Old Stuff

January 15, 2008 at 8:13 am (Journaling, Memories, Poetry, Writing Exercises)

Dancing

12/06

I want to dance for you
I want to be in a large room with a big black stage
That echoes when my feet land from flying
I want you there, the only face in a hundred seats,
Watching me
I want to dance for you,
To show you how beautiful my body is,
How beautiful the world is,
How beautiful it can be when I’m dancing in it

When I dance, it’ll be quiet
But I’ll be dancing to whatever song is stuck in my head
And to your favorite song
At the same time
And if you listen really carefully, you can hear them both
Dancing together
And if you listen with more than your ears,
You can see them
Waltzing across the stage together,
The different notes making love to each other in a way more primal and natural
Than we could ever dream of

I want, so badly, to dance for you
But a gym teacher destroyed my knee a long time ago
So if I dance, it’ll only be to one song, my song, and maybe that won’t be enough
Because your song would have made it magical

So maybe, I’ll read to you instead, and my words will pour into your ears like a
Waterfall
Flooding you with sounds so
Beautiful that they fill you up
Until you’re so full it comes
Pouring out your
Eyes

And cleans them
Erases
All the dust and pollution that’s been blinding you and your
Tears will clean them, until you can see again
See like you did when you were five
And the world was wonderful
And you can see for yourself how
Beautiful
The world is
How magical
Because maybe, you forgot.

But maybe my brain is just as damaged
As my knee
So all I can give you
Is this list I wrote of sparkly things,
Because really, what can be better, than that.
∑ Freezer frost
∑ Glitter
∑ Frozen pavement
∑ My suitemate’s makeup
∑ The pencil I’m writing this with
And my eyes
Right after I cry

But maybe that’s not your style
Maybe you don’t like sparkly things
Or maybe your ears are just as destroyed as
My knee
And my head

So instead, let me kiss you

And maybe, when our lips touch, you can
Feel the poetry burned on them like
Tattoos and scars
And you can read me like Braille
And feel the poetry
On my lips
My tongue
Down my throat
All the way down to my belly
Printed across my organs
Like the tribal tattoos you get some places
When you become a man
And find meaning in that

When we kiss, maybe you’ll finally see all the
Beautiful things I see
All the time

And we can sit on the rooftop of the chem building or the library
I’ve been on them both,
So I’ll let you pick this time

We’ll sit
And we’ll breath, calm, as the sun falls asleep
And you can tell me everything I showed
You,
So I can see it
Again.

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