alter ego

I searched for the diction, the exact words to convey the dynamic in my head:

I turned to him and said:  "There's another person who lives inside of me.  Those words -- those words I used to think were from God -- are hers, not mine.  She's the one who writes..."

My brow involuntarily chased the other one for comfort in the face of this conundrum.

"... And I think that she's the one who cries too."

The Birth of the Self-Made Man

She filled the grey with green --
She was the rolling hills, the tumbling rocks,
and the tide that licked the beach clean.
Mother Earth, she colored his world --
the saffron, the golden, the crimson blush
of the sun rising behind the eyelids of dreamers.

But not before to him she bestowed
the mallet and the pick;
And along this beach she sent him
with the task to dig beneath the sand

And for his entire lifespan,
there he did remain --
Giving care to muscle and sinew
as he carved himself from clay.

Rumination

Stream of consci'sness --
tuck'd back in Pandora's Box
Ink bleeds catharsis.

The Lighthouse

My beams of light will welcome home
The fisherman from out at sea
To where the scent of salt is sweetest
Along the white-foamed beach

You leave the sky as pink as when
You first teased the sun from sleep
Yet frivolous play subsides to dusk --
It is violet, where red and blue will meet

My splaying rays, your only guide
To the bluff contoured intricately
From the relentlessly undulating waves
That boiled until licking your oars clean

Persephone Touches Down

There once was a myth
that was weaved beneath the rainbow
She thought it was a hero
she had seen standing there

But storm clouds overruled
that sweet, delicious sunset
And he was gone, cross the Atlas
on magic wings with wake of thin air

And she boiled and bubbled
beneath her skin
Because the world he’d abandoned
was far too heavy to bear

Until she met the Knight
that was the rainbow --
And the lands wept
as Mother Nature restored her fair.

Encounter in the Labyrinth

You isolate me
One on one and vis-a-vis
Deep breath, reverie

life advice to my junior cousin begets a quarter life crisis

I am NOT getting old Missy -- your early to mid-20's are where it's at.

you finally shed the highschool bullshit that inevitably follows you halfway through college... and you start hitting those milestones like buying alcohol legally, choosing a spouse, starting to make real money, and tossing around baby names to entertain yourself in traffic. 

Then again, I'm 23 - i just finished college and am taking a year off to "find myself"... old will be when I look back on this year of my life and shake my head at my naively idealistic and overly capricious attempts to change the world. Either that, or old will be when I have changed the world and am laughing about my yuppie years all the way to the bank. 

Is my present youth exemplified by the fact that I still believe in the "OR" part of the scenario? Or by the palpable truth that I wax existentially philosophical about everything?

Killing Pablo

Once Upon A Time, she said
and it weaved like the webbing of a happy ending;
She tugged her pants pocket wide-- the gaping
   mouth of fabric
and slipped it inside to keep-- like a secret.

Were you there when he broke my smile, she said
When his pointer finger jabbed my ribs
like a sentence ending in shock?
And I spat whole, my mouthful of laughter
to scatter across the tile-- like broken glass.

Were you there when I did not think of breathing, 
   she said
When my initial inherent notion was death--
   she said;
Unraveling like a plot thick with anguish
and I slipped away with my rubber spine.

You’ll be there next time, she said
clutching the bulge at her hip.
And how he swept the fallen shards into his hands
when no one could see;
and sprinkled them into his ears-- like a song.
 


[Laughing Out Loud - 'the myth']

walk like you mean it

walk like you mean it.
legs first, use your core to bring the rest along,
your arms the counterbalance hinged upon
two level and regally pinned back shoulders.
slink.
you are a lioness on the prowl.
commandeer the operation.
feel your spine arch like a bow
prepared to shoot the arrow that is your chin
aimed toward the sun.
pull your abdominal muscles so taut
they vibrate in the ecstasy of purposeful motion
like the strings of a viola.
roll your hips in their sockets with each stride,
your thighs burning in anticipation
of getting somewhere.
Go.
your knees are well-oiled,
self assuredly thrusting forth.
let your ankles leverage
the power-stroke of your step,
each toe lifting off the ground in turn.
Feel your breath catch in your throat
because you are walking too fast.
too fast is for the passionate.
You are passionate.
You do not walk,
you chase.