my sleeping beauty
© c.a 

my sleeping beauty

© c.a 

18 Jan 2013 / 1 note

Seatbelt Hands

She’s the kind of lady that calls everybody baby 
honey, sugar, sweetie, she’s always making friends 
and she keeps us all locked outside her thick leather skin 
she always starts with a smile, it’s small and butter yellow 
but easier than a handshake, doesn’t like her hands touched 
she tans alot, gets burnt alot smoking through the cartons 
but then gets put out so much, she’s considered a bargain 
she was born on the fourth of july with her hand on her heart 
loves america, & being patronized, no one ever told her to guard her heart 
she was an angel for halloween once, but never again 
and for christmas ever year she’s haunted by demons 
they always tell her they love her. 

she used to believe in innocence until she lost it 
and spent a long summer, riding the trains 
she has cats and collectors plates to keep her sane 
watching TV in her favorite chair…both of which are rented 
she’s alone, and surrounds herself with loners 
her life is a loan, lent out to anyone who will own her 
waiting for the night to sweep her off her feet, while she mops the bathroom floor 
hoping for a winning ticket or a man to treat her right 
but they’re both a gamble and she’s been a loser all her life 
and if she had a nickel for every time she’s been punched and kicked 
she’d put it together with her camel cash, try to buy some happiness 
they always tell her they love her, but then they take something from her. 

she would always show us her dreams 
they were crumpled up like leaves from holding on too tight 
scattered in her shoebox coffin on the cardboard walls covered in butterflies 
she’s got love in her heart for her babies, and hope in her mind for tomorrow 
and blood on her hands that only she sees, holding the last bit of time that’s borrowed 
but you never know where that heart has been, and we’ll never know how hard it’s been 
I wanna cut open my chest and let her in, but that won’t fix what needs to mend 
and she stands there unlit cigarette in hand 
filling up that empty hole with anything that’ll pour 
insides hanging out like a flare, warning. 
there’s beauty in that pain, can you see it? 
she’s crashing through life with seat belt hands 
one accident away from a miracle 
and there’s an honesty there, but I can’t take it all in 
she hides the worst of it in the wrinkles 
that’s the ache you get when there’s no where else to go. 
and she’s got no where else to go, she doesn’t want to go there. 
so I promise I’ll go with her.


from Wooden Heart Poems, released 06 July 2010

30 Apr 2012 / 0 notes

15 Apr 2012 / Reblogged from gnoth with 21 notes


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"No, we weren’t lovers, but in a way we had opened ourselves to each other even more deeply than lovers do. The thought caused me a good deal of grief. What a terrible thing it is to wound someone you really care for - and to do it so unconsciously."

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood  (via potdealer)

(Source: e-ffluo)

12 Apr 2012 / Reblogged from potdealer with 10,910 notes