addict

She's that liquid ecstasy that courses through my veins. She's that extra puff of smoke that holds heavy in my lungs. She gives me wings and holds my head as I'm coming down. She makes colors brighter, hours last longer and food taste better. I hold her in my arms and she alters my judgement. But, all in all, she is a bad idea. She makes me think she'll never leave me, but just hours later I'm jonesing for another hit, a stronger high. I can't have her; she isn't mine, but I steal her away and we dance in the colors we create. she leaves me when I need her most, blood and body, and all I can think of is how to get her back. She's a habit I can't kick, but she's controlled me for too long. Her plum stained lips call to me and it takes all I have to turn and say, "not this time" - an answer she doesn't like. She works harder, beckoning me with her slender frame and her crimson red fingernails gliding up my arms. I give in to her calls, take her one last time. I'm not an addict, I can quit her anytime I want. But, I take her to my bed and inject her into my veins. She rushes through me. my breath tightens, my pulse quickens and my skin flushes pink. I fall asleep in her and when I wake she has left me, empty and alone. Again. 

smile

Why can't you hear me? I feel like I'm screaming. My lungs hurt. As if lungs have feelings. Pain sensors. Nerve endings. My eardrums are quivering. Every flutter amplified one million percent. Like when you hold a seashell up to your ear and you can hear the ocean crash from a hundred miles away. Or something like that. Even my pen is craving your attention. My obnoxious, in-your-face, Barbie doll pink pen is screaming "Notice Me!" Could have been purple gel or blue ball point, running out of ink. Not that the choice matters, in print everything is black and white. Every word, carefully chosen with no grey area. Don't attach your agenda or personal interpretation to these words, they don't mean any more than swirling wrist movements or keystrokes. Everything broken down to ones and zeroes. Eventually something as dull and ordinary as black characters painted on white canvas with nothing to say that hasn't been said before will catch someone's wandering eye. But who knows, you may never notice the curve of the letters that form the word "smile". And by the time you do, I may not want you to anymore.

save yourself

Here's the pavement. Cold and colorless. Not inviting, but here he lays. Weight distributed between knees and elbows. His hands with tiny cuts on each of his ten fingers were raised up to his eyes, which watched tiny lines of red snake their way through the creases of his fingerprints. With overturned hands he scrawled his story onto the cool ground. In long crimson strokes, the red tint drained from his lips. His digits dragged on the floor, kicking up dirt that hugged the underside of his nails. He swallowed his tongue because what he bleeds onto the pavement is more important than words that escape his lips. He lay his head onto the chilled ground in the middle of a windy afternoon. He exhaled a stream of blood that formed a letter, that formed a word, that formed a sentence. And, that sentence read "Save Yourself".

Your story

There you are, engulfed in a story you've read before. You know the way it ends, yet you still rush to the finish line taking note of character changes and plot twists. Jump from page to page, your heart races at all the same places, your head whirls when something unexpected expectedy happens. You think that the story will change because you have; you've gotten older, more mature. But the words still form the same sentences they did before, and the ending still disappoints you the way it did the first time. You sit, heart melted to the floor and sweat dripping from your furrowed brow. Close the book for good this time, like you thought you had done before.

Webster Doesn't Know Shit About Love

you can copy and paste the definition of love into a blank page
but it still doesn't fill the emptiness.
all there will be is words
that don't mean anything.

Love (verb): To love. To feel completely devoted and attached to something/someone. To know that nothing else in the world will ever compare or matter as much. To KNOW.
Making Love (verb): Fucking with emotion. An act of pouring your soul into another. To reveal all of yourself, every fucked up detail of your persona to your partner.
Falling in Love (verb): the act of being completely smitten with another person to the point of ignoring all of their flaws. To fall in love is to reach a state of psychosis that will eventually fade and you will see each other as you really are. damaged.

Love (noun): An intangible "feeling" that is impossible to know unless... you know.
"if you were in love, you'd know it"

Historically:
Love is something that our world fights for, and fights over. We so badly need someone to love us that we do things for attention, make rash and rushed decisions. we burn bridges and lose friendships to keep love alive. we tell people that only some are capable or deserving of love. We set guidelines on love and we break rules for love.

Medically:
Love blinds us. We become so enthralled in the idea of love that if we don't have it, we spiral into states of depression and think ourselves "not good enough" for anyone to love us. Heartbreak: when a person "so in love" is let down by their partner. The pain they feel they connect with the heart which they connect with love. When a couple breaks up, their brains and bodies go through a state of detox. they must cleanse themselves of the memory of the comfort of that other person. Little things will trigger memories; scents, songs. eventually the brain and body heals, just like coming down from a drug addiction, although, there will always be cravings for love.

inspired

He shakes.
She is scared but he pushes the hair from her face
and erases the fear.
He shakes.
He laughs when he is nervous. she isn't nervous
with him.
The comfort that comes with the years they've shared
is equally matched
with the anxious desire to connect on another level.
He already impresses her
without needing to try.
"What i love is that i can be honest
and i know you are being honest back.
"We can call this our park.
And whenever we are scared or lonely or vulnerable
this is where we will find each other
to escape.
"And we can hold our breath for a minute
and feel our hearts beat faster-"
She kisses him mid-sentence,
rude interruption.
The butterflies rise
to coat her throat
and they melt into one another.
Passion flows through parted lips.
They try to read each other's thoughts
in silence
to know which move to make next.
He may not know what he is saying
but he always says the right thing
And she fell in love
with his words
like she fell in love
with his soft eyes
and his honest smile.
And how he analyzes everything
and his ability to love deeply.
and how he laughs when he is nervous,
even though she is never nervous with him.

September 22, 2010

Ada Lee Gilpin

"hurry son, hurry."
he made a mistake. he came for me. but took you instead
and now i am walking to the car, family at my side
as my son is lowered into the ground.
his brother, stronger than most
has placed the first of the dirt on your ashes
and i couldn't watch.
i had to leave
and as i left, i saw the squirrels playing in the trees
the deer running across the lawns
and the trees, all green with life.

in a place so full of beauty
and life
this is where i leave you.
your mortal body,
in the ground.
with the green vivaciousness all around you

he made a mistake when he took you.
he should have taken me instead.


Guy Allen Carmichael

Don't worry mommy,
there was no mistake.
i am here.

Don't worry mommy,
please don't cry anymore
let your family ease your pain
for i am free.

Don't worry mommy,
i know that you are angry
but don't blame God,
he brought me here
and i am happy.

Don't worry mommy,
you are strong.
and yes, it is unfair
but this place is beautiful
you'll see someday.
and i know
that i am loved.



Kelsey Franceine Carmichael

i have only seen my father cry once before
he was sitting behind a nurses station
calling his family
to tell them his father had died.

and now, as he placed the dirt on his brother's ashes
he choked up
and i saw the pain in his face
it grew a little redder
a little sadder
and a little older
but he held me in his arms afterwards
and i let him cry.