Forty-Something Years in Ninaland


The Raw

freeimage-20709060-highI tried to write poetry the other day, I want to be raw with you. I want to be real with you. I want you to see me bleeding. Because I bleed on the inside. my mind is bleeding, my heart for something, someone. I am alone. That is the truth. The truth is the truth and an eye is an eye. They want me to describe this table, all I wonder is if I can dance with Plato’s table in the sky…

my heart itches sometimes and I scratch it

and it hurts, I make it worse

my eyes water sometimes when I think of the brown in your eyes and the multicolored mania in my mind…

I am here, you are there, how do we even know each other?

I am you, you are me, we are one, except we can’t stand on another. I want to dance on tables that are broken. I want you to catch me when I fall. Will you stand by me? Darlin’ stand by me…if you sit, it will be OK.

There are people in my dreams that I know better than the people in my life. They are all standing in a line, waiting patiently…for me. Only me. I am the star of my dreams. I’m famous within my own head.

“Let’s play twister, let’s play risk, see you in Heaven if you make the list,” REM is singing on the radio. Let’s play pretend. I will pretend I’m Madonna you play Bono. Let’s sing. Shall we sing?

I strive to make sense. These are the thoughts of someone who sometimes doesn’t know what sense is. What is good?

Is this talking and talking and talking about anything at all?

“It’s about you and me and all of the people, with nothing to do and nothing to prove”…you know that song? It’s on right now. Someone is standing next to me and I can hear them breathe, see them live. I can see you, you are living. You are not dead.

We are both alive. Yet we don’t know each other, we don’t understand the difference in our eyes. You have that look, the look like you want to dance. Your eyes are tearing, the drops fall on your porcelain face. The white in your eyes is shining like the sun.

We should all be in a circle, around a fire, singing the tunes in our heads. Telling each the real stories, the ones we can’t talk about. The real horror. The one in hearts.

The hunger, I’m hungry…I need something to fill the blank spaces in my soul. I took an eraser and edited my dreams, now they are simple and false, now I can pretend to not need them.

Where is the piano, where is the song? The one you keep humming in your head. The one that won’t leave you alone. That song is the anthem of your heart. Spell it with your hands. We are all deaf, just waiting for a sound.

I could walk miles in a desert, I could sleep in a tent on your doorstep. Would that make me tall, tall enough to be your friend? You only like people who fit in your story.

Your eyes are moving, right and left. You can’t really see me, can you? You only see the person I was yesterday, the person I hate, the woman without wings…

Where will we fly? Far away…to another place where people demand with their tongues. They eat each other like animals. Who said we are not animals? Someone drain my blood.

I’m not sure if I can react properly, if I can say a thing, without disturbing the stars. They say the stars determine my fate, I say look at my face. I will tell you how the years have been, how the time is spilling in my cup.

What did I really say? About anything…I’m not saying anything. I’m not telling you how hard it is for me to open up these wounds and play house with my friends while we cry about broken windows.

What does that even mean? I flew out your window, I made a new path. I don’t understand playtime, I think this is all work. That I must work to be free. I am not free.

Are you free? With what will you measure your own state? I am not real, these are not real thoughts. I am playing pretend. I’m not sure if sense is making me.

I want to dry out the fruit on the table. And make something out of nothing. Where is my plate? Who is eating with my fork? Who took that things that belong to me?

We are all sitting a feast, with no food. Someone is serving us something, in a box. We are the box. “The sky was all purple, there were people runnin’ everywhere. Couldn’t run from the destruction, you know I didn’t even care.”

Do you care? About any of this? What is this?

This is my song. The one I couldn’t sing you. The one that makes no sound.

This is half of me and half of you, together we make a tree…In the sunlight we are growing.


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 October 25th, 2015  
 1 Comment

One Response to The Raw

  1. “I took an eraser and edited my dreams, now they are simple and false, now I can pretend to not need them.” This line really spoke to me. Since nobody else could possibly know our dreams unless we tell them, even in the telling of the dream it becomes less than what it originally was. In short, in the telling of our dream it gets edited and erased to some degree. And in the telling, the dream gets simplified. I love to read poetry when the poet is able to state sething so complicated in such a simple and accurate way. Very beautiful ideas, Nina. Thanks.

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