Post by xunpredictablel on Nov 22, 2010 18:44:55 GMT -5
hi , my name is caitlyn marie
sometimes i want to disappear like the ghost i am ,
stumble into rooms with open doors to see
and everyone will point and see me , but
really they won’t see me because i’m nothing , nothing
if i am not beautiful.
now , that’s a lie - i am nothing if i have not knowledge .
is that a lie ? life is life , you live if you are unattractive , and if you are stupid .
and you pull on my fingertips as if to dance
with my beckoning taste of
disgrace .
you know my lips taste like the cigarettes i’ve not smoked
and my tongue like the liquor i’ve not yet choked on .
you know my eyes float like clouds above the water on such a clear day .
i’m in a haze , an utterly hazed maze .
and your whispers , they do not phase me .
i am but a ghost in this treacherous world . you
ask me if i want to be real and i say no , because if i am
real then i am palpable and palpability is analogous to understanding and
we cannot fathom what we cannot understand .
if you understood me , you could fathom me .
i could fathom you , and is that not just robbery of mystery ?
a felony . put behind cages to laugh and rattle the bars .
can you feel the disparity behind the teeth of too-hardened
felons ? their claws dig into each others backs rather than
into the back of a woman , who can take the pain and curb it
to some sense of pleasure .
is it because they fathomed ? mysterious , mysterious are those
seekers of keeping . can you wander like they do - simply
finding those who try too hard . felons , felons , felons .
talons .
i know what you look like , when you hide behind those mirrors
your visage is distorted and grotesque as if you belong
in the horror stories i tell so well , yet am horrified about .
pull yourself from your bed and onto your feet so you can
face the world , not in profile nor behind your windows .
cling to the possibility of reality , and the lack thereof .
the lack thereof .
you can tell me all you want about the things that comfort you
but i will not understand your torturous ways of putting yourself
on a tumultuous display stand that precariously dangles on top of
the tempest waves - understand that you will fall, if not now it will
be soon , and yet you do not understand and do not reach out with
trembling hands to grab my wrists and fall against the side of my
ship as i drag you up . the ironic thing , darling , is that we are
shipwrecked underneath our stunning garments . we are rotting
underneath our blazed white skin .
as we fall beneath the surface can you tell me one thing you’d miss
in the real world that we will avoid ? will you miss the bills you
cannot pay anyway ? the daughter you cannot support ?
will you miss the husband who plagues you with uncertainty ?
(ha - what thoughts , that you as a woman will submit to the
wretched hands of a judging man .) but will you actually miss
the natural way of things ? let me tell you in melodious whispers
about how this world is far more natural and instinctive - you will
let yourself fall into the waters that seem blue but turn crimson
underneath , favorite colors for its favorite people . god knows
that when you grace the water with your silked skin that it
cowers underneath your glory . is that not something to revel
in ? you say that it is not real but is it ? do you know whether
or not these words are a tall tale or a complete certainty ? can
your spouse tell you otherwise ? scoff at his answer - scoff
at his uncomfortable glance at your “unconventional” question.
do you think he knows what is conventional and what is not ?
his uncertainty cuts deeper than skin , deeper than even him .
his soul is etched in lines that are dotted - the map into
himself is skewed and wrenched , as if he squirmed
as the mapmaker carved the crimson lines into his
tortured skin.
will you believe those that have forever conformed to the things
they find analogous to comfort ? is there not something more
than craving awful foods and television shows - is there nothing
more than the too-long hours at work and the too-little
achievements ? can you truly live with yourself knowing that
you, yourself, are not living to your full potential ?
can you live with your wretchedly , dotted etched lines ?
uncertainty will be the death of eternity .
sometimes i want to disappear like the ghost i am ,
stumble into rooms with open doors to see
and everyone will point and see me , but
really they won’t see me because i’m nothing , nothing
if i am not beautiful.
now , that’s a lie - i am nothing if i have not knowledge .
is that a lie ? life is life , you live if you are unattractive , and if you are stupid .
and you pull on my fingertips as if to dance
with my beckoning taste of
disgrace .
you know my lips taste like the cigarettes i’ve not smoked
and my tongue like the liquor i’ve not yet choked on .
you know my eyes float like clouds above the water on such a clear day .
i’m in a haze , an utterly hazed maze .
and your whispers , they do not phase me .
i am but a ghost in this treacherous world . you
ask me if i want to be real and i say no , because if i am
real then i am palpable and palpability is analogous to understanding and
we cannot fathom what we cannot understand .
if you understood me , you could fathom me .
i could fathom you , and is that not just robbery of mystery ?
a felony . put behind cages to laugh and rattle the bars .
can you feel the disparity behind the teeth of too-hardened
felons ? their claws dig into each others backs rather than
into the back of a woman , who can take the pain and curb it
to some sense of pleasure .
is it because they fathomed ? mysterious , mysterious are those
seekers of keeping . can you wander like they do - simply
finding those who try too hard . felons , felons , felons .
talons .
i know what you look like , when you hide behind those mirrors
your visage is distorted and grotesque as if you belong
in the horror stories i tell so well , yet am horrified about .
pull yourself from your bed and onto your feet so you can
face the world , not in profile nor behind your windows .
cling to the possibility of reality , and the lack thereof .
the lack thereof .
you can tell me all you want about the things that comfort you
but i will not understand your torturous ways of putting yourself
on a tumultuous display stand that precariously dangles on top of
the tempest waves - understand that you will fall, if not now it will
be soon , and yet you do not understand and do not reach out with
trembling hands to grab my wrists and fall against the side of my
ship as i drag you up . the ironic thing , darling , is that we are
shipwrecked underneath our stunning garments . we are rotting
underneath our blazed white skin .
as we fall beneath the surface can you tell me one thing you’d miss
in the real world that we will avoid ? will you miss the bills you
cannot pay anyway ? the daughter you cannot support ?
will you miss the husband who plagues you with uncertainty ?
(ha - what thoughts , that you as a woman will submit to the
wretched hands of a judging man .) but will you actually miss
the natural way of things ? let me tell you in melodious whispers
about how this world is far more natural and instinctive - you will
let yourself fall into the waters that seem blue but turn crimson
underneath , favorite colors for its favorite people . god knows
that when you grace the water with your silked skin that it
cowers underneath your glory . is that not something to revel
in ? you say that it is not real but is it ? do you know whether
or not these words are a tall tale or a complete certainty ? can
your spouse tell you otherwise ? scoff at his answer - scoff
at his uncomfortable glance at your “unconventional” question.
do you think he knows what is conventional and what is not ?
his uncertainty cuts deeper than skin , deeper than even him .
his soul is etched in lines that are dotted - the map into
himself is skewed and wrenched , as if he squirmed
as the mapmaker carved the crimson lines into his
tortured skin.
will you believe those that have forever conformed to the things
they find analogous to comfort ? is there not something more
than craving awful foods and television shows - is there nothing
more than the too-long hours at work and the too-little
achievements ? can you truly live with yourself knowing that
you, yourself, are not living to your full potential ?
can you live with your wretchedly , dotted etched lines ?
uncertainty will be the death of eternity .