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I was asked to write a poem for a friend: a collection they are putting together called A Generation Of Cinderellas. It's called:
the ideal woman.
I am alarmed I guess
What a well-placed name
In my used dress shirt and vest
They’re being commandeered for the day
Lingered smile. Calm eyes and limbs
Paint fading on her face
Where’s the evidence of my childhood whims,
The oft-timed line: the thrill of the chase.
Grains of dust swirl round my head
The sun outgrows the trees
Those shafts and rays are blinding still
Proof that even with sun, nothing comes for free
The labour of man is met outside
Their machinery huffs and sighs
The door jam cracks as she walks through,
I casually meet her eyes
Coffee purrs and trots along
Endearing. Dependant.
Floors and shoes sing their song
I remove them to amend it.
Morning hypnosis does its waltz
“I’m staring at nothing; really”
character in chipped hand-me-down mugs
We attempt, and fail, to converse freely.
I profess I have a tale
She’s determined to chase it (down)
But even though I try my best
Without caffeine I simply sit, blink, and frown
Hands are colder then before
They drift across my own
I imagine this my eventual kingdom
This old couch, my contemporary throne.
I wonder what my parents think
I mean, they’re still young enough to grow old with me
I hardly pass by their view anymore
I consider what sort of man they see
They look beyond my dark blue sight
Which is curiously safe and swell
My mind races to years from now
Where you do the same as well
And then it hits me; I see it clear as glass
Or as much as my disease allows
I’m falling in love with the idea of you
Caused by misfiring chemicals and a nights worth of spirited vows
I’m not in love with you at all
And yet I sing a grifter’s tune
Not aware a mask is there
a promise to see you soon.
still I spend my days and nights
Wondering why I’m so misplaced
Pining for this ideal woman
who, eventually, furthers my distaste
When it’s gone, I start to slip
A life of lost and found
All this needless circling the strip
Destined to never touch the ground.
[i'm only half as terrible a person as this. I think.]
enjoy,
taylor.
__________________
EX: Whats new?
ME: I officially love coffee more then you now.
EX: uh...
ME: So, not much.
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