Crossed

The lines have shifted and since all anybody ever looks at

Is what is between them, they become that and nobody believes

That a story about a girl is just a story about a girl and nothing else.

And we follow them up; we drill holes in our plots and verses

And paste meaning into our words until meaning fades and

Writing is not about writing anymore.

It's about how we have the better heart, and we know more than anybody,

And everything is double-edged and sliding into circles

Because nobody is really good at this.

We put our pulse into our verse but make sure nobody could understand

We put unreal hopes and dreams in lyric form: we're gone

This is not what we all came here for, if we write, we write that's how it's got to be.

 

I love it when somebody else sets the trap

They say I've captured something, as if nobody else had

I fall for it every time and the hands go round and my eyes do flicker

But I don't make a sound because why complain? All is wondrous lumen when nothing is true

So then I fall right into place behind you. Illusions make me think I'm driving

And not fighting for my place in the backseat. You see, I'm not yours yet.

I have things that they don't need to see

And lots of personalities but they're all hollow because I don't have the time to

Fill them up with lies, that's all going to have to wait.

Stay right here, you say, don't fear the rain, don't leave the trees the lightning's gonna strike.

And what if I decided that you weren't even expecting this

And I wasn't afraid of the rain anyway and I chased it all the way into the earth

And

       I

          drowned?

Would you let me stay forever or would you come down too for me or would you even notice if I ran?

I bet you might not.

I don't ever want the lines to be straight again and every day I impress but

I'm not precise enough with my aim between the lines.

So for a day I lose my graces loose my phrases let your greatness be,

And writing on the lines makes it so much more correct

So nothing has to look crossed out again

Because only mistakes get crossed out

And only bad people cross out mistakes full of the righteous.

What would that make me for following your crossed rules?

The lines crossed out what I was trying to say

It was all too real and I'm all too fake and they took me

For brave.

 

Whispers of truth of course

Nobody does a thing without the words, the names.

We might as well all be like that

Live in our gilded lies

Because we all know that nothing's gonna change.

Although it already has, go figure. It boils for that.

You will never take us, it takes more than that to break us,

We're wild and we're heartless and we're crazed.

You want it

And it's fine to read between the lines

But who knows if you're right?

A writer is a writer and that's it. We're gone

We don't know where the streetlights lead

We stray into the darkness that nobody even sees and we fall into holes in the ground

And we're pulled back to light. There are traps all around

And I still love it when I fall but I make an effort to put in my own flickers.

We've seen all your deceptions and we know what really happened

And none of us know how to drive but we're tired of the back

So spit us back into the world and it's our turn to set the trap and all.

 

Only it's a million times better than that:

It's all impossible.

 

So I can fall and fall and fall back into light and sweetness every time

And I won't have to try if the rebels give up:

Guilty!

 

Of not really wanting victory.

I can't set the traps.

Comments

shawnytucker

Wow. A poem is great when one can read any line of it and be able to relate. As a writer, or even just as a human being.

GGicefire

Thank you! I'm glad you can relate to my work.

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