Marcelline

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I am sinking like a boat, checkered with invisible holes that only I can see;
And I am feeling so alone.
I see you when I close my eyes, in the people that I know; behind me in the supermarket and beside me at the mall.
I hear your voice in my dreams and I wish I could speak to you.
I see you in my name, in a picture on the wall and in my head.
And the truth of the matter is you're dead.
It is not a matter of lost, it's a simple matter of gone.
I don't feel your comfort surrounding me anymore; there is just a void, a stupid empty void,
I know I won't find you anymore.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is For You

Picture taken from Pinterest

I find you to be intoxicatingly mysterious 
and the more I think I know the less I feel I actually do,
and I wonder were my mind meets reality in this territory I have yet to master.
Keeping every kind of thought at bay with innocent intention. 
And tip toed through egg shells trying not to create reckless havoc.
The quiet soul you poses is more then you give credit and I merely wish to see it grow above your miscontent.
Though I am a shadowed figure demanding to be let in,
I have nothing but respect and awe inspired by your image.
I see beauty hiding outward and lying guarded from within;
its the pull that has its stammered clammy hands to hit send.

Turning Point

Every muscle in my body contracts and I can feel the frustration coursing through my veins.
Words bang on the inside of my tired chest; I just can't hold it in no more.
It's been tipping my tongue and pounding in my heart; but I just can't let it out.
Tell me will time change the uneasy bubbling in my stomach;
Will it carry away with it this desire?
Dragging with it the walls that surround my life as I know it;
I just don't want to lose this, I can not let it end.
Time is perhaps the enemy as it will wear on and this may fade out of view.
Just how long do I think I can withhold the charade.
I just want to scream at the top of my lungs until my voice fails me and my eyes burn and my body shakes and the world disappears and everything is behind me like a misguided past with nothing better to do then stay where it belongs until the bricks threaten to break.
Just a single word and my mind is swirling and I'm pushing just a little to vigorously...
I lye sprawled across a tangled thorn looking up into bright eyes and sideways into even brighter ones.
Take my mind from the space where it wanders and throw it into purgatory until its locked down the place where it belongs.

Screw Formal Introductions

I cry in the rain, I like the feel of the cool droplets on my head, but I love the sun and a welcomed cool breeze. I hate when my feet are wet or being misunderstood. I dont like to offend people especially those I open up enough to to confront and I hate when my heart hurts or when my emotions get confused. I like iced tea or the smell of pumpkin pie and the way a daisy carries its plain look so elegantly. I like when things are real but I surround myself with fake and I pretend its my life. My idols are Marilyn Monroe my mom and my grandma; all strong females with too much of the world holding them back. I respect my dad because hes done everything he can to make our lives beautiful and hes the hardest working man I will ever know. I love the feeling of being wrapped in someone's arms and the feel of soft skin on my lips. Especially eyelids. Im incredibly cheesy and entirely a closet romantic. I am not a fan of clothing shopping but I love buying new things. I like colourful and weird shit. If I draw I am in a total trance. My favorite colour is yellow and my favorite song is Dani California by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Ive watched Anastasia in a graveyard at night. Ive been cliff jumping and never knew a current until I couldn't swim in one. I swam in the ocean... in my clothes. Ive been on a plane four times and I still cringe. the last book I read was a textbook but my favorite novel is Great Gatsby. I use to have a dog named Gizzmo and he loved car rides and would cuddle up in bed. He use to make me feel less alone and when he died I dreamt he jumped up on my bed and curled up in my arms and I felt at ease. I once had a dream that shoke me so violently that I couldn't carry out my responsibilities of that day. Sometimes I have so little confidence I rehearse what i want to say over and over in my head before I say it; sometimes its so bad I do this while waiting in line to order food. I write but what's new. I once wrote a story very close and personal to me and my high school teacher said I should write what I know. I have a strange connection with birthday cards and I hoard "sentimental" things.I feel uncomfortable in crowds but I often shop alone, go to restraunts alone once even went to a movie alone- I had almost a whole row to myself. I close my eyes when I hear something I like and listen carefully to what others say. Sometimes I am to sensitive but I kind of like it that way.
I'm not perfect, far from it. I never tried to be; for the most part im just me whether I hate birds but love reptiles or my worst fear is drowning. Its all a part of something I dont always see. There's just a little intro into my world.

Jumbled

I can't shake this unbearable dread.
Its in my body and racing around my head.
Only I dont know what it is and I dont know where it comes from,
All I know is that my eyes are dull and my life has become numb.
Im a monster in reality.
Look at all I've done to me.
And watch how I've molded these mounds to look how I see and what ill be.
Because I lie. Because I've lied.
And in its wake Im petrified, out of time, in a cry, speak my line, left to dry.
The world has no sympathy, for I've manufactured my own misery.
I hope some day I'll finally be
at peace with whats inside of me.
Until then prick my fingers, pull my hair, tug at my waistline- there is much to spare.
Im your plastic Barbie doll with less a mind if a mind at all.
And in the end you'll find me vacant,  pacing ideally, prepared to fall.
Talk to me tender I love your sweet soft voice in the pitch dark palace of my soul.

The Scarcity of Words

To the world and a soul I keep for myself;
Soft eyes.
They see such delicate colours of me im afraid they're beyond reality.
Dark hair.
So deep and long and beautiful that I wish to feel my way through its boundaries.
Trembling lips and wavering laugh.
Both so delicate I can't ignore their fragile existence and I pretend they are mine.
Cautious smile.
Always questioning the moment, the timing and its own undying presence.
Let those eyes envelop me and carry me with them into those sweet fragile hands and if I can't feel your arms surround me know that I dream of it. And if I cant run my fingers through your hair know that I envy whoever will. And if I never get to kiss those trembling lips know that the world is dimmer for it.
Finger nails painted pail like the moon light traveling down my spin and it catches my breath ever so slightly.
You wonder what I say but they are words of scarcity and it is never what you think.
Love, hesitated openness

Midnight Sky

Warning: 

The following poem may be triggering for victims and is graphic. Please proceed cautiously and with consideration. 

Once upon a midnight sky, the world of wonder, dreams fogged sigh.
She walked with ease, a quiet whisper, along the breeze.
Dragging behind her, a long dark dress, that flows so slightly with a pur.
One closer glance its ripped, its torn
Her eyes are darkened
Face scrapped, tired, bloody. She's a mess.
There's hands burned painfully on her neck,
bruises painted inside her thighs.
tears no longer pierce her tender checks but the path has been made.
Hes long gone, she's left for dead,
ripped wide open, the streetside her bed.
Gentlemen pass so very unaware of what could be possibly lying there.
Her grave is shameful, she'd never tell, what horrible fate she had befell;
Upon that midnight sky.

Letters to No Where

Every day she wrote to him. She would scribble a poem between work and down time if she didn't have the energy. Sometimes she would spend hours in an almost trance drawing a map to her mind that day. Only problem was that he didn't necessarily exist yet but she didn't seem to mind. In fact Mindy found writing the letters to be the best part of her day. All day long she would listen to others and talk about others and surround herself with others. Her letter writing gave her the chance to focus solely on who she was and what was on her mind. And the beauty of no he on the other end was that He could never judge her or demand his own air time. Although admittedly Mindy had on several occasions dreamed perhaps there were a He and he was handsome and charming. But she never imagined they were in love because love was only an extension of the ego in disguise; or so she had come to believe. Mindy imagined that they would simply enjoy each others minds and hadn't conjured any reason to physically engage; especially because he was simply imaginary.

Mindy could be pretty if she tried and she had a vibe that often scared people away at first. Most of the time she was unaware of the signals she was sending and wondered why others rarely approached her for no reason beyond wanting to get to know her. She had grown used to dinners alone and shopping alone and sitting alone at lunch, there were a couple days a month she would even see a movie alone. There was nothing terrifying about being with her own thoughts; she enjoyed her own company sometimes more then she could anyone else's. There were approximately two friends that Mindy kept in steady contact with and neither of them bothered to make much effort to spend time with her. Her existence was frankly quite bland to say the least but Mindy ignored this prospect. She lived solely in her own world and actually possessed a fairly intelligent mind.

Despite her happiness with the life she led Mindy felt she needed change, so she sat down to write one last letter.

Dear No Where Man, 
I fear our time together is coming to a close and I must tell you while this is sad for me I think it may be best. When I was a little girl I had a watch that I loved so dearly I wished it would never fade; so I buried it in a neat little box beneath an ugly old tree. I suppose if I can't see the decay it isn't happening and I don't want to watch this fall to pieces like so many things in life. I have decided this place and this routine has gotten old and while you've helped me so very much I can not possibly allow my heart to yearn for someone who may never be mine. In a somewhat hasty manner I have decided I'm going to going away for a while to find myself. I know it sounds cliché and don't worry I'm fully prepared for the turbulence - its half the fun of getting to me. 
From the stars, the moon and my untamed mind, love always, 
Mindy

As she ended the letter with the same phrase she always did Mindy could feel a slight release. She stuffed her last letter in the overstuffed shoebox that housed the rest and tied a ruby red ribbon around it for safe measures. The next day Mindy packed some clothes with little else. With her newly packed bag on the bed she grabbed her box and walked a path she reserved for warm days and uncontrollable thinking. Mindy could follow this path backwards with her eyes closed but could hardly tell you her surroundings because she had always been so deep in thought. This time however the trees intrigued her and the painted cobblestone confused her. There were rhythms she had never heard before and lights she had always seemed to ignore. The life of the park became the most fascinating thing she had ever witnessed.

Trent sat at his usual bench observing the park as he always did. On a day like this he should be working; or rather trying to work. Being a self proclaimed author Trent didn't have much time to devote to his writing and moreover he a had taken the entire day off from his "temporary" waiting job for some extra time to finish his novel. The problem was he had hit a dead end. But it didn't stress him so much in this environment and he hoped that the quiet wind in the trees and the rhythmic lapping of the small lake would inspire him in some way. It never failed that something would spark his interest and carry his mind away with him. Looking out across the lake Trent spotted the clumsy looking girl from his building. He often saw her gliding down the path with her mind in the clouds and wondered what her story was. He ducked his eyes trying not to stare. Her hair hung wavy and free over her shoulders, a refreshing change from her usual tightly pulled back style. Trent had never actually talked to the quiet girl from down the hall; generally she kept to herself. Sometimes they would bump into each other in the stairwell and she would just keep her head down and nod.

On this particular day she was carrying what looked like a shoebox with a bright red bow. He curiously tried to formulate what could possibly be inside. Trent imagined that this innocent looking girl could be a secret mafia torture member and maybe the box was cradling a human hand. Okay maybe that was a by far fetched Trent thought. But it would be pretty badass. The autumn leaves roared to life with a sudden gust of wind and Trent pulled his coat closer to his body. He had once spent a very drunken night on his bench in the dead of winter in only his bathing suit. It was no surprise that as a consequence he was sick and hospitalized for nearly two weeks. But during that two weeks he was able to write almost half his novel and the main character had been subject to a very similar scenario. Only his main character had an attractive misunderstood young lady by his bedside during recovery and Trent had settled for the cranky old man who shared his room and who sometimes spat his food out at him if he spoke to much.

Mindy paced herself; allowing the experience to warm her like a good glass of cheap wine. She found a bench over looking the lake and sat, admiring all the colours swirling around her. Directly across the lake was another bench where a man sat starring at her. His hair was tussled and his posture was a confused mess. She wondered if he was looking at her or perhaps he was so deep in thought that his eyes had simply wandered this way. His expression seemed slightly comical as though he may be reminiscing on something that was unpleasant but somehow funny. Mindy leant over her box looking at him for a while. The two were a strange sight to see. Through a small distance neither seemed to notice the other noticing; however both became completely enamored by the image of the other. If the world had suddenly shrunk and the two were face to face they would be gazing somewhat longingly into each others eyes without the slightest idea that they were. Trying to shake the eerie feeling that she had seen this mysterious man before, Mindy sat upright and looked down at the box. She set it carefully beside her and patted the top.

"Goodbye No Where Man" she whispered, for a moment forgetting he wasn't real and wondering if he would be okay. Mindy shivered, partially from the cold and also partially from a thought that maybe she was entirely crazy and had finally lost it. As she stood to walk home she noticed the man across the lake finch so subtly she thought maybe she had imagined it. The walk home seemed almost somber but just as refreshing as the walk there. Mindy felt as though she was finally getting where she needed to go and had started to create her own meaning about everything.

Trent nearly bounced from his seat when the quiet girl stood to leave with no indication of retrieving the box she had set so preciously beside her. But he didn't want to seem eager so he tried really hard to supress his excitement. He hoped that no one else would pick up the box before he could get to it and fulfill his curiosity. There was something so strange but intriguing about that girl and he felt that this box may help him gain insight into her locked down life. He didn't really care if it was creepy and as soon as she was out of sight he set off in a full out sprint down the uneven cobble stone trying not to trip. It wasn't to far of a jog around only half of the lake but none the less Trent doubled over out of breath the minute he reached the other bench. In high school Trent had been a tremendous runner but now after years of take out and late meals he had let his athletic frame go and was quite out of shape. His green eyes peered at the box as though it were Pandora's box and maybe the contents were better unseen; especially if it was a human hand. The ribbon fell to the boxes side with one gentle tug and this was it. When he slide off the lid mounds of paper revealed themselves and threatened to spill over the edges. He quickly closed the top and tucked the box up under his arm; the contents of this box would be better read in the comfort of his home with a cold bear.

Trent settled on his living room floor and carefully dumped the box full of paper out. He spent the rest of the day reading Mindy's careful ideas and strange but intoxicating thoughts. With every letter he found himself yearning to be this No Where Man and wanting more . Trent imagined himself walking with Mindy and listening to her ramble on about Italy or Paris or the weird dream she had last night. He could see her hands flailing when she talked and her eyes focusing on their every movement. In her pictures he saw her in a most vulnerable state and it felt almost wrong to exploit these parts of herself without her knowledge. But it consoled him that if she hadn't wanted anyone to find them she wouldn't have left them on the bench. It was late into the night by the time he finally reached the last letter; it was a bittersweet moment and upon realizing that she was going away for a while Trent sprinted to his door and peered down the hall. Hoping she had not yet left he frantically went back inside and found a notepad and pen.

Dearest Mindy,
I'm in love with your mind. As much as anyone can love another or maybe more. Perhaps I'm simply enchanted by your seemingly effortless dazzling words or perhaps its the pictures you paint so vividly in my own mind that set my world a blaze. The trouble is I don't truly know you. I can shape you in my thoughts but a mind has no age or gender; it has no physical features to crave. So how can I fall so deeply into something that doesn't exist? I'm sure it will fade like almost everything does and I will be left curious of what has happened and how I was so stupid.
But I can't just ignore it, I have to know, I have to know you. I realize my time is running out, I only wish I had seen sooner what I would be missing out on. I want to ask you to stay and let me get to know you; but it is selfish to say please don't go... So at the very least let me come with you. It could be a great new adventure and I promise to only follow your lead. I know this sounds crazy believe me if I wasn't on such an adrenaline rush I would probably think twice about even writing you this letter.
From the stars, the moon and my untamed mind, love always,
Your No Where Man from 5A

Trent finished hastily but made sure to sign off in the same way that Mindy always did. With his heart pounding he rushed down the hall and slipped the paper under her door; he knocked almost to loudly and hurried back to his own apartment. His palms were sweaty and heart was pounding so hard he felt he might lose it. Minutes later, though it felt like hours Trent heard a door creak open and a quiet "hello" echo down the hall.

Mindy confused by the sudden disruption in her evening looked puzzled up and down the hall. No one came to visit her, especially not at two in the morning. She looked down at her feet noticing that she was standing on a piece of paper with hardly legible scribbles on it. She picked the paper up curiously and closed the door.

Anger

If only there were some way to show the world what lies inside,
Maybe then I could understand what it is I am trying to hide...
There's something bubbling inside of me; its unlike anything I've felt before.
I want to scream and throw a fit, but here's the key now slam the door.

The Close Past of a Dim Future

Just a period piece I was in the mood to write after watching Mad Men...

I need him so desperately. So intensely. I need him to love and protect me from all the outside evil lying just beyond my door. But there is evil in my walls, in my room and beneath the very floor boards I stand upon. He has shamed me time and time again; bringing only his perfumed smelling coat and dull hat to hang upon my hooks. There was a time I believed that a life of domestication was all I wanted, was all that could make me happy. He roped me in because it was much simpler to have a guardian then to look out for myself. And not only just for the large home and babies but a sheltered canopy away from my own gender. A shelter that has come to serve as my own little prison. I smile and wave dutifully at neighbors and keep my lips pined shut so as not to embarrass my husband. He is the stone beneath which I sit and wait to be addressed.
With little enthusiasm I look out the kitchen window at the world and its insecurities. I wonder about the women who work constantly and endure the male criticism thrown at them; yet at the end of the day lye somberly but free beside the same ignorant man who earlier chastised her for not being locked away in a house with three children to keep her busy. Likely that man is my husband who is so secure that I am stuck here and oblivious that he thinks I will remain always loyal. Sometimes I think that he believes me to be no more then a household appliance, spouting gossip with the neighbour ladies, keeping the house clean and occasionally- if he isn't to tired- allowing him to strip off my clothes and take me to bed. I haven't the slightest respect for myself these days. I do as I was brought up to do and at times with fear worry my daughter will have the same fate. Her daddy loves her and cherishes her frailty as I pass on the wisdom my mother once passed down to me. Chin up, eyes down, smile and be courteous, don't think or wonder beyond your means and always always keep him happy. Because if he's not happy you have failed your duties as a women.
I try to imagine my husband worrying about the same fate for our daughter but I don't think much on this. Men have a particular view of the world and the people that inhabit it. All we are to ever want is a man, even when we want to be free - we want a man.
My husband saunters in an hour late and reeking of cigarettes and scotch. Dinner has been sitting out for nearly double that time. I smile and don't inquire further beyond "how was your day dear", kissing him gently and taking his coat from his hands. He never speaks much. Generally he nods and kisses my forehead or utters a short reply about how his boss thinks he's "the next best thing". If his day had gone badly he would not stumble into bed until nearly morning; because troubles were reserved for his mistress(s) and taken out vigorously beneath the sheets of her bed. I love my husband very dearly. I often tell myself this countless times before he graces me with his presence. At times I even grow to miss him during the long days that he is away. When my husbands sits and grumbles about his cold food I quickly and obediently start warming it up. My children run in as if on queue and jump excitedly at their wonderful daddy. One day my son will be just like him; you can already hear the same distant language being repeated behind closed doors of my daughters little pink playhouse. And I hope with every last bone in my body that my children grow up to disappoint us because in so many ways they deserve at least that much.
The evening passes slowly as I cheerfully boast about how our friends down the road were jealous of our new wallpaper; fully aware that neither of us are truly interested in the subject but having not much else to say. Before bed he looks as though he may say something with true meaning but instead reminds me of an upcoming business trip and praises me about how well the tulips are growing in the garden this year. Just as he turns his head and closes his eyes I allow my smile to slowly fall and disappear. I stare at his even breathing and remember a time when I really believed that he could do no wrong; a time when we both truly were in love. I settle down beside him wishing I was anywhere but there and hoping I may dream of a real hero.