Nietzschean Musings

Babe, you are the reason I lost faith at age twenty.
For some, that's longer than they'll ever see in their lives.
There were days where I trudged through salvation,
blinking away the early morning dewdrops of benedictions,
but the broken-grained bread is not enough for me to survive.
We had a good run while it lasted, but I am too tired
to wait for eternity to save me.

#14 - Sentimental Values

Our songs no longer hold the same sentimental value,
because my essence has learned to sing a capella without your presence.
I ain't ever gonna find meanin' in the bottom of these bottles, baby,
and my soul is yearning for some deeper meaning
in between the last rites read over your (un)conscious body
as if there was a higher power sent to save you from yourself.
I have been starved of affection, groveled and begged,
licking the floor you walk on just to get a taste of salvation,
but there are no circumstances that allow forgiveness
to be granted to the same steely blue eyes I see in every one of you.

#13 - Aurora Borealis

I find it annoying that I am always
drawn back to your northern lights.
Although you carry pretenses of being a godless Yankee,
I find myself being reminded by God
why I should keep faith in people
in your starry-stuck irises.

This is not the first time I have fallen for you,
and I can only wonder if I will pick myself back up.
We inhale carcinogens together nowadays on the same stair-steps
you dragged me up so you could take care of me.
Others have thrown their backs out trying to help,
but you simply bruised my spine.

I wonder if you remember the time
you asked me if I wrote poetry about you;
my lines will always connect us
as thoughts of you crease my forehead.

#11 - Whiskey, Football, and Walton

This is a toast to all those fucked up warriors
I have linked limb and heart with. There are days
where we are not rich enough to fill our cups over
with anything but Sunny Brook,
but by God, if camaraderie had a price,
we could burn down this whole town with alcohol.

There were days where I met brothers
shoulder-to-shoulder on the bleachers of Kyle Field,
screaming out hearts out for our beloved 12th Man,
and I will forever remember 3rd deck fondly.

But even the best armies have skeletons
when they finally clean out their closets.
It would be untrue for me to state that I felt no remorse
watching those I bled and sweat for stand so coldly
opposite a burning stack solemnly, the light flickering
and bouncing off of pots so worn down, on a good day,
I can see the reflection of my soul. While I cannot
hold much of a grudge for being the bastard child
of Bonfire, I am not the only forgotten fishbuddy.

# 12

I have days where I pity you; where I want to lift up your lack of empathy and kiss it so you can learn what it's like to feel.

I can hear you thinking. The cogs in your head creak due to their lack of use, and although I am aware that hate comes naturally to you, it still pains me occasionally to watch how much you have to struggle to learn to love. You are not inarticulate, simply reticent.

Every time I watch you try to piece together a sentence, I want to run my fingers through your hair and kiss your forehead for trying to empathize with another human being, but the world does not give rewards for accomplishing what was supposed to be your duty anyway.

#10 - Food, Beer, and Bonfire

I have learned to be a girl of simple pleasures.
There is a simple sort of joy that the frightful pace
of the 21st century still can't capture in the peacefulness
of cracking open a beer on your front porch.

Perhaps it is simply my Southern upbringing,
but I have learned to truly capture the soul of a family
with the heartbeat that resides in the kitchen
of the comfort food that is fried everything.

Most importantly, I have learned to love
the camaraderie of my network; built
wedding cake style, tied together
with wires and stacked together with kinship
and built characters - and characters to boot -
that is my beloved Aggie bonfire.

#9 - Toys, Drugs, & Candy

I am exhausted by my struggles against the 21st century.
Nowadays, the flurry of technology that bombards us
makes us so attention-deficit to the zen of silence
that white noise has become comfort by comparison.
Our toys have become more advanced,
but we have devolved into relying on
soma to artificially drug us into a feeling of peace;
of xanax bar solutions to other people.
We've created our own social hell
by prescribing ourselves medicated solutions
we consume desperately like candy.

#8

my heart is young and has yet to hurt.
although my grammar is nascent,
i am already conscious enough
to evolve into hope for growth
there is a love that has a finesse
beyond anything your structure could embrace
because i preach tolerance
of your clenched fists so I can erase them

#7

my belly is swollen with the blue moon
and tides lap at the toes I dangle in the waters
but there is a maelstrom that looms,
sitting gently upon the line of the horizon,
drifting slowly and refusing to falter
even in the face of my excuses and denials
and its tremors will shake my frail structure as i whimper,
insisting that you cannot steal my optimism from me

#6

I want to embroider your brevity into my skin
with stitches made from ink and a tattoo pen
because the good vibrations you send my soul
racked my body so harshly my spine was broken
like a back-arching second Coming (and maybe
that imagery is heretical, but even God can see
that neither of our lives have been kosher
doctrine since the first time you kissed me.)

There are days where you make me tired
because the fight against your faith to the sky
suspends me so close to the sun's rays
I melt in your presence like Icarus.
Your love has enervated me; made me sick
of standing up for myself in favor of
a quick solution I can patch over your eyes
like a precipitate so you can love me blindly.

I write you poetry in my dreams.
If it made a difference, I would give an eye
to exchange for your i-egoism;
but all you do is create a schism
that catches me by the throat until I lie
six feet under your body that catches me
in a chokehold so precipitous I'll scream
till my vocal cords are frayed wisps
whispering about your denigration.

small town talk

I want to write a found poem out of your reticence,
but I find myself holding back my love for you
because I have no pretensions about our diction
painting grandeur and magniloquence.
Our hearts both grew up in small towns,
and I was quickly overwhelmed by city life.
You chuckle at my metropolitan tastes,
but in the end, you know the boot heels
of my soul is just as worn down as yours.
There is a fight in all of us to be had.

---

I can taste your tears
when my lips brush the corners of your smile.

It's as if tragedy had gently laid her hand on your forehead
weary with Victorian morals to quell your fever.

I wish I could improve your morale,
but society picked up our old love story,
blew the dust off the cover, and left it where it lay,
forgetting chivalry in the attics of our daydreams.

We have slept there together many a night;
our fingers still intertwined,
though I struggle to feel the bones
underneath your exhausted skin.

There are days where the pages
become so swollen with my aspirations
I wonder if we will burst into flame,
but there will be no rebirth for us when I perish
because Eternity forgot to inscribe my name on her doorstep,
so all I can do is wait for you to come to.

Once in a ...

Your blue moon irises graced the skies tonight.
The lunar lady swelled up her hopes and aspirations
so that your eyes could overwhelm the night stars.

There is a gentleness that the world
does not often see from you
when you allow your pupils
to contract around your apprehensions,
but then again, you are a creature of rarity.