I’ve lately discovered that I don’t have to do that all the time. Sometimes, that’s pretty consuming. We spend a lot of time searching for people to appreciate who we are. There’s nothing wrong with that, either. It’s kind of nice, I suppose.
But sometimes people come along who just like each other, just as they are. No matter what, that’s one of the nicest things around.
On that topic, I wrote a few things that have been replaying in my head for awhile now, from some recent stuff that I’ll spare you the details of. And, I felt almost funny putting them on here, because these belong to a different person than before. Up until now, I still felt like the poems I shared with you before made my blog belong to someone else. And somehow, that’s true of me, too. These certainly belong to me just as much as the person I write them for, and I’m different, too.
I just read that back and it made like, four percent sense. So, sorry for that.
But anyway.
It’s nice to write things again.
::
Lately, certain colors have filled me up.
Flashing orange of talk
Blinking green of talk
Flashing blue of talk
All things decided upon by inventors of things we use to communicate.
I wonder if they ever thought about that? I guess they did. I wonder if they thought about people connecting through the colors they picked.
Do you think they did?
I kind of don’t.
::
Infatuation
Infactuation
Infalluation
Call it anything
Call it yours
Call it mine
Call it ours.
::
Sometimes the world hates closing its eyes
Sometimes it fears what it’ll see when it does that.
It’s scared of its saltoceans coming up and drowning the knots of the wood on a dock
It’s scared of its land having too many feet walking on new concrete and nowhere for the trees
It’s scared of its sun blistering the squishy skinned shoulder-freckles of a little red-haired girl
It’s scared of its moon.
Sometimes the world’s people hate closing their eyes
Sometimes they fear what they’ll see when they do that.
They’re scared of their children growing up and they forget that doesn’t mean they won’t still be around
They’re scared of their parents not trusting them to take and beautifully use what they’ve taught them
They’re scared of the present and what future could come from it and how it will change everything
They’re scared of the past.
Sometimes you hate closing your eyes
Sometimes you fear what you’ll see when you do that.
You’re scared of keeping your love around
You’re scared of letting your love go
You’re scared of your brain telling you the logic of keeping away from her
You’re scared of your heart.
Sometimes I hate closing my eyes
Sometimes I fear what I’ll see when I do that.
I’m scared of my mind flashing through the snapshots I took, a silhouette of him in a rainy doorway
I’m scared of my ears listening to the notes and melodies that were given to me
I’m scared of losing you
I’m scared of a lot.
But did you know that Time isn’t scared of anything?
It might sound silly, but Time has no rush
It has nowhere else to be, but where it’s at.
Time isn’t scared of everyone trusting it.
Time isn’t scared of anything.
::
I think it might be nice to have a little candle around to burn ---
One that smells like tea-d spearmint and peppery tobacco
One that smells like kneading cardamom into playdoh
One that smells like cabins and chocolate
One that smells like tiny wooden ABC tiles
One that smells like ochre blankets
One that smells like barely rain dusted grass
One that smells like little yellow daisies
One that smells like pretending acrylic paint is oil paint
One that smells like lemony icy stuff
One that smells like watching an old movie in a hotel room
One that smells like old books resting in leather chairs
One that smells like the thick tube wall of a lighthouse
One that smells like being happy.
::
I like the electrical sounds you make
With the scratching of things that go round and round
And the beats of drums peppering underneath.
Then I like to think about you making them and picking each one out with a left and right ear and then a thumb keeping rhythm on a steering wheel.
I like the way the sounds opposite who you are
Their mechanical taps like aluminum foil around the last piece of a warm spice cake.
And if they are the foil and you are the cake,
Then I’m the one wrapping it up.
Putting it away for later, but slowly closing and slowly opening the fridge over and over to see whether or not the light stays on.
I like the font Perpetua
If you add an L to it, do you know what it means?
It means continuing or lasting forever.
::
That’s all for now. Thanks for reading.
One more thought: bad things happen to good people, but they don’t forever. I’m sure of it.
Yours again,
katie beth
