Poem: Finite #the100dayproject Day 83

Finite 

We realize the wind just as we realize time. 

Both we take for granted each day, 

but when there is a storm,  

we look up and see the bruised clouds, 

watch the oak branches shudder with such violence. 

Only when we look at ourselves in the mirror  

do we acknowledge time, our reflection 

better than the face of a clock 

our wrinkles the closest second hand; 

More accurate than the turning cogs. 

Some days we look outside of ourselves 

and time suddenly comes upon us; it stops us. 

One day we will not feel the wind on our skin, 

we will not hear it whistling like a kettle on high, 

one day we will not be here; that is the best marker of time. 

Poem: Untitled Song #the100dayproject Day 82

I wrote some poems today, but I typed up the start of a song instead. Never hurts to try something different! I'll have to work on the Coda and the refrain, but it's a start.

Untitled

I want to understand the physics of your body.
What rule did we break when we found each other?

No matter, we are stronger than two magnets,
stronger even than the force of gravity.
Our energy is neither created or destroyed,
all of this time, I had a missing piece of soul,
and when I found you, the push and the pull,
I realized I could defy all of the rules,
push past all of the boundaries and borders,
together we can create our own destinies.
You are the lightning and I am the thunder
we roll onto the earth, our storm stronger together.

Coda

The laws of attraction run deep
When our lips finally meet.

Poem: Disturbed #the100dayproject Day 81

Disturbed

It’s not enough the world keeps spinning 

that the grass continues to grow 

insisting on its tassels, pollen and seeds. 

It’s not enough the river current still flows 

and spills its fresh water into the ocean 

or that my mouth keeps moving 

regardless of what you have to say. 

It’s not enough that summer will end 

just as my life will end someday. 

I want more than the things I already know. 

I crave surprise, demand the unexpected, 

yet I want my body to acknowledge 

that I keep opening up my eyes each morning. 

I want gratitude, but nothing is enough 

when I want more than this, more than enough. 

I want to hold my potential, hold it close to my eye 

like a see-through marble that I can find inside 

exactly what I’m capable of in my short life. 

I want to see through time as if it were sunlight, 

then I could walk into it like a veil or pull it back 

to reveal all of the things that I’ve been wanting, 

maybe I could finally understand all of this wanting, 

this angry heart that runs faster than my body can keep up, 

this unsettled blood in me, always recycling want after want, 

It's not enough to know my body is a deep, deep well, 

and my sediment has unsettled and turned my waters 

into a stream of whitewater stained iron black. 

Poem: Solstice #the100dayproject Day 80

Solstice

This night air smears like oil spatter on a stove, 

it cannot be cleaned up with just a cloth. 

Even in the shower, this solstice can’t be scrubbed. 

The rash that blooms above my elbow 

appears like red plastic beads erupting from me. 

My skin cannot breathe, it soups in its stickiness, 

as I lay in our thinnest cotton sheet. 

Outside, I hear the moths breeding in the damp, 

their wings froth the humid street lamps. 

I watch the fungi build their architecture, 

they part the grass in the quiet corners of night. 

I unravel into a new shape as the solstice approaches, 

I glow with sweat that moves like restless feet. 

I am an unsettled object, misplaced 

in this confusing warmth, my veins wish to escape me, 

this sticky body. They pop out like lungs trying to breathe 

they grow wings like pulsing moths who kamikaze 

into the dripping flood lights outside our home, 

they batter their wings, smearing their powder. 

Our detritus amasses in this humid weather, 

only on nights when we cannot breath or sleep, 

do we realize how similar we are to a glass that sweats, 

we drip in this weather, like a candle that runs its wax, 

the flame unsettling solid to liquid,  

on this night we become solid to liquid, sticky oil, 

our tongues wet with our dreams, our lips thirsty 

for a rainstorm that refuses to burst and break.