Inside of Jorge's room, in the house that he shares with Julio and Jessica, two dogs, and some fish. I might live here soon. A few weeks ago my mom sent me a text message while I was at work, it read, "I have already spoken to Azhara, you and she have until May first to stay with me."
I should have been mad. I should have burst with anger. I shouldn't hold it in.
Someone said she could see my "inner battles" play out. I highly doubt that she could though.
Or at least, she would never understand what sort of battle is being fought inside of me.
So I called my Dad on my lunch break. Told him that my Mother was kicking me out. I told him that I wanted to come to Kansas. Kick it old school on the farm. He said I could. There's work that needs to be done. Money that needs to be made. Bugs that need to be squashed. Kansan's that need to be Blained. I miss my Dad. I miss the farm...
I still think of you.
Your voice is in the air.
Spring is your song.
I sing alone.
I sing along.
Photo's tell me stories
you're getting by
tying knots on your blouse
not for me.
I miss the dogs and the cats
the way you looked at me sometimes.
I"m just getting stranger and stranger. I have to force connection. Maybe I was just nervous but, when I spoke to you on that amazing and subtle night, on the couch, downstairs, below sleeping heads, I forced myself to listen. You had interesting things to say. Honestly, it was one of the best conversations I've had in a long time. We were without intentions, at least, we were silent about it. We talked movies, food, and music. Then Taco bell. Then the cemetery. Then you drove me home. I spend most of my days quiet. My jaw hurt from all of the chatter. It was a fun sting. Thank you for bringing me something real. I've haven't been here lately. Maybe it's the pain of being a man. Maybe it's the struggle of the artist. Maybe it's the insanity kicking in. Whatever it is, you helped me clear my head of nonsense, worry, and doubt. For a few hours, it was just you, me, and words. Text messages can be so lame. Facebook messages can be so dry. And lets not get started about Myspace... You were there with me. Looking in my eyes, listening to what I said. You were interested. I was there too. My eyes danced over you. You were hair, I was hair. We were words and laughter. You could count my yawn three times over and till this day, I'll still say that I wasn't tired.
I should have been mad. I should have burst with anger. I shouldn't hold it in.
Someone said she could see my "inner battles" play out. I highly doubt that she could though.
Or at least, she would never understand what sort of battle is being fought inside of me.
So I called my Dad on my lunch break. Told him that my Mother was kicking me out. I told him that I wanted to come to Kansas. Kick it old school on the farm. He said I could. There's work that needs to be done. Money that needs to be made. Bugs that need to be squashed. Kansan's that need to be Blained. I miss my Dad. I miss the farm...
I still think of you.
Your voice is in the air.
Spring is your song.
I sing alone.
I sing along.
Photo's tell me stories
you're getting by
tying knots on your blouse
not for me.
I miss the dogs and the cats
the way you looked at me sometimes.
I"m just getting stranger and stranger. I have to force connection. Maybe I was just nervous but, when I spoke to you on that amazing and subtle night, on the couch, downstairs, below sleeping heads, I forced myself to listen. You had interesting things to say. Honestly, it was one of the best conversations I've had in a long time. We were without intentions, at least, we were silent about it. We talked movies, food, and music. Then Taco bell. Then the cemetery. Then you drove me home. I spend most of my days quiet. My jaw hurt from all of the chatter. It was a fun sting. Thank you for bringing me something real. I've haven't been here lately. Maybe it's the pain of being a man. Maybe it's the struggle of the artist. Maybe it's the insanity kicking in. Whatever it is, you helped me clear my head of nonsense, worry, and doubt. For a few hours, it was just you, me, and words. Text messages can be so lame. Facebook messages can be so dry. And lets not get started about Myspace... You were there with me. Looking in my eyes, listening to what I said. You were interested. I was there too. My eyes danced over you. You were hair, I was hair. We were words and laughter. You could count my yawn three times over and till this day, I'll still say that I wasn't tired.
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