the absence of light

sleep, the quiet side of the living
where do the sounds go
if they are caught up in dreams
and can’t escape our sleeping
in the waking moments
everything seems a bit more mute
absent of the lively blush that touches
our breathing world, where light once
curled up warmly near bookshelves
and flowers, it now hides out along
the edges of filing cabinets and
abandoned ivory towers
when i walk across floors
i think about the cores of all things
and what makes mortality and immortality
exist in all of the realities of all things
or if they even exist at all – if there really
is such a thing as rising upward or
taking the fall

the brush off

i’m not a morning person.
i purse my lips, my brain flipping
sleepily through pages of trivial to do lists
while cursing the night for leaving so soon
morning sits quietly, lonely
not quite meeting my gaze even though
we’re in the same room.
but i’ll love her soon enough.
around lunch time my heart will pick up
the moodiness and push it aside
then i’ll tell her she doesn’t have to hide
anymore, she can come along for the ride
and we’ll sit side by side, i’ll feel wistful
as the last hours of the sunset slide
under the blankets and covers
i sit quietly, lonely
knowing i should love her more
since she raises the sun high in the sky
pouring more time, more days into my cup
but there are just some days
i can’t bother to wake up

hardly hungry

the day was baking in the summer sun.
it was last year, hearts had already begun
their descent into the evening shadows –
the long shadows that grow like the backs
of flowers, stems bent from the weight
of too many thoughts like petals laced around
heads – light grows dead into the night,
the moon faintly outlines the skin of things,
rattling the hollow bones of a clouds’ silver linings
hope is a heart’s fine dining – but in the dark,
desire turns to dust – and you’re left
absentmindedly picking at the crusts
of dreams, which cloak themselves in
nightmare’s robes and stare at
you from beneath the seams

___
backdated Post a Day poem for August 4th, 2017

blues

when i sink
into the blue
sometimes all
i can do is
roll over,
eat snacks,
sleep – the
thought of
preparing
meals alone
for one –
just one –
even though
i feel like hardly
half of one –
makes me
miss you –
but only just
slightly

__
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: snack

shuffled

anxiety builds
up a tower
of cards, constantly
bent and shuffled –
paper cut in the mind –
yet when you find
that perfect hand
what you felt
can be left behind

__
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: relieved

recover (me)

return to me,
silver lining – you
left me so you could drip
down spines and
fingertips of trees, to
turn to diamonds on
the wings of bees –
bring the blue back to me,
(please) – that special hue which makes the
sky blush in the heat of summer –
a hot turquoise stone melted
across the sidewalk the sun and clouds
crowd across and walk over –
the light turns green,
painting the world shades of olives,
mint, and jade around me.

bruising

do you use a measuring tape?
do you wrap one around the necks
of past mistakes to calculate
how much of a diameter they have
to breathe in – or do you let them
spill over and out into your mind,
thought word vomit
filling up your head until
it spins atop all of those bruises
still healing within your skin
and bones – every time you
press against them – do you ever
force yourself to swallow them
back down, to pretend they’re
long gone?

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