How to Break My Fall

***Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry for anyone experiencing my extended hiatus, but life got hectic. Anyways, I'm working on something right now and hope to publish soon. In the meantime, enjoy (or not) this poem I wrote that I intended to be a few lines just so I could type this but then I kept typing and now I'm basically Keats. It is extremely chaotic, poorly written, and has no official planning or previous thought. Long story short, I haven't written a poem since AP Lit and even then I was mediocre at best. Factor in my zany, nonsensical writing style and attention issues and VOILA! Thus this poem was born. Happy reading, I suppose.

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I have always been clumsy,
tripping and falling over my own two feet
But this is a new kind of falling —
this kind of falling is a blind stumble

           Time and time again, I have watched others choose to stumble.
           why?             Why?               
           I scoffed at their foolishness, the consequence and pain
           Now, my understanding of adoration is linear to you

A hazy, dream-ridden reach for you in the dark
Ensnared by lust, unable and unwilling to escape
I bask in the victory of your smile, the pitfalls of our anger, the well of my sorrow

So when did I begin to fall
That first night, with your secretive smile and pile of chips?
The times I passed you, now knowing your face but not your name?
On the night of ghosts, where happenstance and chess were my saviors?
As you played with a Sunflower and deepened your mystery?
While we lay awake for hours under the illusion of friendship?

     But I do not stumble
     I do not trip and fall for people
     Did you tie my laces together
     when I wasn't looking?

Then I see your smile and my soul cries
I hear your laugh and my resolve crumbles
I feel your adoration and my mind tries
to catch me, but my heart has already tumbled

                                                                                    Nitpick, nitpick,
                                                                                       I hate this, this, this
                                        But I love you?                                                                 
                                                                                                        No?

or maybe it was the night you grabbed my hand
and instead of kissing me, you pulled me in your arms and swayed to the sounds of night
A cacophony of heartbeats melding, palms sweating, and bodies laughing

                                                                                    I never thought you wanted to dance

Still, I worry I can never love you
Will the small things be too much
Will I fear your inability to catch me when I fall
Will I long for the other, the freedom, that clings to my spirit and strangles my peace?

                                                                                    You continue to surprise me

Time passes inconsequentially with you
You, who eases my pain and sometimes aids it
I fear you are becoming the gauze over my wounds
You, my numbing agent and my stimulant

Slow has this descent been
A waste of time and space
All so that eyes can glean
And heart begins to race

Love poems are saccharine
or trite or a bore
So here is an ode
To the Vikings of lore:

             A gentle breeze blows the wisps from your face
             I look at your hands, mottled with Grace
             I slither to you, red all over, and with a kiss
             Toss my axe to the left (and I never miss)

             Eight feet away my weapon hits the Mark
             We drop to our knees and bathe in the blood
             You crack open a skull and fashion a bowl
             While I pin our next victim, whose jewelry I stole

             The screams, the scent, the marvelous sea day
             Perfect for a raid or interlocking a pair
             You sidle over and I look up and say,
             "Wanna have sex in the Church over there?"

So, you see, I know nothing of romance
Do I want you to show me?
No
I know this can't last

slip on the puddle of my beating organ
love me just a bit more each day
I thought love had to be fast and overwhelming, burning and blazing
every day, I learn how quickly the small flame grows, consumes

                                              Still
                                              I yearn for an inferno
                                              

                                                                      But then you found out your eyes are hazel
                                                                      I wish I could tell you for the first time again