we put these things on a shelf, the way people hang up lines of clothes on their backs
we place shelves too high for anyone to reach,
we put our faith in people who crash their planes in the backyard just to save a stranger’s life

and this is what we should fear, this is what we should have faith in

this is how we turn thoughts into pictures


sometimes when I’m angry, I dig my own nails into my arms,
I take mascara and paint my hands

I take a knife and pretend to stab the wall just so I can say I know how to hold one

and I do know how to hold everything to my own throat

I think I hear better when the music gets louder

I can’t say I care about the things I did a few years ago. life becomes other things.
wash and repeat. breathe and live one more day.

what can happen in one day?
what can send us feeling the strands of our hair tingle?
what can give us the sense that a hero isn’t born,
but made into one the moment he decides
his own life is worthless if it means having to end someone else’s?

there are still things outside that I can’t bring myself to touch

have you ever noticed how the blades of a fan dare you to touch them? I doubt I am the first to say that aloud.

I know I won’t be the last.

08/17/2012

Posted on 08/25/2012
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