Nothing Empty, Nothing Magical

Daisy's picture

--- Another new poem... As usual, it's a performance piece, but, as usual, I think it reads okay. It's not very gay or anything but I'm posting it anyway :). Right. Here it is. ---

Nothing Empty, Nothing Magical

There is this cast
iron part
of me and she
just
refuses to budge.
I keep throwing myself
into myself like
I think I’m made
of brick.
My chest is just so fucking thick and I keep clawing
at my ribs trying
to get in
to my heart so I
can hold it.
My heart is made of glass.
My heart is a glass jar.
It’s not empty.
Just
how
many
falls do we each have to fall?
And is there any
sense to it does it
balance out at all?
Karma is convenient and I wish I could believe that certain things are deeper than they seem, wish wish I could say anything that might mean anything to you right now.
There is a boy and he used to be my world.
Today he and I couldn’t carry on a functional
conversation each of us stationed
securely behind our screens
typing things that are supposed to mean more than they seem to.
How are you?
What’s new?
When
are
you
going to New York?
When are you leaving?
When are you going
to leave me, when
exactly
will you simply cease
to be
any part of my life?
Tomorrow?
Next year?
No, don’t
say it don’t say
yesterday.
There was a time I would have eaten glass
to win you.
And it’s weeks since
I’ve seen you and you know what’s
really fucked up?
I’d still rather string pretty words together for you
than say what I really mean.
Which is why so far this piece has been
a lot of intriguing bullshit,
you and I both
know it but
we don’t know why
I’m scared.
And everybody here knows that he never cared,
I knew it every moment we spent
together and I’m not sure
what I wanted out of him.
What, fun? Blood?
An excuse to be used as we all want to be used
once in awhile?
A cover-up?
An alibi?
Not
love, don’t even say the word
love
in my presence. You
abused it.
Whispered it
to me most nights for months and I
believed it and the worst part is it was true.
And you know what?
Fuck you. This is the last time
you come up in
my poetry, you
pervasive bastard.
Moving on.
There’s nothing to see here, folks
the show’s
over.
Over.
I am not empty.
I am not
made of glass.
And so it comes to pass that that wonderful whatever
it was I used to have
seems a little less appealing.
I am not longer interested in revealing every facet of my heart
to any stranger dumb enough to ask.
Those secrets were so fucking technical.
THERE IS NOTHING MAGICAL
left in my life since they left it.
Or rather since I ripped it out,
once again screaming
child’s play and running like I think I running might actually be enough to get away.
Like I was born to run.
Running like I was born to chase someone,
like God set me in motion.
Have you ever had one of those mornings where you wake up and suddenly you hate every piece of clothing that you own and so
you end up standing there half-naked and inappropriately distressed
arms crossed over your chest so tight you can feel your heart pound.
What a sick scary feeling,
the idea that you have absolutely nothing worthy
of hiding you from the world, not a single piece
of fabric with would do to cover you up.
Sick scary feeling.
I am not empty.
I heard some one say
that we all just
choose the same person
over and over forever so that every lover you’ve ever had
is in some way identical.
We keep seeking the same thing to fill the same gap,
bewildered when the mistakes repeat themselves and who is this
person we’re
so in love with as to find them over and over
our whole lives?
Who?
Who is it?
Is it
myself?
My
father?
Is it
you?
The difference between first love and last
love is
only timing.
Love is only timing.
There is nothing magical left
in my life because these days whatever lights
I see I know are only
in my head.
I know
they’re only in my head.
Maria says she’s lying.
I know
it’s only
in my head.
When I’m lying in my bed I can’t sleep, grabbing
at my chest trying
to get in so I can hold my heart.
No one else wants to.
My heart is the moon.
My heart is the truth.
My heart beats
Ann-a Ann-a ov-er ov-er
My heart beats
a-lone a-lone.
I am not
empty.
I won’t be
empty.
Last night I dreamt the
sun
opening up and spilling
bright red love like blood that fell as rain
over the city.
The desert claims its victims.
I sit staring at the wall like all
I want to do is stare like I was born
not to care
about anyone.
Like I was born to run
from anything that could mean anything to you
right now.
How
are you, darling?
How
the fuck have you been?
My heart beats
e-nough e-nough, my heart beats
good-bye good-bye.
So lovely I could just
cry
could just
die
typing words into a box, thinking I’d do anything to connect to you right now
I don’t even care how. It’s always been
this thin
wall of glass
between me and the people that pass
in and out of my life and I’m thinking
fuck me or fight me, love
me kill
me
just do SOMETHING
real.
There is nothing left to feel THERE IS NOTHING MAGICAL
left inside this badly designed parking lot of a life.
I would have eaten glass.
Everybody dies, Maria. Everybody dies.
Even you no
especially
you.
I wish I had told you the truth.
I can’t face the consequences.
Please don’t make me empty.
There is this metal part of me
and I just keep throwing myself up against that same brick wall all day long.
Don’t you miss me?
Baby?
Don’t you miss
my eyes?
Isn’t it time you realized
there is nothing here
at
all
I want from you is your life.
Please pass the knife,
darling,
it’s my turn.

Comments

BehindBlueEyes's picture

*standing, cheering*

Bravo... Brilliant... really, i liked it. surprised noone else has commented yet.. . lucky me, im the first. coincidentally i wrote a piece similar to this jest last night. i enjoy your style. good work, keep it up. cant wait to read another...
PEACE&LOVE
holly
"You only hold me up like this cuz, you dont know who i really am..."

bibibutterfly's picture

Oh my fucking gods, you are b

Oh my fucking gods, you are bloody brilliant. What an amazing style. That poem seems so REAL. Keep writing! and keep posting your writing!
-thumbs up-

the world turns beneath my feet,
and only my breath is still,
in the living night.