it is, isn't it ?

"and its true ive never been one to keep myself rooted to the ground
i found myself shopping for advice at an inconvenience store where the more you buy the more you need
and im seldom a person to fall victim to greed but when it comes to you im jealous of the whole world
jealous of the way the wind knocks at your window asking your hair if it can come out to play
jealous of the way the trees sway towards you using their branches to knock away the birds

willing to sacrifice their beaks to carve words

into the wood that could be interpreted as recommendations on how to turn these hands into foundations strong enough to come together

and beg please to all those trees that held up their stories about one night loves and long lasting stands
because like a dog I’ve learned a hundred new tricks trying to please them

because for some reason I thought it was love they kept concealed in their hands"

As I lay in my bed shivering with blankets wrapped around my body, with layers of clothing on, I think of you in your home. I’ve never seen it but I can imagine you in your old townhouse, in a room with little heat and worn down carpets, marked with stains from previous tenants. I can imagine you curled around a space heater, in your room painted a sloppy dark blue, with posters of Bob Marley and the newest indie band you hope no one has heard of yet. I can see you zoning out and staring contently at the walls, your brain empty with only flutters of sexual impulse and reminders of your hunger. Your blood pulses through your veins like electricity, almost as if there are millions of clapping hands applauding your superiority, rushing between your heart and your brain.

Here I lie, shivering and thinking of you shivering. Thinking of those microscopic hands clapping at the false greatness you’ve created for yourself. I lie here and listen to the click in the wall above my head to the right. I’m not sure why the wall is clicking; could be the wind, something hitting it from the other side of the wall in an apartment room, or it could be the new, sterile building adjusting itself for comfort. I start to imagine there is a small little man hidden between the walls of my apartment and the next, stuck in between the frames, jollily striking away with a hammer on the wall. This little man could fit in my palm, and resembles one of the seven little dwarfs, yet more timid and less aware of its meaningless life stuck in the dry wall.

Even though this all causes a second heart to appear in my stomach, beating opposite the one in my chest, it doesn’t seem wrong. More likely it would feel wrong were these feelings not there. It seems the way the universe had meant it, although I feel as though something is grabbing me and pulling out these feelings once in a while, setting them on the coffee table next to me and allowing me to enjoy pure bliss and a high with a friend or two for a couple hours. OH, and when that bliss arrives! This state of utopia compels me forward, dancing on roof tops and giggling into phone receivers. It allows for brass comments and shrieking laughter, until reality or idealism or optimism or pessimism seep back into my body, slowly gurgling down from my mind right to my finger tips and painted toes.

And here I sit. Waiting for the next high or next epiphany and waiting to have an explanation. Waiting for someone to sit me down with a book like “Where Babies Come From” or “How to Tie Your Shoelaces” and put their arm around me, cooing gentle and easy words. It would be wrapped up in 24 pages of illustrations and captions, and I would sink deep into your arm and reply, “Ah, that’s not so complicated”. Ah, but it is, isn’t it?