I found an old notebook the other day. And when I say old, I really mean it: this is a notebook I used when I was in my teens. I wrote down short poems I had written, and quotes I liked from books and songs and movies. Kind of like a Facebook page or Tumblr blog these days I guess, except all done in pen and pencil and tucked away between the covers.
Reading my old poetry is 100% cringe-worthy. I can read my old poetry collections without suffering any embarrassment, but the poems in my notebook pre-dates all that and most of it is too precious and… well, I guess “lame“ is probably the word I’m looking for.
The quotes and short diary-notes I’ve written down in this notebook are more interesting to me now. There’s lots of poetry in there, most of it by Swedish authors, but also lines…
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When I say your name
it falls off my tongue in whispers
like a secret
dripping from my lips
ready for your consumption.
You are a hidden garden
tucked softly behind these eyes
I show the world
but my heart is heavy with too many secrets.
I want to wrap my mouth
around the sharp corners,
the deep curves,
and feel your name rise up from my throat
as more than an exhale.
& there, gentle smoke cleaved by a small girl’s face
looking into the eyes of her father as if it is the first time &
the shape of her own eyes are a gift from a buried woman
& I realize this part of the performance is not for us
& maybe all life is the years being plucked from our arms
like rose petals & cast into the fields by some god
until we are nothing but alone & eager for the rain
& the mist that rises from it & carries our voices
to those who have survived the wreckage we left &
Kanye West is alone on the screen now & he is alone
in the rain & he is alone clutching the heavy air like he knows
that there is something living inside of it &
I know what it is to never actually be alone
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