And So Do I

I'll be your winter. 

I'll creep through your veins, leaving you cold, frozen, and riddled with cracks. 

I'll twist in your lungs, short of breath and dragging painful.

I'll taste the moisture on your lips and steal it away like a bandit, leaving them chapped and bleeding. 

I'll envelop you.

I'll make your nights longer and your days shorter and bleak. 

You'll keep your head down and your body covered in a half-hearted attempt to protect yourself.

But winter whispers through,

and so do I. 

Winter kills, steals, freezes, and burns. 

And so do I.

Remember when we screamed together, baby? Smeared like ink across blank pages, leaving imprints of our souls.

Remember how our breath twisted into the cold night air, leaving clouds behind, miniature rain storms on our own fucked up horizons.

And when you grabbed my wrist in a panicked way, leaving your fingertips in my skin, like fresh foot prints in the soiled snow,

I felt no pity for your sunken, broken heart. Wishing you would disappear into the darkness.

But you came back, like a haunting of my mind, never ceasing to hide in corners, in shadows, and stranger’s smiles.

And when finally, I had rid myself of your stain, your scent, your ugly, twisted hate; still you stayed.

Tell me it was love, baby. Carve it in your skin, spill it from your lips, poisonous.

Lie to me, viper. Sing me lullabies of horror stories. Tell me fairy tales of war.

Sing, baby. So I can watch you drown in your words before I run away.

Before I take to the wind and realize that you were never worth a single wasted breath.

Before I set myself free, baby.

Before I’m gone.

In stolen moments before sleep, I replay memories of who we used to be.

Children laughing in the car, freedom on our fingertips and love on our lips,

We rode down highways together, our broken hearts in the backseat. Forgotten for the moment.

I watch as we raised our voices above the shitty speakers, as we screamed lyrics to songs that will always be a part of us.

And we waved at the passing cars, not pausing for breath. Not missing a beat. 

We were invincible, at least for a few stunning hours on a quiet highway with no place to sleep that night.

But memories, as they always do, turn to sadness as I recall driving home alone. No copilot in the passenger seat, with only cigarettes and a scratched CD for company.

It is this, our last great adventure, that hurts me now. I knew that things would change soon. We spoke of leaving our towns and finding our own way. And I knew that your way was much different than mine.

Because I needed out of the stifling town that threatened to swallow me whole, and you heard the wind calling to your gypsy soul. I needed a life elsewhere. You needed a life everywhere.

And so I left you behind, wishing to God I could have convinced myself to stay. But it was too much. And now I think of our adventures before I fall asleep. Smiling in the dark.

And hoping one day the wind will bring you my way again.

It's rained for two days in this desert.
And while it slides down windows and runs through streets,
I wonder,
Is it enough?
Enough to wash our sins away,
To cleanse this beat up town of heartbroken children
Of all the hate and ignorance that fills the air like poison?
Do the misguided judgments ride with current to some unknown place,
Or are they swallowed whole again by the ground,
aching for the tainted moisture?
Is it grown again in the cotton and crops?
Can we ever be rid of the self-righteous opinions that have been bred into most of us?
I wonder these things as I watch the rain run.

Two whole days of clouds and angels crying.
And in the hush, through their tears, I hear them whisper,
"We had such high hopes for you."
And so maybe, I think.
Maybe the rain isn't a gift, like they say,
But a broken lament for what we have become.
for how far we have strayed.

We ran away, hard and fast, eager for freedom.
And now we have the audacity to scream the accusation of abandonment.
We were not left, we did the leaving.
Right has been twisted into wrong and in the confusion, we chose badly.

And so the angels cry.

While we ignore them and preach hate.
While we ruin everything that was once good.
While I long to watch this town burn.

And still.
The rain falls.

Mama's got blue eyes,
Daddy's got brown. 
Brothers One Two and Three all got the sea colors.
The sometimes blues and sometimes greens.
The stormy sky eyes it's easy to get lost in. 
Those lazy river eyes.

I got Daddy's browns. 
Browns. Like the earth beneath my feet. 
Brown like the mountains of the desert. 
The one big thing we share, Daddy and me. 
The family table only we're allowed to sit at. 
The big, Love Me Browns.

The browns that shine from my face are the same ones that
Laughed with me when I rode a bike for the first time.
That promised me safety as I dog-paddled in the pool without my floaties, scared to death. 
That shed tears for me when I left. 

We got the strong eyes, Daddy and me. 
Brothers and Mama can have the seas that change like the wind. 
They can keep their fickle ice. 
I'll take the earth. The quiet strength that hides pain easily in it's depths. 

Cuz Daddy and me, we ain't just got the
Playin catch, laughin in the sun kinda eyes. 

We got the ones that keep everything that actually matters inside.
We got the ones that hide the loneliness like it ain't nothin. 
We got the eyes that promise everything's gunna be fine,
When inside our hearts, it's chaos. 

See, Mama and the Brothers, they got Heavens.
Daddy and me, we got Hells. 
But I don't much mind if we got the browns. Not anymore. 
Because

They might write more songs about the blues and the greens,
But the browns are the ones doin the singin. 

And Daddy and me?
We got the most beautiful song you ever heard. 

Saint Christopher

I know a girl,

A pretty, awkward, lonely girl that wears the same jewelry every day.

Two rings, and a necklace graced with Saint Christopher in remembrance of a man that died before his time.

But what she doesn't tell the multitude of almost strangers that ask, is that she wears it for another reason. One that she only whispers to the dark on nights that she worries she can’t take it anymore.

Saint Christopher is the patron saint of lost souls. And so she wears him faithfully around her neck.

Day to day, month to month, year to year. With the hope that she’ll be found. 

Also, she likes the length of the chain.

If my life was a dark Indie film

This would be the monologue. The big dramatic voice over used to

1. introduce the viewer to me, the main character, in a non conventional way.
2. if my life was turned into a crime drama and I somehow end up in prison, this would be played while the crime is being committed, replacing the grisly violent noises.
3. Or if I were to die, this would play as the movie fades to credits. 

It started off as a poem but then kind of turned into something else. Mostly, this is for Molly.

I was born on a Wednesday, at the end of the month, on a day to remember fallen heroes. I always felt like that was significant somehow, being born on a day to remember the dead. Like maybe that shadow has followed me around my entire life; clinging to me with claws that cut so deep, I imagine they belong there. Hiding in corners and under beds while I attempt to live my life. A shadow of the dead. A mark on my soul. 

It certainly would help explain some of the turns my life has taken. 

Why I can't seem to really love anyone. 

Why I can't stand my reality. 

Why I can never say no to the offer of narcotics, sparkling like the ocean under the sun, promising escape and adventure. 

I already belong to Them. Their memories have already claimed me, and so my life is fated to be clouded by darkness. My heart is bound to break cold. 

And everyone else passes me by, while I am surrounded by shadow. 

One day, I suppose they'll come, with grasping hands and tired smiles, and take me. Then we'll all be shadows, and cling to another girl born on a day that belongs to the dead.