I like to remember things my own way. how i remembered them, not necessarily the way they happened.
I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. My DeLicioUs ambiguity.
I'm not a graceful person. I'm not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2AM, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.
Rock-a-bye baby,on the treetop,When the wind blows,the cradle will rock,When the bough breaks,the cradle will fall,& down will come baby,cradle & all.
It's thirty-four minutes past two o'clock, very early Monday morning, non-working holiday. I jusz finished Vicky Cristina Barcelona, and the strawberry pack on my face is a little over-staying. Me still tempted to watch Margot at the Wedding. The effect of one glass of cold fresh milk, and a tiny pink cup of Jimms coffee. Sleep is quickly slippin' away from me ...
"It doesn't matter where we started, it's where we're heading that matters (so some wise man said). But this is my dream, I will decide where I go from here. You invaded my world Stranger, now I have you at the palm of my hand. (the last two lines were mine).
No comments:
Post a Comment