deepundergroundpoetry.com

Get Me To The Quiet

It's�the�chaos�that�was�easy
Within�the�turmoil
is�where�I've�earned�my�keep.
I've�applied;
But�on�my�resume'
I�crossed�out�lover
and�wrote�in�fighter
just�to�stay�busy.

I�didn't�realize�how
I�carried�old�trauma�around
like�rocks�in�my�sling

Bludgeoning�things,�not�to�kill
But�to�soften�them�up
to�make�them�chewable
Not�to�swallow
But�to�spit�back�out
at�one's�feet
Mocking�their�antics
of�imitation�love.
Later,�retrospecting
Forgiving�them;
They�knew�not�how...

My�warning�labels�worn�away
long�ago
Washed�away
from�standing�in�the�storms
A�pillar�in�a�hurricane
-Just�trying�to�cleanse�myself
of�all�dark�history

I�always�wanted�to�be�a�good�man
But�I�didn't�know
there's�more�than�one�road
when�I�first�learned�to�search
And�I've�looked�for�decades
for�that�harbor�called�respite

I�never�wanted�to�show
how�dark�blue�my�heart�was
The�color�of�a�constant�bruise.
Even�as�I've�forgotten
the�assailants,
I�remember�the�damage

I�would've�taken�the�song�to�heart;
Love�Hurts
But�without�the�love
it's�just�hurt

From�that�gravel�road�I�trod�upon
because�there�is�no�other�path
when�my�eyes�are�set�on�hopeless.

Until�a�hand

-A�smile,�that�sliver�of�light
When�the�storm�takes�up
all�of�my�sky
Yet�at�the�farthest�edge,
the�faintest�of�a�spark
promising�to�see�me�again�tomorrow
brighter.�More.

Hope�is�ice,�though
To�a�life�spent�scorching
I�rub�it�on�my�forehead
when�you're�not�looking

I�didn't�need�saving
so�just�soothe�me
As�I�take�apart
this�wooden�fortress
surrounding�me

We�can�use�that�lumber�for�rafts
to�cross�to�the�other's�island
Aren't�we�all�really
sole�survivors
staring�at�the�lushness
away�from�us.
Tired�of�fish
Tired�of�crabs
We�need�red�meat
for�certain�hungers.
Offering�one�another
to�partake�of�flesh�wounds
caused�in�our�reckless
neediness
-Don't�call�it�desperate
I'm�great�at�being�stone
and�it's�so�easy�to�relapse

And�if,�(silent,�secret�hope)�a�later;
We�can�use�that�lumber
for�a�signal�fire�then
As�we�talk�ourselves�down
from�that�sheer�drop-off
that�every�mountain�within�ourselves�has.
Center,�or�an�edge,�of�our�self-islands.

As�I�watch�your�fingers�extended
towards�the�flame,
I'm�writing�a�song�in�my�head
and�feeding�it�to�the�fire
I�hope�to�read�it�in�your�eyes.
I'm�trying,�how�much�I�am
pushing�words�out�that
I�would�stumble�over...

I�don't�mean�them�any�less
even�if�unspoken

I�watch�your�smile,�your�lips
Because�I�hear�better�with�sight
Because�I�fumble�sounds
when�I'm�staring�at�eyes

And�I�talk�less,�then
Because�I�fumble�sounds

So�get�me�to�the�quiet
This�is�where�I�break
Open
and�reach�across�the�fire
for�your�hand
Where�my�open�mouth
has�no�words�to�come�out
But�it's�your�entrance
to�my�island
As�we�resuscitate�one�another;
A�life�for�a�life

Where�you�discover
my�ancient�secret;
I�speak�so�eloquently
with�my�hands.

~~~