sepia_emi

"Let's start at the very beginning," she smiled, a devilish glance at her fan club, and turned quickly to the chalkboard, her poncho swooshing behind her. She was the most popular girl in school and her command was magnetic; instantaneous. She kept a lovable yet realistic smile permanently adorned. All the boys muttered borderline inappropriate things to her throughout class but she shook it off, sometimes even taking a disciplinary route with a stern raise of the all-knowing eyebrow. She was perfect; she was a faculty member. No doubt if she wasn't on the payroll she would own the place with one glance into the eyes of those in power. The Medusa of popularity. After her history of the mayans from beginning to end, I walked up to her desk, cautiously but with poise modeled after her own. I held the jewel case in my slightly shaky hands. I don't know why her opinion matter so deeply to me, but the idea of any commentary on me coming out of her mouth made my heartbeat slow until I could hear every cell in my body gush with the tensing of my muscles. I practiced what I was going to say countless times and had answered any possible follow up question she could have for me. I was ready. I traced a carved wooden idol on her desk as she typed rapidly. It had to be at least 70 words a minute or some other ridiculous pace only Mavis Beacon could boast. She shot me a cold, uninviting glare. Now was not a good time. I pressed onward, lowering my expectations ever so slightly. I pushed myself into the shark infested blue-grey pool of her eyes, "Hello, I just wanted you to have this," and I handed her the case, all my hopes in $1.10 worth of plastic. She took the thing unsure how to handle it. "Its my demo," I continued, "I thought you might want to have it since..." She cut me off with a look. She doesn't need words, she merely uses them to appear less powerful. This is how she gives the illusion of mortality. I knew the truth, she is invincible. The words were a staccato, tiny plibt on the life monitor tracking her reaction to our interection,"Why would I want this?" Of all the questions I had rehearsed, this was not among them. It was uncharacteristic. She always taught us not to write ourselves into corners; she always taught us treat others as you want to be treated. By the additive property, then she should not have written me into a corner with a question I couldn't possibly answer. My heart stopped all together and shook off the sweet scent of fear. I was in the mood for flight, not fight. I backwards walked a little while attempting to shrug and prevent any tears from falling, bumping into her desk. The CD fell from where she had placed it before going back to her emailing and ignoring my presence. It shattered neatly, symbolically. I could not walk home any faster without leaving the ground. When I kicked through the door and threw down my books, my mother sensed my mood, about to burst with hot, salty tears and felt it her duty to force the tear inducing agent's name out of me before I could reach the sanctuary of my room. I replied with the classic, "I'm tired." She did not buy it, but it wasn't hers to buy. It as my own. I wanted to know that I really wasn't this emotionally invest to this person and their disapproval didn't, literally, shatter my hopes and dreams. I wanted. I want so often and never get. It was December 19, exactly 16 years after the day I entered this world. Wanting ever yet. I thought of the connection between wanting and getting, what lego piece was I missing? I guessed action because it was the only thing I had control over. The word 'action' brought to mind proactive commercials or exploding cars. All I wanted to do was be noticed. And I would. A party was the best answer to all of my problems. I was sweet; I was sixteen. What could possibly go wrong? I decided to invite everyone, they were all on the same level in my mind; that is not as good as her. I suddenly felt very calm, soothed almost. I dried my eyes with scratchy paper towels, making them redder than my itchy winter sweater. I was irritated in every possible way, so I threw everything. The sweater, the paper towels, my pile of demos. They only landed in a giant pile of old clothes. Very 15. I needed new. A new me for a new year. Thats what I keep hearing. I am new. If that is the case then why do I feel like I am holding on to the worst parts of me? I love the good parts of me. The part of me that can sing, the part of me that can laugh, the part of me that can listen. I realized I would miss the good parts if I changed, more than I would miss her when I left. I considered for once that maybe I didn't love her like the older sister I never had. Maybe it was myself I loved. Either way, the feeling itself is a good one, secure and controlling and I don't mind it one bit.

Our footprints crossed paths just as we did, our pacing documented in the freshly fallen snow. My fingertips lost sensation just as they brushed yours, the moment I had threw away my gloves for. I wanted to feel it all. Every breath on my cheek, every uncertain step, his grip on my elbow. I turned sharply towards the ledge of the bridge and he followed my lead. I was never much of a leader when it came to adventures of the romantic nature, but doing things without thinking of what others will think or how they will respond came naturally, I always assume people will follow me. I put my hands, swollen and red, in my pocket, not very inviting but necessary. I turned to him and said in my best chit chat voice, calm and light, a careful ballet over issues of pressing concern, a symphony of subtext, "I guess the fireworks aren't going off tonight." In my mind played a million movie kiss scenarios. He turned to me and said, "Well I guess we'll have to make our own fireworks" and planted a feverish Casablanca style on me. Or he just smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and sweetly kissed me on the cheek, then moving to the lips, pressing ours together like two blooming flowers.Or he would shuffle subtly towards me until we were so close there was no other option, all we could do was kiss, confused but learning fast. Honestly, I could not tell you which one of these actually occurred, because that night on the bridge, by the time I awoke from my day dream, and the clock struck midnight, our lips were already locked. I opened my eyes to take in the moment. I don't work well when my senses are blocked off. It was a "so this is it" moment, my favorite breed. I vowed to never forget the place, and smile every time I passed over the bridge. It was a deliciously perfect setting, bridging the gap between wanting and having. We held frozen hands as we made our way to a backstreet. I wanted him to push me up against a brick wall and try again, mean it this time, instead of just testing the waters. The water's warm, please dive in. Suddenly everything he said seemed less dreamlike, less euphonious. With the kiss my illusion was shattered, but I didn't mind because words suddenly no longer hung in the balance, the deciding factor. Protesters shoved fliers into our rock solid hands, the paper difficult to grasp onto with my limited mobility. The angry men in novelty gas masks wished us a "good fight" and stomped off. My hands were beginning to thaw, but I refused to let go of his and admit defeat, shoving them into my pockets. I would rather my hands fall off while in his than stay in tact in anyone else's.

He leaned over the steering wheel, crouching over the dashboard to make out the skyline. His awe at the unlikely mix of he pink and white dawn breaking did not stop my hair from wildly swinging as I sang along to the radio, so loud he couldn't hear the words coming out of his mouth, let alone my poor singing. Still, I screamed the words; hoping, praying, something would break through the wall of sound surrounding him like a bubble or his ears incased in foam. The song made the night air tickle me as it flew past, the feeling you get when you are making memories. I remembered the first time I ever heard the beat, matching my heart's rhythm identically. The first chord strummed reminded me of something calming, a call to dinner by the country side or a city's siren whistling you to sleep. And it was damn easy to sing along with. For the longest time I gravitated toward it, fingers inputting the song name into any search engine without thought, the melody resurfacing in my mind, and seconds later on my voice. I couldn't help but constantly replay it in my mind, each replay another 3 minutes of insatiable excitement to be alive.I sang proudly, "Due since the day we started!" with my head nearly out the window, realizing the morning for the first time. I was so taken with the sight of the meek early sun that I almost forgot to swing into the chorus of 'my, my's but I recovered nicely. I could feel his cautious eyes smiling at me, laughing even, but the laughter was more 'with' me than 'at' me. The smile was at. His smile was always at. He once told me I was the reason he smiles, I would have been impressed with that line if he didn't smile at everything. He was chronically chipper, an attitude which fed my friendly fire, cynically mocking yet still full of admiration. How could one person hold so much love? By the time the next refrain was starting up, he was crying from the type of laughter which leaves you in cardiac arrest, doubled over in death by euphoria. Finally I dimmed the light that was My Song to a low glow, and shouted, "What is it?" There are certain people who are perfect because they don't acknowledge their perfection; others who acknowledge their perfection because they are perfect. I, despite the arrogance that may come along with the whole package, prefer the later. I can't stand doe-eyed, sweethearted, goody-goodies. A part of me will always resent them for the ease with which they modestly refuse the accolades and praises they practically brush their teeth with. Everyone begging to just be near them; soak up their flawlessness, as if it can be radiated off of them. He was the later. The aforementioned arrogance has side affects of condescending chortles, intellectual references, showing off (ie diving, jumping, running, harder better faster and stronger), and correcting you. Oh the corrections bite at me so fiercely and somehow he hardly notices. I am used to it, it only stings now, but still I feel as if I can only take so much. So when he just shook his head and said, "Due since the day we started... really?" All I could do was hold my head in my hand, propped up on the open window and look away. My initial thoughts of annoyance though soon turned to earth shattering. How could the words not be exactly that. I had been singing the song since I could read. I was always listening to it. Constantly. I had looked up the lyrics hundreds, thousands, of times. Could it be that I just saw what I wanted to see? Convinced myself it was "due since the day we started" to... what? Lessen the blow when It came about? When What came about? He, once again, raised so many questions with one simple statement. My eyes followed the, now stronger sun soar over the skyline before us. I tried to feel the beat of the song I once knew, words bittersweet as they continued to flow from me determinedly.

I stared at the white board, streaked by grimy hands desperate to rid themselves of their mistakes and go on to make anew. I could feel his eyes examining each strand of unwashed hair on my head as I in turn studied with the same caution to detail his logarithms and decimal points, making no more sense then he could of my appearance. Or my anything. I was an undiscovered element. An unknown variable. I was X. I still am.
I reached a hand out, but stopped myself before turning the genius to ashes at my fingertips. I spoke without facing him, partly because I was still engrossed in numbers and letters that made no difference but all the change in my world, but mostly because he wanted so badly to know every shade of my iris, every shadow and ring, fleck of gold and freckle; I knew that wouldn't do either of us any good.
"So this is your 'equation'." I said the word like it was nothing of great importance but with all the respect that can be garnered from fear and subordination. I knew I was no match for his math. I could hear him smile, so maddening when you are trying to make someone go away.
"Yup," he was never much of a small talk person,"This is her." Referring to his work as a woman made it even harder, so i pulled my sweatshirt closer to me under my tightly crossed arms.
"So you said I inspired a portion?" I couldn't help but be curious when he knocked on my door furiously and ran me over, bulldozed me over in a all-consuming hug, shouting and jumping on my couch.
"My muse, my light! You've saved my career you beautiful dream girl!" He sang my praises while tearing out my upholstery and all I could do is cover my face, crying from hard belly laughs. He danced around me, marching and making trumpet noises with his nose. I sighed with the content of cleansing hilarity and the cocked head and smile one gets when looking at a particularly goofy sight, and he knelt down, out of breath. He looked down, realizing his position, chuckled, and despite his shortness of breath asked, still in his ridiculous voice, "Mary, marry me." Then he rolled over with laughter of his purposeful stutter. Something made me step over him and return to my disheveled sofa and pretend to be tired after that.
Still, I had some how indirectly made him think of the tiny piece of the puzzle stuck under the disheveled sofa in his mind, ever worse for the wear than my own.
He smiled even brighter and it tore my stomach out and replaced it inside out. I had to look away. "Yes, thank you my muse. I've been meaning to give you something for that; how do you like roses?"
I looked at the dying plants in the corners of his office, once adding life to the washed out white of the windowless room, now shriveling into themselves, as if ashamed. I didn't want dead things from him. I just wanted to know his plans. I wanted to understand his equations. How did I fit in, his muse? Where does my piece go? Because as far as I can see I belong to an entirely different puzzle. One with smaller, more complicated pieces.
He was waiting for my answer but I just walked over to each corner of the room and collected the dead things staring at me. I pressed the pedal and threw all three in the trash can, listening to the clay shatter as turned to walk out of the room. I was about to make a dramatic exit but with the dead things gone I felt suddenly calm, and very hungry. I asked simply, "Want to get something to eat." I expected him to be confused but his smile, the one that gives my heart the sensation of jumping double dutch underwater, seemed like he had seen this coming all along. A smug grin of predestination. I would have been annoyed by this but I was too hungry and so I just pulled at his sleeves, still worn from the last time I dragged him somewhere, reluctant, but ultimately gladly, following me wherever my hunger should take me.

"You're a cold one, you know that?"
The words sent a shiver up my already icy spine. Curving through the goosebump-filled skin, realizing the potential energy within my veins.
Maybe we are just savages, like monkeys dressed in suits and carry briefcases. Its all a pose.
I too realized the energy in the room and decided I was better off not touching the issue at hand and figuratively turn the other cheek to the elephant in the room. Simply sipped my chocolate shake. The sound of air rushing up the straw, navigating around thick foam, made a satisfying slurp.
He left the money on the table and got up without saying another word. Unconvincingly I shrugged in case anyone was watching. I didn't care. I don't need him. Anymore that is.

Command
a simple request
slap using punctuation's hand
You tell me what to feel
and i fall to my knees
starving for what is real

Test me
what was the least you cared for
which hand holds the key
to a separate city
carry me away
oh but instead you take pity

And her we lie
barely breathing
I want see myself in you
and there I see us
through a mirror
pleasant is the view

Reach
hands tremble as the frame my hairline
looking through the window of my eyes
what do you see?
could it be something I don't understand

And there we stand
looking miles away
I want to hear your voice once more
and here I notice
were just feeling
beliefs with nothing to do

Love
to see your face smile from afar
close I see the ache
of wanting and knowing
and trying to hard
for things you see have to pass

and here we stand
until one must walk
but i promise
I'll stand tall

the hours shift and turn
lazy like susan but strong in resolve
black eyes steam as they burn
staring a whole through the problem
unsolved
i, unfounded and superstitious,
stand before my public
humility taken a turn for the surreptitious
all calm, all bleak
offered awful tendencies to break from
all sources of kindness
perhaps its is the thinking that holds up back
from slack lack lustered through the rough
diamonds of our heart
a pacifist runs a perfectly jointed hand through his hair
seemingly without a care for lives lost
or won through battles of the contested sun
still burning with a fury not yet known
for rumors spread make way to truths
we can save ourselves from peachy sets of such
and rid the beauty from our veins where they so coarsely run
longing to break from the imprisonment
and flow free till light shown shimmer under silk
till sheets cover the sopping to avoid modesty
till a wish is brought to help and back to be achieved
despite the temperature preferred by the cohorts of hades
lives lived under conditions deemed
reputable through enemies though with aught meaning
and meaning is the justifiable doubt of reason
through out each period spent under leaves
of tresses of trees passe sinfully
to fund a sweetness brought for all
if only to receive a call

On a scale of one to ten, ten being death and one being... well, life, where do you stand.
The loaded question hit her with more force than anticipated. She grasped her head, was it this that ached? She grasped and clawed until she heard someone yell. They whispered, barely audible, three.
She whispered three.
Three? Of all the numbers it is the most uneven and least accurate of all. The disarray sent pangs running up and down her forearm.
Reaching, she found a clipboard and signed her pain away. Signed her measly three to whoever would take it. Focusing on the floor she thought of the perfect point where four tiles meet. The angles complimenting each other like a loving stroke of the cheek. Not cold or hard like you would expect. The corners melted into one another into the underground fountain. Eternally dripping.
Dripping youth and painlessness. Constantly dripping. Leaking even.
What a waste. All of the perfection slipping, quite literally, through the cracks. Like a vacuum it sucks in all hope in this tiny viewing room and displaces it in an ungrateful locale. She can no longer force herself to look at this so she instead closed her eyes. The darkness was safe.

the sun reflected off your hair
my vision magnified by tears
the sun beats harder on me
than radioactivity

the rusting creaking carousel
they told us the geiger scale
lies written in their red eyes
and so we left with little pride

disaster plaguing our troubled kind
caution tape sectioning off my mind
listen to the feedback when they call
heed the warning or we all fall
oh, down

survived by my pride and devotion
drowning in a sea of emotion
the dark pool of your eyes
cold blue like your frozen cries

Brooding behind wounded sight
you cringe from the light
radiate from old stomping grounds
now a depopulated, ghost town

disaster plaguing our troubled kind
caution tape sectioning off my mind
listen to the feedback when they call
heed the warning or we all fall
oh, down (x5)

pick it up!

The echoed cheers held by vines
cold hand on my shoulder
he stands behind
watching over

its a disaster, a catastrophe
i'm warning everyone
even me

Is it true what they say?
That I can’t be with you a moment too late
For like Cinderella the glass slipper will fall
And the hipper we all get to the jive
The more we speak in threats and alibis
Understanding between thighs
The love that struck in ones Achilles heel
A wound unbroken but never sealed
Quiet light the sound of deepening cries
As we struggle against the rebuttal, words like knives
Ill missed I promise to come when the hope calls
You claim its brains, I claim its fate
I wish I had the strength to climb my personal Mount Rushmore of late fame
And we crush more than our sins with alleviating doubt
And all of those devout will lose their faith
In life, liberty, and the pursuit of unity
So it is true what they say
I cannot stay here but a moment too late

Reaching past our selves we start to delve
into hapless idealistic plots
there is so much fear
burying us up to our ears
the squeaky clean never left our hair
and I see you smirk an I start to cry
have I mistakenly spit in my love's eye?

no one knows how you left
even I forgot over the years
no one can spell your name by this point
no one can even remember your scent
but I remember all you came with
packaged and sent right to my door
I remember how you looked at me the first day
and what you wore
the blue cotton embedded in my vision
and now everyone thinks I'm a fair child

I must admit you lost me for a moment
but it was never my intent to scare you off
I guess I was way off
because you ran away
theres nothing left
and no one can see anymore
you took their sight and now they are blind
but at least you didnt take their pride
cause I can live in a world with idiot and fools
coexist with introverts and extroverts too
but never could I live with those with broken souls
it would remind me too much of you

so I swam three years to reach the place where you forwarded your mail
and I sat on the stoop where the mailman said you'd be but I've seen no trace of you
this isn't a tale for the romantically inclined
for its been three years and you are still in every corner of my mind

but you didn't ever show
I guess I should've known
you'd make a fool of me
because thats your job
its alway been
to keep me in line
so others can find me
and gilt
and spurn
me in turn
for what I did to them

oh what did I do to them

The meaning of the word holds weight on my chest
We know the times by the back of our land
We sense the autumn, product of life anew
We charter a wave to leave this circle of endless doom
We read into vague lines cast into the sea but not picked up to bait
We try to erase the memories with no use to our plot and simply wait
We ease unto the frame of the corresponding puzzle piece dusty with wear
We lick our spoons without a care
Cinematic vision and a twist at the end
We sway
We Bend
Like branches on carrying the burden of the freshly fallen snow
Like the flake holding on for dear life to the last needle of the last Pine
I grab the last leaf to shrivel dead and cry its deep battle call
This way you get the spring and I’ll get the fall

long grown expectation throw to the masses
the guesses spoken were dashed like mad rabbits
we have to pack our belongings and start anew
The window creaks with each passing our dear
he hold out a tissue to spill lies through the plys
we eat away at our hunger by fasting our breaths
as transcending pavement we feel nature ruin our plot
we know as we grow within the context of one another
how can I love you If I can even see you?
To have such words thrown under a moon of possibilities
Its too much to ask so we ask for even more than expected
We ache with the missed opportunities held between our joints
Our minds take the route that travels under our passion's choke hold
no need to even out the pain when the cooling breath is brought by rain
we mean to end this stalemate correspondence block with our telepathy and yearnings
the words you did not speak meant so much more to me
questions bloom from behind your glassed eyes like spring on the cusp of breaking
You can feel me showering your mind with encouragement
neither pushing nor pulling
is there a name for this vision of loveliness kept under the

Try to sift the pavement out from under your delicate figure
you form an angle to him as no one can interject
you object
the sound echoes through the gospel holy wood
and words seem to fall on the aisle like regrets painted back with tears
questions seeps from eyelashes longingly coveting the love that causes the rebel
is he mad
what is mad
madness under a spell reeks of unhappiness and trouble
his soul in not troubled and neither is yours
though eternity is broken
though the rings falls from grace like a golden harp misplaced
it wasn't that he loved wrong
he simply chose wrong
the empty orchestra has been foolish with its fortune
her heart belonged to the wolfboy as his belonged in her nymph like web of uncertainty
the train caught behind her like the clumsy monster she was
nothing could eat away at ones soul like possibilities lost
shes no longer at the alter but now on a trail back from memories lost
the treasures found boast happiness that ran away when you double crossed

The heat caused the bait to fail
the better times never came
everyone left before the last day
and some are said to spread wings under stress
the moon is higher than meant to speak
no one ate because gin on an empty stomach can be felt in the morning
no one cried for her death when it never happened
a statistic floated by with civil war on her mind
she covered her mouth as she chewed
she was very rarely rude
and her style crushed men like anvils on speed
we danced in the dew but our cuffs stained under the collar
we train our thoughts to speak our mind
is behind the role of all thats done
were on a new taste and the first is the last
the diamonds are too up tempo
the rules are under construction
we lost the name but kept the number engraved
a legacy lost under throat of tossed dreams
he corrupted youth lost their way

bones
turn to dust
scattered on the sea
floating to the top
skimmed off by plastic cutlery
we use these makeshift tools
we cut a check
but the black widow tends to bounce
and you're valued by how much you owe
the moon swirling past the fake plastic sheen
mauling my messy spirit
I
illusion and purpose
the world as i know it shrinks by the day
who am i
to pocket it when it revolves around you
i am so expectant for the worst
i've forgotten to hide
my disdain

mirror
understand the hand that breathes
a ribbon around a soul untangles
my words cannot compare
to the laughter you exhibit
the less you struggle
the more you fight
your vocal chords strangle on words unremembered
reflection
response with no intent
we read but never meant to see
no modifying species or language
we laugh because we cannot apologize
mask the truths we lie
i cannot find my better half
so i will settle for a decent quarter

why expose your inner monster
when so clean it has been since spring
fake flowers suffocate sad rooms reading to lost friends
the moan you owned
the pain regained
some one listens
no one hears
which one matters under crucial matters dear
i sign a letter
package my words and
sent my talent
sky the stars lost its manage
on trinkets possessed
we try our hardest and screw the rest
to our mantel with pride
a won trophy to hide

theres a tangle in my stomach
and dream floating above
somehow that lead i followed
led me to the start

she was a smart girl but brains didnt make up for what she lacked
he was a good boy but sometimes you inhibitions hold you back
the problem with change is theres no telling which way things may go
and if your okay with that the jump is only a matter of how far you can go

he sat on the spinning chair but i needed an oil can
the fish needed feeding but the neon coral made the lights dance
yes its hard to breath when Im sitting on your back
but if you can handle that weight does that mean your calling me fat?

she was a brave girl but guts didnt make up for what she owed
he was a shy boy but sometimes he bit off more than he could swallow
the problem with change is it causes things to be rearranged
and if your okay with that then start planing to redecorate

he watched scooby doo reruns but the globe trotters werent on
the shag carpet was molding but the effect on the room added charm
yes im beating you at go fish or was it crazy eights?
but if your hand can beat mine why not go all in whats the risk?

theres a clutter in my mind
and a knot in my throat
somehow the clues i picked up on
were the dead ends that id hoped

pointed and strong she turned her jaw
unapologetic it may seem
her words unraveled like her dreams
they were as set in stone as law

it was like coconut ice cream melting in a pool of hot wax
like sand piping hot pricking at you slightly exposed back
its like that guy you never called its like those nails you would paint
its like these cliches I'm rambling its these memories you fake