I write to give myself strength... I write to explore all the things I'm afraid of."
- Joss whedon
CEILING
awash with blue there lives a sky
echoes beholden with my eye
of hope suffused in opaque air
of billowing storm, ephemeral there
a pregnant breeze exhaled before
that azure lane; a stage - amour
but creaking rust beneath her lies
and so collapse with frantic cries
what dared to be; in quiet, spoke
into piles of color and flattening smoke
a bliss preferred
so freedom deferred
the endless cry, a sputtering choke
HOME
Wash off the ink of a broken sky
a sky full of dreamers' old pains
falling onto upturned faces
put the rain in a broken pen and
write away a life
flourish - blot - printing on
anyone who looks down and sees
the forgotten red of a sky
on the parchment hills of their feet
the tears take up residence
in the broken skin
ink
mapping stories to remind us who we are
and who they were
their story's ends is written
in tattoos
21 YEARS (TO BE READ ALOUD)
count backwards from 60
until your hands quake
your legs shake
and your thoughts break
your eyes should be unfocused
go by threes
seven days a week
count them three at a time
up to 21 and back again.
Reach up
with a straight arm
a strong arm
an arm yearning to move an inch more
learn to swing from the rafters that lurk
impossibly high above a stage
count the hours and days
and days and weeks
and childhoods given to the climb
convince the screaming laws of gravity
to be silent
count on one hand successes
and everything else a stepping stone over failure
want something hard enough
to push past the other
numbered faces
numbered by other lifetimes
sacrificed to the art
young people with old faces
whose tired arms cannot hope to
reach the inexplicably high expectations of
fallen dreamers
don't lose the beauty in waves of
crashing numbers
they
crush the hopes of hopefuls who
I never realized
needed to live amid
counting up
and stretching out
and giving up everything
just to move forward
a couple inches more.
VOYAGER or NIGHT FALLS
I peer out
out into the haze of the aging day
continuing a slow march
I cannot stop
never slow
exhaustion
it creeps along beside me
"Give up"
but I cannot rest
I march toward
the maw of that great beast
success, death
all that awaits on the horizon
I cannot know
I have never reached it
not yet
maybe never
nothing here but waste
barrenness, loneliness
no one can walk this path
or they have found their own
the light fades
I stumble
and
I am devoured
ALL POEMS WRITTEN BY JESSICA TATUM
awash with blue there lives a sky
echoes beholden with my eye
of hope suffused in opaque air
of billowing storm, ephemeral there
a pregnant breeze exhaled before
that azure lane; a stage - amour
but creaking rust beneath her lies
and so collapse with frantic cries
what dared to be; in quiet, spoke
into piles of color and flattening smoke
a bliss preferred
so freedom deferred
the endless cry, a sputtering choke
HOME
Wash off the ink of a broken sky
a sky full of dreamers' old pains
falling onto upturned faces
put the rain in a broken pen and
write away a life
flourish - blot - printing on
anyone who looks down and sees
the forgotten red of a sky
on the parchment hills of their feet
the tears take up residence
in the broken skin
ink
mapping stories to remind us who we are
and who they were
their story's ends is written
in tattoos
21 YEARS (TO BE READ ALOUD)
count backwards from 60
until your hands quake
your legs shake
and your thoughts break
your eyes should be unfocused
go by threes
seven days a week
count them three at a time
up to 21 and back again.
Reach up
with a straight arm
a strong arm
an arm yearning to move an inch more
learn to swing from the rafters that lurk
impossibly high above a stage
count the hours and days
and days and weeks
and childhoods given to the climb
convince the screaming laws of gravity
to be silent
count on one hand successes
and everything else a stepping stone over failure
want something hard enough
to push past the other
numbered faces
numbered by other lifetimes
sacrificed to the art
young people with old faces
whose tired arms cannot hope to
reach the inexplicably high expectations of
fallen dreamers
don't lose the beauty in waves of
crashing numbers
they
crush the hopes of hopefuls who
I never realized
needed to live amid
counting up
and stretching out
and giving up everything
just to move forward
a couple inches more.
VOYAGER or NIGHT FALLS
I peer out
out into the haze of the aging day
continuing a slow march
I cannot stop
never slow
exhaustion
it creeps along beside me
"Give up"
but I cannot rest
I march toward
the maw of that great beast
success, death
all that awaits on the horizon
I cannot know
I have never reached it
not yet
maybe never
nothing here but waste
barrenness, loneliness
no one can walk this path
or they have found their own
the light fades
I stumble
and
I am devoured
ALL POEMS WRITTEN BY JESSICA TATUM