Give me your hand
Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.
Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.
For me
Give me your hand.
You make me wanna do dumb shit like tell you I miss you when I’m with you.
No, not when you’re gone … when I’m WITH you
I miss you when I’m with you.
Because as soon as I kiss you,
I remember how painful it’s going to be to leave you again.
So, sometimes, I just don’t …
4 sunrises later I’m still holding you
and listening to the voices in my head asking me,
“Why aren’t you tired of this girl yet?
You make me wanna do pathetic shit – like take up gardening
Just so that I can plant seeds into fertile soil
and we can lay on our bare stomachs
in the wet grass
holding hands
everyday at sunset
and watch them grow into the dozen red roses that I will promise to give you,
just as soon as they become beautiful enough to deserve you.
You make me wanna do ridiculous shit.
Like, yesterday
I counted the number of breaths I took,
and compared it to the number of times I thought about you
and the thoughts won by one,
because I fell asleep on an inhale
and almost suffocated under the weight of a dream that turned out to be
one,
single,
hour
thought
about
you
and woke to find myself waiting to exhale,
and waiting to check mail,
and waiting for Nextel
to deliver the antidote of your voice to my loneliness.
You see, there are only two types of names that appear on my caller ID -
yours
and ANYBODY else’s!
and sometimes the mere prospect of the seeing the former
is the only reason why I answer my phone at all.
You make me wanna do ignorant shit -
like go to the ATM to pull out $40
and on an impulse
add an extra 0 to it,
head straight to the airport,
and catch a cross-country flight to you,
cause as far as I’m concerned -
a last minute plane ticket? $300,
and a cab ride to your home? $55
And a dozen red roses? $45
But . . .
the thick swell of love that lights up those dark constellations you call eyes
when you see me standing at your door?
Priceless.
You see, there are some things that money can’t buy,
but for everything else?
THERE’S EVERY LITTLE DIME I HAVE!
trying to spend every bit of time I have
with you …
making me wanna do
retarded shit.
You make me wanna leave the one I’m with and start a new relationship with you…
Even if the one that I’m with IS YOU,
you make me wanna start us anew . . . every day,
So that we savor and hold on to this adolescent feeling that keeps us up all night,
listening to each others silence
and responding with smiles.
You make me wanna do stupid shit
like get arrested for running up on stage during the LA Philharmonic Orchestra
just because I suddenly felt like conducting a symphony for you!
You make me wanna do dumb shit -
like tattoo your name across my heart using backwards letters
so that it can only be clearly seen from inside me.
You make me wanna do dumb shit -
like walk right up to my father, and hit him dead in his face,
Just to prove to you,
that I would die for you, woman!
You make me wanna do dumb shit
like spend four years getting a Bachelors degree,
two years working on a teacher’s credential,
interview to teach at a school.
get hired to teach at a school,
And then get fired,
on my first day,
for telling my 5th grade students:
forget reading,
and writing,
and math -
for the rest of this year we’re gonna pretend like we’re on a Lauryn Hill interlude,
because all I really wanna talk about
is love.
