Saturday, July 18, 2009

Inside The Storm.

The lightning struck the same spot twice, it was no myth.
No coincidence that I had a scar in my palms
With your name written on it.
I did not cry, though the rain was questionable.
Storms blew through valleys buried deep, hidden
And sealed with secrets you whispered in your sleep.
I always pretended not to hear, but the thunder always
Kept me awake and I had no choice but to listen.
Imprisoned in darkness, your words became a light
In my shadowed room, the clandestinity of your dreams
Were unleashed as your speech carried on throughout the storm,
Tears became hail, iced over memories seeped through broken teeth
It was like watching lilies bloom in the middle of cracked streets.
Riddles streaming from the depths of death’s venom breath
My name was in the eye of the storm.
Leaving my fragile heart twisted and torn, your violent winds
Made it impossible to think clearly, I lay in despair wishing I could make
Your past disappear, we were both in such need of repair.
We were the end result of a train crash,
The ashes of a thrown out cigarette,
The pain that sits placid after love expires,
Somehow we fused our broken pieces together
We were just looking for some protection from
Some severe weather.

And so the morning came, as it always did.
Jaded light bulbs lit dimly as you awoke, the tornado calmed,
The words you spoke the night before silence themselves,
And I am left with no words, waiting for the sun to deliver answers
To your broken questions.

Friday, July 3, 2009

MIYM #14

It was to an independent state of mind that I wanted to pledge
Saluted the reflection in the mirror
As if my chords had truly been cut down
Like my strings were finally untied
Like the knots had come undone
I placed my hand over my heart to pledge my allegiance
But the bullets went flying taking my soul as seisin
Foolishly I left my heart open for unspoken reasons
No liberty or justice could heal these lesions.

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

FREEWRITE 063009

Twisted around assumptions, crying out for some type of escape. Losing the meanings, the truth, characters are written but their definitions are never defined, refined to the bone, it’s a cold world, and the winters are dark. Summers are lonely, spring is empty, and autumn changes all the colors of the spectrum. The leaves fall, the branches break, and what is left of truth, is dried and festering in sand boxes. The night’s lights shine through bleak skin, loving myself enough but still the air is thin, conforming to the reality instead of the truth. Bent bridges and seeing everything upside down, I need elevator arms to up lift me now. Somehow the roads are being shaped into question marks, raising doubt, raising reason, where is truth? Not the city, but the state of being. The state of knowing whether the proof is reliable; it is the truth that’s undeniable. Familiar faces reaching with stranger’s hands. They too have begun to turn into question marks, bending with memories that are faint and I’m beginning to wonder if they ever took place. Struggling to find the truth in love’s recollection, I search through the archives, hoping to find a scent of summer’s taboo; I know that I loved you, but I can’t find where it ever ended or why. The truth is hiding in mounds, yesterday sounds lovely when played backwards, I keep the records on a shelf right next humility, one of my favorite tunes, and then June plays the laughter that has been stained into living room carpets, it’s so hard to forget what you heart loves to remember. I know I need to accept the fact that I can’t keep you forever, but selfishly I keep your memory in queue, and when they ask me for my name I attach it to your last, not because I miss you, but because time is moving too fast, and I’m just trying to capture history before it becomes the past.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

MIYM #13

Even if it is only one night
Strip me of my insecurities
Love the purest form of me
Make the floor beds cry,
And the bed spread curl
Place whispers on my neck
Hold me deep
Make it raw
Place our problems
On the nightstand and
Pick them up in the morning
This could be love.
But even if its not
I would still like to place my hands
Across your back
Embellish your name in high notes
Make music jealous
Even if it means nothing
Because I would much rather
Be lonely with you,
Than empty alone.

Love, Tianamonique.