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More from ~nevergetfooledagain

It's a double-edged sword,
and I'm damned either way it swings.

Too much of my past brings tears
along for the ride,
because changes always leave
the biggest marks,
and change is hard-

walking away from home
for the last time,
standing at an early-morning bus stop,
wondering where I'd be
in a month's time,
and who would make a sweet sixteen
birthday cake
for just another street kid.

Hearing his whistle
just as the train doors closed,
and knowing he'd read my note
moments too early.
Seeing his face fall apart
as we watched ten feet of distance
become twenty-
fifty-
two thousand miles.

Poker-faced listening
as another a

Breathe Again

I saw it coming
hours ago-
it was in the way
his eyes were shifting away
every time I glanced over,
and how his hand
kept brushing against mine.

But there was the movie first,
with a plot I couldn't follow-
and a dinner I couldn't taste,
before the band started playing
and he reached for my hand.

All was lights
spinning
as we danced-

or he did.
I never felt the floor.

And then the tempo slowed-

his hand wasn't brushing my arm,
it was pushing the hair from my face-
and his eyes weren't shifting away,
but locked on to mine-

and as our lips touched for the first time,
he stole all my air-
and I swore
if I could just s

I'm tired of these straight roads
that go nowhere I want to.

Responsibly flat and smooth,
they lead to errands
and jobs
and appointments with people
too serious for a summer day.

I want hills,
and blind corners-
and apple trees close enough to shoulders
to steal fruit from.

I'm tired of these straight roads-
I just want to drive.

She doesn't know I'm watching her-
too busy puddle-jumping to turn her head.
I think I'm standing too far back
for the light to catch me anyway.

I hear her giggles
as a cat comes too close
and runs off,
shaking wet whiskers.

I love these little moments-
they come so rarely these days.

But sometimes,
it rains-
and she forgets she's thirteen
and a big girl
who begs for hairspray
and curling irons-

and for just a while,
she's my little girl again-
in all her perfect blonde-haired innocence.

It's in the way you know
just when to use my real name-
and exactly how it makes me melt inside
when you do.

The songs that you sing to me,
the way you can make me see a dance
that's never happened.

The way you tease,
make me blush-
how you can hold me
from across an ocean.

But mostly,
it's just you-
and how you make me feel
worth it all.

You know me so well,
still,
after all these years-
I always say you haven't changed,
but you make me wonder
if I'm as different as I think I am.

"Close your eyes," you said,
and twenty-plus years of memories
shine on eyelid screens-

rainwalking
handholding
and "For Baby, For Bobby"-

rainbow eyes
at a five-a.m. trolley stop-

going down on one knee
at the bandstand in the park
because I thought you wouldn't ask.
But you put that necklace on me
with the too-big ring on it
when my eyes were closed-

the bite-mark I put
on the side of your hand
when you held our son still wet-

and my eyes open
and I see-

I let you go
two

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Submitted: August 2, 2012
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Hate Killsby ~nevergetfooledagain

deviantART Related / deviantID

My take on it.

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~Kaleidopsyche Aug 2, 2012

You should have quotation marks around the word "crime" as it is not really one.
It's the killing that is the crime, not even the hate. You really have to be a nutter to take your dislike of someone/something that far.

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Mood: Joy

~nevergetfooledagain Aug 2, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

And fixed.

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~nevergetfooledagain Aug 2, 2012 Hobbyist Digital Artist

THANK YOU. I totally missed that.

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