i don’t own anything, really.

November 7, 2005

stairwell accompaniment: Postal Service

something about being away makes everything feel new and awkward and ready to be held. but there is this fear that holding things too closely will result in somehow burning my heart. maybe even scarring it. i am not used to such temperatures, and i don’t know if i am ready to become that exposed.

it is necessary.

some danger is necessary. this is what i am learning. sometimes with my mind and not my body, and sometimes with my body and not my mind. both at the same time gets to be tricky.

it just leads to a cycle of questions and a determining of values. i want to be known and let the words that are in my head fall somewhere near your feet. i don’t want to lose out on beautiful things because i’ve given a definition to beautiful that has to be forever. everything starts out as temporal. and whether it continues often falls in my hands, at least in part.

i am so thankful. so very thankful for you. if it isn’t too much to ask, please be patient with me when i cannot express it the way that i should.

I will repeat it and my mouth will get used to the feeling I get from the formation of words that were once and no longer foreign to me.

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One Response to “i don’t own anything, really.”

  1. Anonymous said

    Sometimes I loose the message you’re trying to convey in the web of your beautiful poetry. But this is your expression, keep it up!

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