are wear their illusion like old work boots.
We worked on the oil rigs of our brokeness, hoping anything other than
our hurts would manifest.

Honda

He convinced me my cathedrals were trinkets and worth pennies on the black market.
He spoke death into my sleep and said it was me.
He said murder was the only way for him to breath and my asthma was not allowed.
He prescribed my inhibition, he lived in recognition of my hurts and said,
"Oh darling, there are pills for that. There's a cure for that, for your broken
down Honda Civic heart, for your atriums and aortas that were pulled apart and
just won't do their job. But I am not a doctor."
He was a shark, only moving forward, calling on my soul
whenever his lonely needed it's fix.

Her Veins

What words does she sleep in?
Are they lacey and sheer so you can see the scars on her hips
or are they itchy and uncomfortable to where she can't ignore
the way she feels so out of place in her own skin?
Would she tell you her secrets or only whisper them to the moon
and the man she sleeps next to and knows little about?
Would she insist she is happy standing on fire while he robs her soul
and plans her demise? Would she let you mourn over her while
blood still seeps through her veins? Would she tell her mother
of this lover and the way he is as stable as a loaded gun?
We won't now until she comes home and has faced her
dragons.
But she does not know the words she sleeps in so
family is far away.

Knotted

My hands and feet have seen the war.
My chest and head have felt some love.
My legs and arms have sought for truth.
All of these have served me well but
I still get lost in the knots of my soul.
I climb the rope to the top
only to find I must start again.
Sometimes those knots come loose and
drop me to the ground.
Everytime I am down my eyes prove their dominance.
No matter my dislike they always crawl for you.
Like my demons they always seem to win.

Tense.

I'm trying to find solace in His solidity.
I run into people's walls and they hand them over as
peace offerings.
I love His fluidity because my heart has become
a whole bunch of "I don't understands."
Some of my parts have been won over with
elbow grease and promised lands.
The rest are perched on an enemies
fence.
But He can handle mountains
so these two by fours prove past tense.

Doppelganger.

He worked so hard to build us a castle made of straw
just to burn it down with the cigarette between his first two fingers.
He looked slightly displeased but all the more enticed
with the ash on the ground.
My heart saw him for what he was,
my eyes cut him out and saw only what they wanted to see.

We, too.

We looked at the flowers and all the city streets had to offer.
I look at all the people and found them beautiful.
I looked at him and he was even more beautiful.
His mind was like a rubiks cube,
everything didn't match and
I liked it that way.

Wreckage

He brings a certain peace to the storm
I've been fighting for eighteen years.
He doesn't calm it in its
entirety but parts of it are
easier when he's around.
The wreckage of my heart
looks more like abstract art
when I look at it through
his eyes, not exactly clear
what it conveys but incredibly
transparent in the way it makes you feel.

Ghost Town

I could feel his eyes running rampant over me.
I was always afraid to meet his gaze,
with every glance he could burn through my memories
and feel what I had felt.
Too bad my poker face was lost with all the hurt.
Now that he is gone most of me is gone as well.
Being with him shook every molecule I was ever
composed of.
It was a thrill I hated to lose,
now that he is no where to be found
my thoughts oscillate around freedom
and going home.
Is staying with someones memory worth losing parts of you?
It might even be worse to go home coping with conformity,
flirting with familiarity.
Anyways I think I might stay,
I still see his wild eyes and feel his fierce heart around this town.

Too Far.

The ugliest parts of my soul don't seem so bad when I'm with you.
Even though it might not make sense,
I know I can hold onto your truth.
You love my heart and you won't stop.
Your love goes past the broken
and tells me I'm not lost.
Your light hits me hard
and calls me home.
Your love claims me
and says I'm not
too far gone.

We.

I could feel his hesitancy as we walked.
It was as if we were dancing around a ticking time bomb.
 
           "Have you ever been in love?" he asked me.

It was such a simple yet complicated question.
To be in love and to love someone are completely different.
I have no doubt I have loved many.
To love someone is to take a third party perspective,
observing, learning, and enjoying how they interact with life.
You love watching them love and break when they are broken.
But you are still afraid to be thrown into the vortex of love with them,
fearing for your life rather than the other person's.
To love someone is to be afraid of commitment, benefits without love.
To be in love with someone you are sucked into the cyclone of life,
instead of fearing for your sanity you war for that person's protection.
Your love is not requited with you are with them.
To be in love is to give and take.
To be in love with someone you are convinced life without them would be
horrifically dull.
To be in love is to admit you love them a bit more than you love yourself.

   All these thoughts jumped through my mind.
 Then I looked back at my life.
  All the adventure, heartbreak, and wisdom I had encountered over the years
  and was surprised at my own answer to his question.
            "I have not..."

                                      And with that, we kept walking.

Volcanoes

The world doesn't know what to do with a passionate person,
for they are like volcanoes.
You don't know when they'll erupt with enthusiasm.
Most people run from the outcome,
scared of the fire in their hearts.
But oh, you volcanic souls do not
lose hope.
There are a few who see beauty in the madness
and find themselves lost in the lava.

Constellation

  I wrapped a love letter around my heart and shot it into space.
 All the times I wished for you carried too much weight.
 I got mad and strapped it to a rocket, it never had a destination so it's still in orbit.
 I'm still on the ground, my love galaxies away.
 It's easy to see all the lovers around with nebulas floating through their veins.
 I will deny it for eternity but I still love to look at the stars.
 My heart turned into a constellation and it still spells your name.

Skin.

The poision seeps down my heart and out of my pores.
I know the people can taste it from my glare.
It might frighten most,
I really don't care.
If they swim in the shallow the won't make it
past my skin.

Heart Map

I have this theory that God puts our hearts into bits and pieces
and placed them all around the world.
In those places, I believe we find our passions.
We find our calling.
People. Places. Ideas.
Each heart different.
Some people's hearts are in people.
Doctors. Lawyers. Teachers.
Some people's hearts are in places.
Nature-ers. Travelers. Flyers.
Once we find where our hearts lie it is most beautiful.
The prodigal finding the Father.
I've been trying to find the scattered parts of my heart for a while,
I've only found a few.
My heart is in the ocean.
My heart is in the mountains.
But I think the biggest part of my heart is in you.

The Ocean

With the power of the stream and the rocks
that surface from beneath, I can not control this.
The only thing I can do is hope and pray that I don't drown
before this river finds its' way.
My eyes have always wanted the ocean
but I don't think I wanted to get there this way.
The rapids are rough and the water frigid, like my soul.
For a second this river almost feels like home.
The sense of chaos is an ever close friend
that I will forever welcome with a reluctant grin.
But I have come too far to sit still.
I will float through the pain and
I will dance with the memories, as long as they take me
to the ocean.

Tiger Lily.

I will always be your tiger lily.
The girl you go to when you need more life.
The girl to catch you at your worst and turn it into your best.
The girl you run to when you get tired of her.
I can tell you and her are not right by the way
her eyes are swollen from crying in the night.
But you won't fight for what you want.
You won't fight for what keeps your heart beating.
I will always be your tiger lily but
never your Wendy.
You may like it that way so enjoy your neverland
because it's time for me to find my own.