C.T.'s Blog

uncertag

ctaitt — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 04:56:16 +0000

you can call me shallow
but her eyes still shine
with her youth of yesteryear
flecks of red lines stream through
she was a pupil
taught to smoke and curse
aboard crowded trains
her innocence wore contact lenses
she saw everything real through glasses
i saw her
only her
holding a paper cig
between two fingers
unaware that paper would soon be nicotine
unaware that she is addicting
i slowly take a drag of her essence
exhaling what she has filled me with
hope.
love.
time.

Day 3

ctaitt — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 05:47:10 +0000

But like a gold record you were
Only attainable after enough hard work
Just pretty enough to be frame able
So you were my favorite piece of artwork
Hung up on the mantle next to our best friends
Impossible and friendship never go hand in hand
To prevent us from ever grazing hands
We ignored them
But
The urgency of every urgent text
Gone unseen was beginning to make my fingers bleed
The vinyl of your protected heart was spinning

Lips unable to touch
So I wrote your name on my green veins
So that at least my pulse could kiss you
Uncertainly seeping into my arm
like morphine
dulling the pain

You can call me shallow but
I couldn’t see your face anymore
So the blue of page and ink of my pen
to write out every feature mimicking movements
With made up words like beautifulness
Trading smiles or similes
Morphine for metaphors
Hearts for one better for
You

Escape

ctaitt — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 00:24:16 +0000

I wish I could write words
as beautiful as Picasso
paint a picture that envy’s Maya Angelou
but
all I write is you
i paint pictures in my mind of times that
never existed
trading ballpoints for a time machine
to 3rd grade
when writing was an escape
to place that didn’t involve your face

Day One

ctaitt — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 08:17:24 +0000

snip snip

cut cut

snip snip

cut

break…

drop the scissors

you cut too deep

the paper outlining of your heart

begins to bleed

post it notes to patch it up

kiss viens like memos on desks

leaving behind residue

of forgotten messages

and lost memories

yet

you continue to cut

hoping that the sound of dripping blood

will silence the noise it makes when the scissors

rip apart your paper heartI bitched out the ending. Had a lot of other shit going on at the time. Couldn’t write straight. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

30 poems…30 days

ctaitt — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 21:44:36 +0000

Impossible. My first thought. Second thought, growth. So starting Sunday night every day there will be a new shit poem posted to this blog. I’m not promising great stuff. I’m promising progress. Maybe this will get me out of my writer’s block I’ve had. I mean, imagine writing the best you ever have, and you get to the middle and can’t see the end. Let me tell you, it sucks. It’s so poetically draining. I can’t write anything else because of the emptiness my pen feels from writing the “best”. Shit. That’s what it is.

Letters to the World

ctaitt — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 04:24:20 +0000

Contemplation. I’ve been wanting to write to brother. I’ll get a whole couple sentences into the letter and stop, not because the interest level is not there, it’s because I don’t know what to say. I’ve known him my whole life and being speechless was never something that happened. I guess I should try harder.

negatives…

ctaitt — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 06:03:26 +0000

Do you remember your first kiss? The first time someone leaned in a touched their lips to yours so timidly that you thought you would break. How about the first time you whispered, “I Love You.”? Whether it was a heartbreaking moment or one that changed you life forever I’m sure that you remember it. Isn’t interesting to that that most of life is only remember by fleeting images? If nothing else, you will remember an image. A single snapshot. A picture says “a thousand words” or so I’m told. I think a picture tells a thousand memories. What do you think?