Dollhouses & War

The first attempt at proper poetry and the next and the next.
"Not a tea stain, but a rain stain,"
"Does my heart tangle like headphones in a pocket?"
"...mascara tears registers exhilaration under rapid music beats. "
"Love is the only blood we will bleed as / Together we fall into a rainstorm."

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10. The Long Way Home: a Story Told in 6 Acts.

#TEN

 

Act One:

My heart thudded like a bird,

Something fragile

In a cage

That yearned to escape

And be where the wild things roamed.

It was on the walk home to my house,

Where the clichéd kiss takes place.

I was nervous and so I denied the clichéd impulse.

Maybe you were nervous too and took the

Long way home.

 

Act Two:

I watch the blinking green light

Like Gatsby’s yearning desires.

Except this time Gatsby’s green dock light

Is a Facebook indication

Saying to the world that you’re online.

Do I click it and proceed

To grind my tongue

In a mortar and pestle

As I begin with a hey

And struggle to get my feelings out.

But I don’t murder my tongue,

I keep it,

Although bitten at the edges,

And say nothing

Until the green light blinks out.

 

Act Three:

We say nothing at all.

We’re in the same room,

Tables away

But tables seem like icebergs

Floating adrift in seas

And the thing between us is the Titanic.

The silence is loud when the wreckage is kept

In our chests waiting to be wrecked.

Things are normal, as normal

As life pretends to be.

Nobody knows because that could be a travesty,

A car crash in slow motion where no one can recover

From something that hasn’t even drove yet.

 

Act Four:

I guess this is over before it began.

A heart beat that stuttered and fell.

I go from being red, a ruby like a rose, or another

Clichéd wonder.

I go from being nervous in a firework way

To a chaotic, stormy way,

A contained way,

A fizzled out way.

 

Act Five:

You walk me home once more,

Except this time it is not from something not

Labelled as a possible date,

But as a walk home.

There’s no clichéd kiss,

Or laughter.

There’s just two of us walking home

Watching as my hair formed curtains against

My eyes.

The feelings being closed on like the final curtain call.

The curls on your forehead being the actors that never

Got off the ground.

We say goodbye

And I travel on the long walk home.

 

Act Six:

The goodbye resonates in my chest like

The single word is a gong.

A bird back in its cage

Happy to just be there

But afraid to never fly.

I am blue, or maybe a purple.

A transformation into resolution,

Like a clock ticking over

Back to the time when I first met you.

Back to the time we both took the long way home. 

 

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