I left you and I’m not sorry.
I opened your blue eyes and
pushed in my truth until
you ached with it.
Its strange to think of you
sitting alone in your room,
hand on your chin as you
stare at the white brick walls.
Its strange to think of you
sorrow or pain,
tears slipping down your cheeks,
hot, cutting knot in your throat.
Your anger steps in,
fiery and scorching,
in lieu of your grief.
I walk through your fire
and let you cut me with the
sheer of your glass syllables
for two years before I stop you.
I paid enough for you to
adorn your heart with gilded walls
and a moat, filled with snakes
who crush the will out of the brave women
who try to find you beneath the layers of
thick and cloak-like pain.
Yes, I left you and I’m not sorry.
I left you with a difficult task –
to abandon your memory of me.
Of Yellow Lines & Great Divides
I'm going seventy and the sign says fifty-five.
It makes me want to shout out loud,
makes me glad to be alive.
each rolling yellow line
is paved with regret.
The asphalt numbs my pain.
It is here I felt it change.
gliding over the notes.
And I'm trapped in myself again.
It's moments like this, I swear that I'll never
change. And this will always be the same.
The drum picks up the tab and I'm pounding my fist.
Thank heavens for the music, it helps me to forget.
I walked in the door and I
picked up the phone,
said "Hold on one minute" and
gave them the dial tone.
It was somewhere in between crossing lines and
answering machines that I first realized,
I was sitting and watching
as my Youth passed me by.
And I'm too young to feel
as if I belong here, but old enough
to know that I should.
One day these phones will ring,
on and on to obscurity.
And despite my best intentions,
I'm never gonna make it out alive.
It's the real world, live, breathe, cease, and die.
My youth has passed
grabbed at my hair as if begging me to stay,
the young and the restless, the dreamers, the rebels.
They'll have me still.
I grabbed hold of the wind and held on
But whadda ya know, it's just like time.
The harder you grasp, the quicker it flies.
L.A. is a mocking bitch
of a city. It emits this
endless, eerie call
and the girls--
they all follow.
There she goes to be
a goddamn star. I swear
I'm not bitter. She's just
this ethereal being.
The fucking silver lining.
My tangible destiny. The ultimate
agency that predetermines
my course of emotions. Now
it's heartfelt desertion.
She's weeping into her
tiny hands, filling the
room with her sympathy.
In her world we're just
a phone call away. In mine
she'll be too far to touch.
It's all turned to shit.
She's walking away and I
can't even watch. My
organs are threatening,
slowly committing welcomed
mutiny. Her voice, in broken
Farsi, begging me to just
love her. Through her absence
I must still worship her.
Instead I'm just letting
her vanish. Los Angeles is calling
and she'll be the most
precious angel it'll ever have
the pleasure of destroying.
Copyright: Meagan Jeanette 2005
I Wear My Make-Up On My Sleeve
I left the movie they said was a hit.
When alone, it's easy to just get up and
Leave. Nobody saw me, I was no more
Than a shadow in front of the screen.
I left my pride in the parking lot,
The pieces were spewed everywhere like
A broken bottle of alcohol. It would've
Taken forever to find them all anyway.
I left my motivation back in English class
When she said my story needed some work. Just
Change your ending, the conflict, and the dialogue.
Just change the way you think.
I left my mom back in the house, I felt
Too sick, too tired, too stubborn. My face was
Wet and I was too oblivious to see the pleading
In her eyes when she said, "Go ahead."
I left my life at the end of May because
Everything I had worked for had fallen
Away. I studied my face, a red, pasty mess.
At least for once I looked how I felt.
you're the reason
smile when it's
i actually detest you,
that makes me
on all fours,
right back to you
despite you having
kicked me before.
that's just determination!
haha, of course.
that's what they all say
because love is
ALL ABOUT COMMITMENT.
we're not in love. more importantly,
not in love
we're not even friends.
we have this distance
or or or
maybe, just maybe
there is no rift
because there never was solid ground
in the first place.
no wonder i fell.
"Don't Forget To Write"
He draped a sheet over the window,
so nobody would witness all our sins.
Fingers, hips, lips;
it was all very efficient.
And he left the door wide open on his way out.
Telephone calls to his apartment;
I can visualize his finger on 'erase.'
I get tangled up in his unfaithfulness,
but lost in his eyes.
It came and went with the breeze from the window.
One day she was saying, "best friends forever,"
and braiding dandelions in my hair.
The next she was lost,
in meaningless kisses and empty bottles.
Intoxicated for the weekend scene; she forgot 'forever.'
Leaned against the yellow lockers;
the ones we used to whisper secrets by,
she was now apologizing again and again.
I ignored the words and all I saw were lips moving;
the same lips that did all the damage.
I caught fireflies in a jar,
to illuminate August evenings,
but he was gone too early on a September morning,
to see all the light I created.
He left his chair by the television empty and cold.
He was gone in a haze,
of stones with names,
missing the faces.
Gray mist settles on flowers dead;
hanging over soiled vases.
No goodbyes lead to no closure.
And they forgot to say, "I'll be sure to write."