When my insecurities take their hold

The state of not knowing or defining

becomes fear that I am not enough

for the world to know;

That my desire to shout from the climax

of the peak will never be fufilled,

and instead I will find myself in a subterranean

marine cavern

My mouth opening to shout my being

and instead muffled by the fetid water

of not knowing if to speak is to sentance myself

to never.

I felt a blush rush up

and my fingers curled around my bottle

the soda level raising by degrees

And nearing the brim before I could put it aside

My palms wet

and slickening;

The cold emanating from the thin window pane-

tendrils raising chilled bumps cross my neck

Shoulders Collarbone

Wrapping round my arms

like Sheba's bejeweled armlets-

feels for them

but unable to ice the heat they find there;

Reactive my neck tightens into a pleasant knot

of the laces that run up my spine

corsetting this into my body

and causing my back to conform

to the tightening arch

of their guide;

A drumming started in my neck

carotid artery dancing to the rhythm

of my heart beat as I inhale through my nose

the chill of empty air

and loneliness.

And because the cause is absent

(not lending warmth

or shielding the chill)

I write.

I wish I was the influence on you that you were on me
that these years
didn't just pass by like a bubbling fountain
or the algae tinted jets at the memorial park
Someplace to stop at at the end of a stressful day
to look back at with fondness
or to use as a backdrop for your larger days.

How many times will I go to spell "your" and instead spell "our"?

How many white knights do I have to turn jade(ed)
before I can disengage
the sense for you that twines itself throughout me
(or the sense of who will wake me at story's end)
A tangled nest of briar vines without a bud
or fleur or wilted petal

in the whole dreary mess?

Even the tower will crumble into dust before leaving

Not even my day dreams can stretch far enough

for me to think

that I was part of your molding Twisting Shaping

or the formation of who you became

now that time has worn away the varnish

That I've made without impressing

An ounce of me.

I'd rather be irrelevant than forgotten

She said with a grin as she downed another whiskey sour

and made excuses for our irreverence.

Go on Go on,

The world waits for you

And there's always something more important than me

I assure you.

I'd rather be irrelevant than forgotten

She said without shame as she danced out of the bar

And left him puzzeling his mistake

Leave it my dear

The world is too big

And too full of important things than I can say

And I swear

I'd rather be irrelevant than forgotten

she said, knowing one leads to the other in the end

but when she pretends she can't care.