in lieu of repairs

this is pretty obvious, right? if i gave too many details it would just be me admitting to crush. 

i only do that when i'm drunk, i know that by now.

in lieu of repairs

there was a bird
flew away with my string
before i could finish piecing
my back together

my stitches were lost
to build new nests
in trees i climb only
in my dreams

a make-shift spy branch
has little use when grounded-
when twigs can't restore
their connections with lost leaves

so i stay perched
and lie in wait
of a breeze to float
me up to where she sleeps-

dangerously close to the rest of space

deep breaths now

i think this poem is, essentially, about my bad habits and how i really haven't gotten rid of many of them.

now that i think about it, i'm not sure i've freed myself from any of them. oh well.

deep breaths now

when the thoughts
are better left in
the pockets
i can feel it in between my eyes

so i steal pens to
kill time

when i feel it all i
run with it

but i go away from
where it belongs and
i end up on the course of
someone
who is not me

these traits have watched me
wait
nearly tweny-five years to see it all
cut-up and left on the table for
whoever wants to take it

left as
fine enough
and ready to
move quickly with the air

while i sit,
staring right outside the night

recognizing that
the day is not my destination:

there is something
seriously wrong there

that i should stay away from

not too far from where i've been

so this is yet another waste of my time dedicated to a great waste of time Ms. Be Hope , herself. 

of course, that isn't her real name, but it gives enough for her to know i mean her. pathetic, i know.

not far from where i've been

i'll be there
when your glass slippers
crack-

it will be worse than
the eggshells we keep in
our feet and around ourselves

and the shattering
will scatter things beautifully

enough to paint the floor
with our toes
(our pretty prints)

and we'll write out
our lives,
there in our steps
with lo(v/n)ely shades of red we
can water down without assistance

with clearly defined lines
for us to dance upon-

an ephemeral waltz
conducted without regard to whether
or not we were on or over those
dense edges

those bloody boundaries

those peripheral margins which
these shoes were meant to walk on
and that's just what they'll do

and they'll trample down this
god damn city looking for the answers
you left in the bandages
that haven't stayed on

and never will