Category: metaphors, life

Call me classy, the classism

For the royalty is like this,
Some used their words like their fists.
Playing advocate,
That our freedom was illiterate,
As if we…
Don’t tell stories when we do.
And when we do,
Our debts taunt us with what is due.
I sit down on the plush throws,
Hoping I too will grow,
Learning that our lives had meaning,
Perhaps a little seasoning,
To the big pot,
Where the emotionally hungry fought.
This heart of mine is tender,
Eyeing big spenders,
With their jewels and dice,
Forging our lives to make nice.
I come out to seek pride,
Only to be shown where to hide,
To make it to paradise.
For the royalty is like this,
Some packed a punch and called it a kiss.

A leap in the skillet

It is conditional, 
Is it not,
That this act of defiance to love,
With the taste of terror on one’s tongue, is only a shot of foreplay?
I danced smooth,
Ran my fingertips over my dress
And said it again,
My love dwells on second guess.
It is conditional,
Shaking my foot about
With a metal trap digging into my ankles.
Yet this anguish,
Holds my quivered shot of pain,
Looking for a place to hide in my brain.
I ran my fingers over my dress,
And said it again.
Look with eyes re-focusing,
What is in the grass,
See how whatever it may be slithers,
And slides cool,
Creating a riptide,
Away from me.
It is conditional,
Is it not,
To dance in the fire,
And no longer cry out that the flame is hot,
Hot and wretched,
Hot and protective,
Hot and this here,
I ran my fingers over my dress, 
And said it again.
That this mere relationship,
Is conditional,
Is it not?

Kiss the back of your hands

Wading through the stalks of grass,
I arrived to the place,
Where I swore to never return.
Meeting you where the horizon blurs,
The sun and I,
Would sit for hours,
Eating oranges, grapes and pomegranates,
Waiting for our time to come.
Let us hash out,
Why one decided to live without the other,
Let me give you the fruit I’ve picked.
Come and sit,
Choosing your delicacies,
Ones we’ve waited a long time to eat.
The sun and I,
Sat until royal blue, satin curtains
Brushed across the sky.
My past self,
I am learning what it means to love now.

Skipping stones: an existential crisis

Mindlessly, we kicked our legs back and forth sitting on the chair. How many times had we gathered around here just to sit and make peace with ourselves. We never said anything besides static between conversations. Did you see how high the winds were? This year I’m done letting people walk over me. How have you been?
I know how it’s been with you because I’ve been the same, once happy and then distraught. Our emotions tethered behind us and we let our rags wrap up our arms as to hide our scars. We’re really tired of trying to pinpoint our whole lives but we continue to do so.
Mindlessly, I stared into distance. Everything began to blur and the colors collided into one another. They looked the same as when someone takes their glasses off. The whole room is fuzzy and while you can make out the couch and the windows it’s not the same. I knew this summer would be like the rest, a temporary high.
Our days became numbered, as we counted the years off of our fingers. I envisioned how this year fled away from us and the next five years were too close. I wanted things that I felt I wasn’t ready for but I wanted them still. I wanted them to feel right and fill the holes in my life right. All of these things I spoke of with you during the static. Our silence said a lot about us and our dreams formed haphazardly. We drew near to the river, skipping stones across the pond that seemed much deeper when we were kids. Sometimes during the humid nights, we waded out holding our pants and skirts above our navels letting the cool water envelope us. I wanted to shiver off my fears, watching them fall around me.
Between our white noise,  I said to myself more than I ever had whilst speaking.

The exception to the golden rule

We were cross-legged, resting our elbows on our thighs and listening to those we were under. We resided under the tongues of our teachers, mothers,  fathers, aunts, babysitters (related to us or not) and often fidgeted how they spoke of life.
“YOU MUST TREAT PEOPLE HOW YOU WANT TO BE TREATED.” This is a complete sentence and a complete thought. None of us have sought these words as foul play. In our hearts, we swore that is we who will be kind and be mindful of our words, carefully examining their weight. It is we who dance between the sunlight and then escape into the shade.
“You Must Treat People How You Want To Be Treated.”
We pledged this unwaveringly. We carried it with us as we walked on traintracks, under ladders and soft grass trekking to our sense of paradise.  On our tongues our words flicked quickly. We flung such words that were harsh, berated faces and torn down clothes from those we did know and did not know.
What is an opinion? An opinion is whether one prefers ketchup or mustard. An opinion is this diner has great food but the space is cramped. This diner has horrible food but it’s floor plan is spacious. We too tucked in our cheeks such things such as; religion,  poetry, opinions and honesty (to the best of our knowledge). Some days we swallow all of these roughly and dry. Some days we drink water with it for its contents to course down our throats.
“You must treat people the way you want to be treated, except those people. They are less than you are. You must cast your eyes down and turn up your nose. You must say that you know all that is in this world, of it and withdraw your sword to struck down those you do not understand out of ignorance. ”

You must treat people the way you want to be treated.
With blood on our hands, we wore gloves saying we are unaware of the wounds we inflict on others. With our heads drooping between our shoulder blades, we assured our children to grow but only as far as we can see.
With guilt and trial,  we learn again what it means to be kind and treat others how we want to be treated. We want to be free to learn. We aim to improve parts ourselves where we are no longer hidden or acting in pretense. We strive despite struggle. We enclose to all who will listen that all people deserve opportunity for good. We hold in our hand the things we have learned and cast down things that inflict harm on others.
It is an active choice to be unkind and cruel. It is an active choice to be kind and considerate of how we treat other people.

A rock and a chipped tooth

When the bleakness of what comes
As constant as time
Stares you down,
I’ll call the names
All listing their deep sighs
And longer vowel distinctions
Where there is restlessness,
Your presence persists it is only temporary.
An exchange
A chipped tooth for a chipped tooth without the ache
It is temporary
That what remains consistent
Are our exchanges of no longer worrying what we cannot control
No longer batting an eye at the
To unravel your nerves
a wrench to an apprentices craftsmanship
No longer
Only seeing the bleakness
When the brightness of the light
Blinds before you see really where you are
And where you will be.
I call you by names
No one else knows but you
The name of the little voices
In your head