tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29879697068351665762024-02-08T09:52:04.519-08:00Everybody KnowsT. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-83449236063237939342013-12-19T17:10:00.002-08:002013-12-19T17:10:18.785-08:00365 there was a euphoric glimpse<br />walking on the frozen Brooklyn streets<br />holding hands<br />holding those seconds<br />when it seemed as if <br />we were the only people in all of the city<br />moments past midnight<br />exhaling frozen breath like smoke<br />forming the existence of what would become Us.<br />forming hearts in our hands<br />crossing bridges to burroughs<br />left remembering what the snow tasted like<br />and the excitement of exploring a new ending to our story<br />countless seconds counting down<br />saying good-bye to sadder times<br />
days when that empty feeling crept back inside of me<br />feeling like no one held a key to me<br />or matched the puzzle pieces within me<br />when suddenly things fell together so easily<br />holding hands across a table<br />without the words to express the gratitude<br />I feel towards the universe<br />and whoever is pulling these strings.<br />
been waiting for a bubble to pop<br />someone to pinch me, a shoe to drop<br />but now I'm relaxing the grip on the wheel<br />waiting for the next 365 days<br />to unfold themselves like origami gifts<br />taking a mental catalog of every ordinary moment<br />that I am grateful for this story<br /><br />
<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
<br />T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-15532935774174675602013-07-17T13:46:00.000-07:002013-07-17T13:46:07.847-07:00inevitable
<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: black;">People talk about <br />meant to be<br />not make believe<br />but destiny.<br />written amongst <br />stars it seems<br />magically<br />A cynics dream<br />to find a scene<br />straight from<br />the screen.<br />two lovers locking eyes<br />and mesmerized<br />they realize<br />without <span> </span>compromise.<br />those who know<br />it’s burning slow<br />this inner glow<br />will radiate<br />this perfect fate.<br />after so much wait<br />almost too late<br />saved me from tragedy<br />a life it seemed<br />without you and me.</span></span></div>
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T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-69084668513737193902013-04-10T10:40:00.003-07:002013-04-10T11:03:54.461-07:00eighteen years<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">time is just
numerical<br />
a qty of sequences <br />
ones and twos <br />
lined up endlessly <br />
in repetitive rows<br />
like musical notes<br />
to be played over and over<br />
always sounding different<br />
depends on the ear<br />
eighteen years, the same as <br />
six thousand five hundred seventy days<br />
this spot was an empty void <br />
inside me, waiting as usual<br />
to feel something<br />
akin to some lame quote <br />
from romantic comedies<br />
eighteen years, the same as <br />
one hundred fifty-seven thousand, <br />
six hundred eighty hours<br />
I spent less than four hundred <br />
miles from you <br />
at any given moment<br />
listening to the same music<br />
on the same radio waves<br />
and walking the same pavement<br />
in the same cities<br />
only to pass by the same parking lot<br />
where we once sat on the hood of your car<br />
sharing cigarettes<br />
and awkward glances<br />
I would stare at your arms<br />
you would watch my lips move<br />
never really getting anywhere<br />
eighteen years, the same as <br />
nine million four hundred sixty thousand<br />
eight hundred minutes<br />I spent incapable of moving towards<br />
anything of permanence in my life<br />
be it my choice or chosen for me<br />
by some twist of fate<br />
I’ve wandered back to the starting line<br />
if only to wait for you to<br />
reset your clock<br />
and synchronize your watch once again<br />
with my own<br />
eighteen years, the same as <br />
five hundred sixty-seven million,<br />
six hundred forty-eight thousand seconds<br />
spent to find you <br />
exactly where we are standing<br />
today<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-28532866121054990562013-04-03T18:20:00.002-07:002013-04-03T18:20:38.758-07:00Homemade<br />
there are white walls <br />
blank canvases <br />
to hang smiles upon<br />
captured moments <br />
empty wood floors <br />
awaiting the sound <br />
of bare feet<br />
quiet steps in <br />
the early hours of the morning<br />
sitting in front of the television<br />
watching saturday morning cartoons<br />
eating cereal from my favorite bowl<br />
forgetting I've been <br />
an adult for years now.<br />
there is clean air<br />
that has not been made into<br />
angry black mold clinging to <br />
remnants of what is living<br />
growing within walls <br />
hidden from the eyes of visitors<br />
to multiply<br />
after midnight<br />
dead now from<br />
exposure to light.<br />
there are open doors<br />
without any hesitation <br />
windows open to the future<br />
where i can exhale <br />
within a home decorated <br />
with new memories<br />
born of the briefest moments<br />
those seconds <br />
when his face <br />
would rest at my forehead<br />
never knowing<br />
i was always home<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-85788337903616626392013-03-27T18:20:00.001-07:002013-03-27T18:20:32.542-07:00when againwords have stopped flowing like tears <br />creating comfortable silence <br />where previous temperments<br />made for tempermental tapping furiously upon keyboards <br />like machine gun fire<br />
couldnt get the letters on the screen fast enough<br />when i wanted to write about this sense of dissatisfaction<br />that lingering feeling <br />left dry at the roof of my mouth<br />the taste leftover when the cocktails have stopped <br />numbing the fact that life isnt getting any better.<br />what is a writer to do when the anger ceases?<br />
when soft kind eyes find their own<br />when reassuring hands tear down walls guarding hearts<br />only to expose the sugar coated lovesongs that lived there all along?<br />the sad poems are not rolling off my tongue <br />instead i want to doodle hearts in the margins of my notebook<br />write his name next to mine in blue ink<br />the writer in me- wearing black <br />who counted the coffee rings that began to stack <br />over and over and on top of one another<br />as the days ticked away slowly<br />redundant and anticlimactic is slowly<br />drawing her last breaths <br />only to be replaced by this bright eyed<br />smiling girl<br />who has started to believe in magic again<br />who has started to sing along to love songs <br />with windows rolled down <br />on freeways that lead me to him<br />words have stopped flowing like tears<br />they have changed into a mantra<br />repeated three words over and over<br />to turn the light back on and illuminate this room<br /><br />T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-86498438249153342082013-03-13T16:22:00.002-07:002013-03-13T16:23:49.866-07:00Captured 3/13/13<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">There
is a moment when the sides of your mouth<br />
curl up to make perfect parentheses around your smile <br />
simultaneously, it emerges from your eyes <br />
only to spill down your face like happy tears <br />
to wash away any doubts I ever had<br />
<br />
There is a moment when I awaken and realize<br />
you are there beside me arms so long they wrap around<br />
entirely, guarding me from nightmares<br />
that have plagued me for so many years<br />
to keep me safe for the first time<br />
<br />
There is a moment when words fail to leave lips<br />
when a kiss or breath is the only way to communicate truly<br />
how full my heart feels when drenched<br />
in the pools of my reflection within your eyes<br />
when I let myself relax and believe them</span>T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-72618500406713581062013-02-11T15:19:00.001-08:002013-02-11T15:22:22.216-08:00Sweetest Cacophony <br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Words fail<br />
to encapsulate<br />
let alone illustrate<br />
this internal <br />
metronome-<br />
beat<br />
breath held<br />
beat <br />
beat<br />
scientific proof<br />
of love.<br />
let me add <br />
in case you were not sure,<br />
I do reciprocate<br />
these feelings<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>these created chemical<br />
reactions are<br />
something like<br />
a freeform 6/8 time signature<br />
from deep within my <br />
rib-caged <br />
bass drum-<br />
hitting like<br />
beat-beat.<br />
breath<br />
beat-beat.<br />
breath<br />
yet becoming <br />
something more like <br />
speeding<br />
rising up from somewhere <br />
void of conscious decisions<br />
forgotten delusions<br />
letting the notes<br />
play as they may<br />
rushing now<br />
after being held at bay <br />
for what seems like<br />
forever<br />
beat-beat-beat.<br />
breath<br />
beat-beat-beat.<br />
breath<br />
faster still <br />
triple time<br />
when you lay beside me<br />
impossible to <br />
deny cravings <br />
unlike any satisfaction<br />
I have known<br />
music starts to swell<br />
to something like screaming <br />
too close to ears<br />
delicate.<br />
when these notes<br />
become an illustration<br />
a deviation <br />
from <br />
previous life paths<br />
to create <br />
the sweetest cacophony <br />
of sound <br />
makes me feel like my <br />
heart may leap from my chest<br />
directly to your <br />
open palms<br />
formed in perfect<br />
collaboration <br />
with mine.</span>T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-12306211862928005222013-01-04T16:03:00.003-08:002013-01-04T16:06:36.623-08:001-4-13<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve
whispered <br />
my secrets <br />
from the tips of my fingertips <br />
to the ears of the universe<br />
never expecting to <br />
have them answered<br />
or offered back to me<br />
in any type of way but <br />
ironically<br />
perpetual reminders that <br />
I was not born <br />
with a sense of fulfillment<br />
or belonging<br />
but rather born feeling<br />
like my skin was always<br />
one size <br />
too small <br />
for these insides<br />
that are<br />
bursting at the seams with<br />
too many feelings <br />
sometimes <br />
looking at your face for<br />
too many seconds<br />
cracks my ribcage in two <br />
like longing <br />
for a lover <br />
you’ve held through a hundred lives<br />
this throbbing <br />
where a heart beats<br />
cannot be written<br />
in eloquent prose<br />
the feeling is too desperate<br />
born of suffocated hopes<br />
paints hearts upon my tongue<br />
to sing songs only to you<br />
as if we are the only two<br />
to roam crowded subways <br />
and iced over sidewalks<br />
pretzel puzzle fingers<br />
finding warmth <br />
when lips press upon lips<br />
and smiles seep out<br />
between breaths <br />
with laughter</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> <br />
</span><br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-61755732371563685732012-12-21T13:47:00.002-08:002012-12-21T13:47:46.440-08:00twelves
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I have dissolved<br />
into a puddle <br />
at your feet<br />
at your touch<br />
which has taken <br />
journeys<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>through decades <br />
to arrive at its <br />
destination <br />
to root itself <br />
through and around <br />
and inside of me<br />
wrapping round <br />
my heart<br />
and holding fast<br />
to match pulse<br />
to beats beating<br />
quicker than usual.<br />
these days <br />
feeling like it might<br />
come straight out <br />
of my chest <br />
to get closer to you<br />
to live in your <br />
coat pocket <br />
where you don’t have <br />
to take off<br />
your own scarf<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to keep me warm<br />
where you can <br />
protect me <br />
as you would like<br />
from negligence<br />
or harm<br />
from harsh words<br />
and indifference<br />
I have grown used to<br />
casual disappointment<br />
now allowing for<br />
this adaptation towards<br />
something <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>bordering<br />
on the sentimental<br />
and romantic<br />
reformatting the circuits<br />
within my mind<br />
to say thank you <br />
when a compliment <br />
causes eye avoidance<br />
perhaps eventually I <br />
will believe<br />
each lovely word<br />
as you do<br />
until then, <br />
I will send letters<br />
to myself<br />
postmarking each<br />
important day<br />
so I never forget<br />
how I feel at this<br />
perfect moment</span>T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-27948980674464766972012-11-20T17:55:00.004-08:002012-11-20T17:55:48.935-08:00Winterwandered aimlessly<br />through cold asphalt streets<br />echoes resounding<br />with each step from my feet<br />stars as my hat<br />oil slick rainbows below<br />inhaling the smog forming<br />pictures in the sky <br />like puffy clouds<br />would in other towns less<br />wrought with cars and chaos<br />always collecting keys from<br />temporary domiciles<br />this transitional lifestyle<br />is the science of<br />vacant brain sleeping<br />while passed out on a couch<br />still wearing my shoes<br />from the previous evening<br />listening to the same television show<br />through yesterdays eye liner<br />
on repeat in my dreams<br />turning to nightmares as well<br />alarm clock repetition<br />"the plot never changes"<br />can describe so many things<br />wonder what going home means<br />to me now<br />
in a city I've always known<br />abandoned me somehow<br />my heart broke in this place<br />called it a loss<br />family is scattered<br />haven't felt safe in what seems like<br />two lifetimes<br />of liquor soaked timelines<br />blown away cigarette ashes<br />i'm finding some solace in places surprising<br />truths are now different<br />and I have given up analyzing<br />what my gut says is true<br />i'm always the glue<br />but sometimes its nice to get<br />tucked into bed too<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-34208945539474696542012-11-15T17:12:00.004-08:002012-11-15T17:12:55.159-08:00teetering backwards<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
I walked barefoot once<br />
upon a checkerboard floor<br />
but splintered my foot upon<br />
a twisting creaking staircase<br />
that did not lead anywhere<br />only to run quickly, <br />backwards, away<br />
I saw reflections of a memory<br />
leaving fingerprints invisibly<br />
leftover stickiness from<br />
gluing back these pieces of me<br />
I like clinging to you<br />
in that space where shoulder<br />
and heartbeat meet<br />
to brush cheeks <br />
I walked barefoot once<br />
through forest floors<br />
feet wet with moss and mud<br />
ignoring scratches on bare arms<br />
trying to read smeared black ink<br />
as I draw a thousand tiny hearts<br />
upon my skin to your lips<br />
words sung to ears with whispers<br />
cannot find a substitute<br />
lyrical pathways of where I lay<br />
the dirt feels better than cold sheets<br />
most nights anyway<br />
I like the secrecy the night brings<br />
standing right at the edge<br />
when you can finally see stars</span>T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-84409394446503639842012-11-05T15:12:00.001-08:002012-11-05T15:25:10.764-08:00Coming to my senses<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is something familiar</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
like sitting in the front yard of the house I grew up in<br />
or the way my mom would wake me up with an orange juice in the morning<br />
(never have been a morning person)<br />
that comfortable silence that I used to look for<br />
within all the arms that never quite held me correctly<br />
is now wrapped around me<br />
like a quiet symphony<br />
singing softly like a whisper in my ear from a memory</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;">
It is something familiar</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">
like a smell I can’t place </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">but inhaling brings me back</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">travel</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> in a time machine to a specific place and moment that changed it
all</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">(probably another time I ran away)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">that moment when a hand pulled my hair aside<br /> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">
when a touch to my shoulder brought earthquakes</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">feelings I was not prepared for</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">that gutted my stomach</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">retreating to my own insecurities </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">like a broken record</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 115%;">
It is something familiar</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">like a dream I had, but faded into subconscious memories</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">a faceless figure holding me and reminding me that there are those who can love</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">(a voice that can soothe the beast in me)</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">a soft spoken phrase cuts like an arrow to the heart<br /> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">
pierces and infects me with a sweet dizzy spell from a fuzzy thinking head</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">a man that gives me the spins</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">
by just glancing my way</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">and for a second he can see me, </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">without the walls that surround</span></span><br />
<br />T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-2693253240556297872012-10-29T16:46:00.001-07:002012-10-29T18:00:33.975-07:00ragdoll revisitedthe heart was bandaged<br />
badly bruised <br />
but the pieces almost fit together<br />
with the clever use of duct tape <br />
twine tied up the edges <br />
and seams have been reinforced<br />
with patches made<br />
from mismatched fabrics<br />
but still it beats steadily<br />
<br />
the eyes that always look away<br />
seemingly bored is so much safer <br />
than being entranced<br />
electrical shocks of direct contact<br />
from corneal fixations<br />
enthralled and exuding the <br />
emotions that come <br />
with the sweeping down of eye lashes<br />
but still they see simple beauty<br />
<br />
the lips that smile despite herself<br />
hold back the words of <br />
a thousand poets' ink stained hands<br />
allowing the depths of all the unanswered <br />
letters of lovers to drown her within<br />
an ocean of her own making<br />
convinced she'll never learn<br />
to swim well enough to get to shore<br />
but still can whisper kisses to another's lips<br />
<br />
<br />T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-29278735084278330242012-10-25T16:28:00.004-07:002012-10-25T17:12:13.310-07:00the frowns - an idea for a children's booki keep the frowns in a drawer<br />
beside my bed while i sleep<br />
<br />
(where i repeatedly tell them stories usually involving princesses<br />
and the occasional magic spell)<br />
<br />
but the frowns shake and tumble<br />
crash into each other<br />
<br />
knock over the table<br />
open the drawer to spill all over the floor<br />
piled upon each other<br />
stack higher<br />
<br />
and higher<br />
<br />
and even higher<br />
<br />
until they begin to fall from the windows<br />
fill the space under the bed<br />
<br />
(which seems dangerous to me, since thats where all<br />
those pesky monsters live)<br />
<br />
they bounce from wall to wall<br />
sit upon desks<br />
tumble out the doorway to takeover<br />
even the hallway<br />
<br />
the frowns just keep multiplying<br />
and getting more<br />
and more<br />
and more<br />
overwhelming<br />
<br />
until i am surrounded by this sadness<br />
clinging to the walls and making them get closer<br />
and closer<br />
the frowns wont listen to me<br />
"go away i say"<br />
again and again but their eye brows get madder<br />
<br />
but just when the frowns think<br />
they have won over<br />
blasts of light blow them up<br />
Like fireworks at night<br />
<br />
(you see they are much more contagious<br />
and far more courageous)<br />
the smiles will win, in the end<br />
as they do<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-53039707913390204062012-10-04T17:22:00.001-07:002012-10-04T17:22:38.480-07:00fading i can hardly <br />remember her<br />
that scared scarred girl<br />walking on eggshells<br />as not to awaken the<br />beast inside him<br />barely make out<br />her silhouette in the room<br />as if i had erased those years<br />from a memory card<br />torn out pages from journals<br />torn photos that remind me<br />there was a time<br />when i was living<br />within her body<br />calculating<br />and then recalculating<br />the plausible exit strategies<br />causing the least amount<br />of collateral damage<br />i can barely recall<br />the tone that would change<br />like a light switch<br />turning on<br />turning off<br />turning his face to that<br />distinct shade of<br />angry red<br />turning wrists purple<br />and leaving hand prints<br />where hands squeezed so<br />tightly<br />afraid i'd squeeze my way<br />
through a rabbit hole and escape<br />i can hardly make out<br />the faded memories until<br />they sneak out in a story<br />seep to the surface<br />slowly make their way to<br />a life they cannot survive in<br />hand chosen and<br />created by<br />beautiful things that<br />illuminate dark thoughts<br />like night lights that<br />never burn out<br />
to keep away the<br />monsters lurking<br />
in closets <br />locked away<br />within the <br />subconscious<br />T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-49549116684760543382012-10-01T00:28:00.002-07:002012-10-01T00:28:32.149-07:00ThieveryA stolen moment<br />
Of time spent without seconds<br />
Frozen stories<br />
Spent spinning within my mind<br />
Of a brief interaction<br />
Free of repurcussions<br />
Reading and rereading<br />
Words written from then<br />
From now<br />
And then again never said<br />
Never spoken<br />
A muted mouth where syllables<br />
Hang like secrets<br />
In the air we are breathing<br />
As if I would ever dare<br />
To bring thoughts to reality<br />
Where physical interaction<br />
Is simply a story in some book<br />
Written and set upon a shelf<br />
To bring theory to temptation<br />
Describe a science of<br />
Unexplained chemistry<br />
To dreams where touch can ignite<br />
And a memory can illustrate<br />
What never existed<br />
<br />
<br />T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-53134055581525953832012-09-16T11:17:00.000-07:002012-09-16T11:17:01.589-07:00MappedMaybe then<br />
A thousand years ago<br />
Or more<br />
When we looked out<br />
From different faces<br />
Hands were allowed to touch<br />
Fingers entwined easily<br />
Once upon a different time<br />
Your words were whispers<br />
Just for me<br />
Arms wrapped round tightly<br />
Where I ought to be<br />
And then perhaps<br />
That longing place<br />
Deep down inside<br />
Was just a bit less empty<br />
As it is within this in between life<br />
Tragic truth<br />
As destinies shift<br />
To different places<br />
I must have missed<br />
Your telling eyes<br />
And walked right by my hearts desireT. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-46616843040518214622012-09-11T15:29:00.003-07:002012-09-11T15:55:16.404-07:00timewarped<br />
suggested memories<br />
implanted <br />
something somewhere<br />
somewhat<br />
suggestive<br />
within outdated<br />
disc drives <br />
and<br />
pixilated photos<br />
clear eyed<br />
baby faces free<br />
from <br />
age telling lines<br />
with a cracked <br />
voice to say hello<br />
reminding her <br />
she is <br />
special too<br />
for one moment<br />
when innocence<br />
still ran through<br />
excited minds <br />
and<br />
palms remembered<br />
what it felt like to<br />
be nervous when<br />
a girl smiled at you<br />
backwards<br />
travelling<br />
within your minds eye<br />
safe from<br />
the disappointment of<br />
any version of <br />
shared realities<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-43267143276513758142012-08-22T14:26:00.001-07:002012-08-22T14:26:15.655-07:00parking lotssomething about<br />the public nature<br />of lips pressed<br />together<br />
standing against<br />
my car in an<br />
empty<br />parking lot<br />
ignoring those<br />coming &<br />going<br />that gets me<br />every damn timeT. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-17793573009976340772012-08-13T17:00:00.001-07:002012-08-13T17:04:46.524-07:00lipstick signaturesallowing myself <br />
to drift back to<br />
a different time of me<br />
a different side of me<br />
the girl with black hair and <br />
a bright heart<br />
part of me<br />
the un-cynical <br />
un-apologetic<br />
laughter filling the whole damn room<br />
snapshot of a feeling<br />
wrapped up in the art of me<br />
allowing this dead weight<br />
to drop like fallen leaves<br />
as an offering<br />
to the fates<br />
to re-claim my soul<br />
swallowed whole<br />
just to be spit out at my feet<br />
sewn together<br />
from broken fragments<br />
creating new stories<br />
written upon napkins<br />with lipstick signatures<br />
<br />
<br />T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-61702793153657611142012-07-20T15:17:00.000-07:002012-07-20T15:18:48.054-07:00band aids<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">The sighs behind your eyes<br />
make me want to capitalize <br />
the punctuation of my smile<br />
blow kisses with reminders<br />
that some girls know when<br />
it’s time to give not receive<br />
find that space within your <br />
arm, then slip away silently. <br />
the hand that travels down<br />
could never touch too much<br />
preoccupy my thoughts with<br />
evenings seductively spent<br />
entwined and engrossed<br />
inside mouths, arms, & thighs<br />
interpreting the souds that<br />
bounce off the wood of the<br />
floor, from windows to doors <br />
when lips start twisting round<br />
stories whispered to ears<br />
hiding in make-believe forts<br />
I want to sip chocolate milk<br />
from your lips and tell your<br />
inner child ghost stories so <br />
you squeeze my hand tighter<br />
Your skin smells like heat and<br />
sweat with nicotine traces<br />
our silence comfortably fills up<br />
expanding negative spaces <br />
positively writing words across<br />
eye lids closed yet seeing<br />
cynics starting with believing<br />
hearts can open up revealing<br />
both tiny and big cuts need<br />
someone to kiss them better</span>T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-50461445781811618462012-06-18T17:48:00.000-07:002012-06-18T17:48:01.039-07:00sparksdont mean to <br />scare you<br />
with<br />lingering stares<br />these<br />starry eyed moments<br />this<br />
willingness to share<br />been told<br />
my sort of kisses<br />are<br />
too much<br />
too soon<br />too fast<br />
and far<br />
too much to handle<br />to spark hot<br />enough<br />
to last<br />somethings<br />
telling me<br />
you underestimate<br />the fire<br />smoldering behind<br />this mind<br />arms are empty<br />but they're longing<br />for you to climb inside<br />there is a<br />thunder roll<br />
that's coming and<br />
its striking<br />
without warning<br />
too much<br />
too soon<br />
too fast<br />
and far<br />
too much to handle<br />unless you rise to<br />
this occassion<br />and run with me<br />
to battle<br />T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-57398016629316781292012-05-30T14:57:00.001-07:002012-05-30T14:57:09.421-07:00intuitive carnalitiesthis emotional discord<br />makes fire start to bounce of skin<br />responding to<br />
beating<br />music surrounding<br />
makes thunder rumble<br />from within<br />
my caged heart<br />
like a wild animal<br />
trying<br />
to escape<br />to chase<br />
intuitive carnalities<br />
to rip truth from pretense<br />
with teeth devouring pureness in its<br />
most raw form<br />
to kill false promises<br />given by underdeveloped souls<br />
always left proving<br />
the existance<br />
of<br />
nothing more<br />than negative space<br />between usT. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-62973657824305278662012-05-29T17:39:00.005-07:002012-05-29T17:51:13.900-07:00no wordswhen that momentary inkling of perhaps<br />
starts to show its sparkly magpie charm<br />
i should remember the feelings<br />
weighing heavily upon my shoulders<br />
a reminder of what really cuts me<br />
and how much it hurts when salt is inadvertantly<br />
<div>
poured on these open wounds</div>T. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2987969706835166576.post-55379443135050894762012-05-29T14:21:00.001-07:002012-05-29T14:25:07.891-07:00time and a placea time<br />
and a place<br />
for things
like<br />
dark rooms<br />
talking close<br />
within<br />
and<br />
inside breaths<br />
subjective realities<br />
a dream state<br />
of<br />
awoken sleep<br />
and<br />
speaking silences<br />
lapsed judgement<br />
relapsed
friendships<br />
with familiar<br />
laughs<br />
familial conversation<br />
hands that<br />
touch fingertips<br />
murmuring
deep voices<br />
and words<br />
of my favorite<br />
minstrel<br />
a time<br />
and a place<br />
for things
like<br />
forgetting<br />
when loneliness<br />
becomes<br />
welcome<br />
and longing<br />
paves the way<br />
to a brief
vulnerability<br />
usually<br />
unable to reach
a surface<br />
so far
from the depths<br />
of a wall<br />
rarely breached<br />
only to be<br />
locked back up<br />
with a lost<br />
skeleton keyT. Lettierihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04066263651205483857noreply@blogger.com0