Purple Mountain of Despair

Love Letter Home

kyle — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 19:12:07 +0000

Minneapolis,
you feel like hot tea in the morning
calm, comfortable,
warm inside;
like falling in love anew
each time we wake up next to each other
each time we kiss.

Minneapolis,
I bet you taste like cinnamon in cocoa
at the winter solstice,
and mint ice cream
on my mom’s summer birthday,
or my third beer
on my dad’s pontoon.

Minneapolis,
I know how you sound.
The left channel hosts the loon’s call
and the quiet lap of lake waves,
while the right channel is harsher,
featuring a booted foot crushing down
through the hardened top of snow.

Minneapolis,
you are aromatic too –
a deep breath of morning mist,
in the woods by the lake
is something like therapy,
making up for the months
when frozen snot makes it hard to smell.

Minneapolis,
you look like shit today,
but I really don’t mind.
I like that you don’t try too hard,
I like that you let us see you
as you are
when you first wake up.

Minneapolis,
I have felt your embrace with all my senses.
Sometimes it hurts, honestly,
but through your temperaments
I always seem to want another hug
or another afternoon conversation
about the weather.

But Minneapolis,
let’s not pretend
that you’re not a mystery to me.
You’re far away and I never call,
we’re both busy,
we’re leading separate lives –
I’ve grown up and cut my hair.

Still, Minneapolis,
I miss you.
I forget you,
we all do sometimes.
Home may be defined as love
but also as the place
we most often take for granted.

Return

kyle — Tue, 23 Nov 2010 05:24:47 +0000

The movement is in so many places
quietly
in backseats and bars
break rooms and bus stops
if you blink, you might miss it,
you might not see
the beauty in your face.
Perhaps
I’ve been caught blinking,
or running
quickly past it all
amidst the rain
amidst that which weighs
heavily on our hearts.
I’m a fighter, I think,
braving the weather
unprepared equally
for the thunder and the sun,
always gazing through the rainbow
at the on-setting storm,
believing in a future
that is hiding in the present,
if only I looked up more often
to recognize it.

Still

kyle — Thu, 18 Nov 2010 04:46:54 +0000

here we are again
overthinking eye contact
from the girl who passed in the hall
she lent you a pen yesterday
maybe this time
it’s for real.

leaves are falling
you’ve got new clothes
and new ways
to feel just a little inadequate –
just enough, it seems,
to last a lifetime.

the daily disasters
destroy us all,
over and over again.
how many times in your mind
will you replay yesterday’s conversation
thinking you failed?

forever is a long time
almost as long as 2 years
or 2 weeks
give or take
a few insecurities
and visions of hope.

i used to think
that middle school was about to end
i’ve since turned 25
and i’m still waiting
to finally grow up
and be sure of myself.

Take Two

kyle — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 04:45:25 +0000

All I can hear is the silence
the sort of constant ringing in my ear
the constant voice inside
reminding me of things to do
of emotions I’d rather forget
I bite my pen
anxious
forever anxious, even about a poem
that isn’t really a poem,
that no one will ever read.
I can hear my pen on the paper
mark by mark
the creation of something I can see
A rarity in my life
A concrete moment in time
out of context of the details
crowding out the sensation
that nothing is happening
three years writing the same poem
sleeping alone
listening
afraid
As an organizer I know
I learn
I see
That fear always holds us back
We find convenient excuses
It is hard to say,
“I am weak.”
But I am still afraid
I was always afraid of failure
And all I’ve learned is how much
failure can hurt
Breathing deeply doesn’t make it go away
An over-full calendar doesn’t make it go away
Three glasses of whiskey doesn’t make it go away
A fear of failure
preventing success
sometimes
I am still going to sleep alone
I can barely imagine another life
my mind won’t let me
Even when someone else is in my bed
it still wanders, it still hides in the details
In the calendar
In the meetings, in the next test
Back to chewing my pen
Pausing literally, drifting to work
because I am afraid to fix myself
because I am afraid to be broken
It is a furious thing
to run from life
to live so fully but be so…
empty
my writing is fast and sloppy now
I shake my head
wonder when the tears will come
when the truth will come
when I will feel love
when I will appreciate love
when I will believe in the moment
and not just in the next
I have never lived right now
or I haven’t in a long time
I am always stuck living
in the future or in the past
or in some unhealthy combination
equating the two.
The pages are filling up
the whiskey still sinking in
I love the movement because it is something bigger to be a part of. It gives me meaning, it gives me drive, it gives me a family.
My family is so far away. I am disconnected from love in so many ways.
Disconnected from creation, from energy. I don’t even cook anymore. My happiness is more intellectual than it is emotional and only part of me knows that there is something truly fucked up about that. Or is there? It is all in our head anyway.

Deep breath.
Keep fighting, but start living.

Insomnia

kyle — Sat, 18 Sep 2010 04:43:39 +0000

blank pages, blank stares
it isn’t lonely
it’s consuming
it’s everything, everyone
it’s care
careful, cautious, scared and relentless
the challenge is to forget, no
maybe to focus,
on the sound of my pen (moving)
the ambulance (speeding)
the fan (spinning)
the neighbor’s water (running)
but my mind, it seems…
it never wants to be here
never wants to stay here
the background image never
never set quite right
in perfectly calm sounds
there’s always a storm
(of) nerves, i’m nervous, never sitting still
it’s my sweat, my anger
mostly my fear
can’t fuck, can’t feel
can’t heal
can’t be
can’t focus
can’t run away
can’t sleep

Brunch

kyle — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 18:49:58 +0000

corners of a country
seen between nights in broken hotel rooms
or sagging couches
life is a weird web of wanderings
reflections i don’t know
what to make of
even over a beer
in an east atlanta bar
at 2 pm
on a sunday
there is no smoking ban here
that’s the most obvious thing
but it sure beats a cafe
and maybe even
my lonely couch in chicago
when i’m home i don’t know
where to run
when i’m gone, i guess i
just never stop running
and there’s a little part of me that understands
the appeal
of “living life” meaning
never really facing life at all
it’s not my specialty
it’s not like lying awake
alone
with an alarm’s obnoxious blare
five hours away
i never really learn
i just keep writing
it’s not the easy path
just the only one i know
sometimes it feels so
crazy to care
even when i’m calm
even in those rare moments when
i believe not just in the future
but also in myself.

Thirty Eight Degrees

kyle — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 08:06:49 +0000

I want you by my side, but I know
I wouldn’t be here if you were.
Every time I make that realization
it hurts just as much as the last.

Different Needs

kyle — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 08:05:10 +0000

I look to her
to feel better about myself.
She looks to me
to feel better about the world.
It has been an incompatible arrangement
for years.
But it perpetuates
our dreams.

Places You Would Like

kyle — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 08:04:09 +0000

So many shades of past
coloring in my night.
Alone in my home city
with a spirit infused by old friends
and a mood tempered by the blues
in a well-decorated bar.
My phone vibrates, transmitting
a different history,
a different kind of love
and a familiar topic.
I hang up, almost six minutes later,
to put my head in my hands
and wonder how I got here
and wonder again how to leave,
how to make myself want to leave,
how to breathe
in and out.
A state of mind, or heart,
about as steady as a flame
in the wind
or on the other end
of my heavy breath.
I shake my head.
That’s all I’ve got.

Capsule

kyle — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 08:01:01 +0000

Comfort in a laugh
you can only share
with old friends.
Those moments in life
that can never be destroyed
or broken up with.
Basements burned
into a soul,
jokes told for ten years
at a time.
It helps ease the fear
that nothing worthwhile
will ever last.