3:13
Posted by Justin Reilly | Filed under Poetry, Print
like blind men smile
and mothers of crippled children hum
we laugh
soliloquies into the darkness
dark comedic self revelations
we were never sure if our vocal cords could handle
ink and paper
something like stone and chisel
we wouldn’t write our names on anything
that wasn’t permanent
so we left out the vowels
left out anything that reminded us of the past
rocked 80s bandannas and ask her 2 “Be my girl”
so we looked like the New Kids on the block
isn’t that what journals are for
locked stories of pain
and disappointment
I was a poor English student
but when I found out
boredom and heart break
were synonyms
I must have cried for at least 30 sec
before my ADD kicked in
there is something
about watching
flame and ink
make love
that liberates your soul
leaves a mushroom cloud incense
of everything we hate in the mirror
lingering
and kissing
our foreheads
baptismal writes of Passages
we scribbled
on rainy days
The kind of umbrella
wishful thinking
that children breathe
and adults only ever exhale
is there anything about this
that we still love
anything not yet written
unbirthed
raw
and erotic
that we haven’t yet tried
or are we just spitting in the wind
hoping our words won’t
one day hit us in the face
bare knuckle reminders
of everything we wish
we could forgive
and wash our hands of
a kind of Pontius Pilate complex
we always envied
or coveted
but blood seems to wash off easier
than heartbreak does
