Sunday, February 29, 2004
Laur @ 10:01 AM
listening to the rain
I woke up to the sound of the rain;
Punctual, and in time for your confession.
Can you see that this is me not listening?
Your words drift by like illegible handwriting-
Tedious, until I can ask you my question:
Why is it so hard to breathe?
You do not take the time to breathe
As you speak to background music of rain.
I interrupt you and ask a question:
"Why did you wake me for this confession?"
With a reference to your bad handwriting,
You said "To take a chance you might be listening."
It is only now that I am listening,
And I tell you to calm down and breathe.
"I'd rather have a note in bad handwriting
Than for you to hyperventilate amidst the rain.
"Now explain to me again this confession."
You then answered in the form of a question.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question?
I wonder, are you really listening?
For I have come to you with this confession,
And would like to tell you why it's hard to breathe."
I heard you, mixed with the sound of rain,
Receiving a clearer picture than handwriting.
"Our love is like my handwriting-
Which is a statement you will question-
Yet it is as sure as the sound of rain."
I found myself intently listening,
Truly having to try to continue to breathe
As I attempted to swallow your confession.
"You must understand this confession,
And why I compare us to my handwriting.
It is a struggle to read; we struggle to breathe;
This is a truth you cannot question.
If only you were always listening,
We might understand each other through the rain."
His is a confession I cannot question-
Garbled handwriting is similar to not listening.
I can now breathe while I hear the rain.
Saturday, February 28, 2004
Laur @ 9:28 PM
listening to nothing
I feel like someone pulled the sidewalk out from under me
and I'm falling
too afraid to close my eyes
I might miss an opportunity to stop
I long for the hard ground
to hit me in the face
I'll swallow dirt if I have to
is the sky laughing at me?
There is thunder in the distance
and when it starts to rain
I'll drown.
Saturday, February 21, 2004
Laur @ 9:47 PM
listening to Don't Think of Me by Dido
The most beautiful woman in the world
could not divert your attention
from her.
I know.
I've tried.
A.N: I have no idea where the hell this came from, but let me tell you that it is not autobiographical.
Friday, February 20, 2004
Laur @ 9:51 PM
listening to This Love by Maroon 5
Standing on my bed
looking down at my stuffed animals,
here I am,
daring one of them to try to knock me down
because practice makes perfect
and I'm waiting for you
to challenge me.
Laur @ 9:46 PM
listening to This Love by Maroon 5
I can read you like a book
and right now you are opened to a chapter
that so plainly reads:
"I am seconds away
from pushing you out the window
you are standing in front of."
If I could freeze time
I would take whiteout to the page,
brush over that sentence
and replace it
with something more constructive:
"Although you cannot tell,
my heart is about to swallow me whole
unless I hug you and beg
for forgiveness."
My wishful thinking
could be the next Great American Novel,
but it will take more than a Pulitzer
to make me happy again.
Laur @ 9:40 PM
listening to This Love by Maroon 5
It was strange
you looked at me as if I wasn't where I stood;
you looked to your left as if
I might be lurking
just around the corner,
hiding behind a dust particle
or some type of oxygen molecule- where else
could I be in an
empty room?
Thursday, February 12, 2004
Laur @ 10:57 AM
listening to The District Sleeps Alone Tonight by The Postal Service
"How was your day?"
There was a time when that phrase,
in all its informality and
suggestions of
light conversation, was
so romatic,
so promising,
to me.
It brought visions of the future:
you
in your black businessn suit (in
desperate need of dry-cleaning) sitting
down at the table
as I handed you
a cup of coffee.
I would prepare you dinner
and you would thank me
with a kiss.
But today is not the future,
and the future from when
I had those thoughts
is now.
And now is a time when
your words are spoken
over a phone;
still informal, but
without promise--
a chore;
you ask me out of habit.
If I say anything but "fine,"
you tune me out.
And when I say "fine,"
you lose interest.
Laur @ 10:45 AM
listening to The District Sleeps Alone Tonight by The Postal Service
and now she's dancing
in the parking lot
her eyes looking up at the rain,
letting every drop describe her
in all the ways you never could.
arguments were made, and you think
she believed
that you never really tried to.
the darkness of the empty parking lot
is easy enough to describe,
but you wonder
how anyone could ever
be capable
of putting the brightness her aura brings
into words.
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