Carbon Copy (Shortened, Slam Version)

Carbon Copied

Don’t want her off me

Don’t wander off

Be free

But don’t wander far from what we have, please

I’ve gotten used to being on my knees

But so has she

Eye level

I have all the respect in the world

For the most beautiful thing, I have ever seen

Utterly breathtaking

This thing we have is tangible

I’d risk so much and I am not a gambler

But I have this hunch

And it’s founded on concrete hope I

Gathered from the sheer crunch

Of a fist on my jaw, head doing a 180

Turned around after giving up and look what God gave me

Nothing has felt like this, my world

I won’t go back on my word

Not a philistine

When it comes to examining

Every detail on her masterpiece

Every night under that lamp post dragging feelings

On a thread through every synapse

Every vein every sense I have in one place

The kind of shit they tell you when advocating to meditate

-Oneness-

What we all coincidentally strive for

What if that feeling is staring me in the face

What if it has dimples and its forehead crinkles

What if it’s 5’2 and got me wrapped around its finger

What if it’s a miracle, all I want is a future

To hold the same passion behind a podium but in a person

The same drive and ambition but for affectionate ammunition

The weight on shoulders dissipating under the covers

When I just get to hold her and feel secure in that she’s fine

 

Complacency is a landmine

 

Constantly feeling like I’m in this freefall motion

Enthusiastically accepting the physical law

Have you ever known me to be someone to take comfort in a fall?

Yet I’m restoring my faith

 

Never will I do her justice in the words I create

I’m hammering out, puzzling if you will

Trying to give her something to explain precisely how I feel

 

Always internal conflict with me

Spoken freely

Definitive Autobiographer

On the loudspeaker

Bullhorn in hand, the tip pressed to her ear

She takes it too well but I gotta worry about tiring her

Those drums gotta last I can’t keep winding her

Gotta play her a beat she’d want to live a life to

Never falter in effort, I love every minute of you

 

Nothing I gotta cook up in a dream

That’s not fashionably delivered

My babygirl has got it all configured

Blueprints to my maintenance and soul predicaments

There was always clarity in a crystal ball that we’d be renowned

But I don’t give a flying fuck about reputation

 

I struck gold in those eyes laced with blue

I struck diamonds when I tripped over you

I had my head down I wasn’t even looking

I struck oil got all the riches I was undeserving

I’ll do right by her I live to see that smile

Even if I go down as hers just for awhile

I hereby promise

That awhile will be worthy of cinema

Retold in brilliant nostalgia

Not sentimentalized

No lies

Our eyes

Our times

Told as the sun we rode on

 

Time will tell but tale will not fade from high degree

I will be on a peak as long as she sees me

Carbon copy of me

Carbon copy of emotions

How blessed to have carbon copied this level of devotion

Carbon copy

Don’t want her off me

Don’t go too far love but run to the ends of the earth

Be so happy and I’ll go and buy some binoculars

Time will tell but my tale will be no less than proud

Proud of you my 5 foot 2

 

Blood Pressure

When the doctor takes your blood pressure with the new fancy machine

You feel your arm tighten and hold still at the tip of your finger

Where they put that clippy thing, and you’re not completely sure what it does

Or at least I’m not. I’m studying politics.

They put that sleeve on you and at first what you feel is simple: cold.

With every pump of the little balloon comes a pressure, at first it is comfortable

It’s like light relief

It accelerates and makes you crave the next –

 

Pump.

 

And then comes the next compression, the binding feeling with you and this rimy sleeve engulfing your skin but it starts to blend between discomfort and subtle reliability-

 

Pump.

 

It strains, fastens itself, clenches against you approaching a threshold cornering you into a blur, a blur between the potential energy of pain and the uninhabited space of repose-

 

Pump.

 

Ow! Fuck. Pinching. Pinching depriving you of the preferred annoyance of manageable pressure pinching seeping through your fortification of blissful ignorance- pinching is a feeling, a feeling of peevish pique, acute and centered around a fine point you can’t neglect-

 

Pump!

 

You can’t turn a blind eye just glance around the room exploring for an enclave for your attention as this god damn squeeze manifested into something so restricting you can’t decide if it’s excruciating or preferred… preferred to pinching… this one lasts the longest and the silence between you and your trivial, routine result is vociferous.

 

Come on doc. I don’t care about the number. Tell me 3 digits over 2 or however it goes I suppose I’m writing a poem about blood pressure because the tightness in my arm, so conventional, unremarkable and anything less than a surprise equates to this feeling I get when conflict constricts me in its menial itching manner until the cramp competes with my sanity and I can’t tell which stage made for a more irritable sensation

 

The comfort, the merger, the pinching, or the silence in maximum restraint.

All the while I hold my finger still. Unbothered. Sometimes, I stare at it and wonder what its purpose is, what is the point of me holding out my fingertip in prolonged pause, as if waiting to tell a story, or waiting to call on a human for help. Always still, always a chance for redistributing my thoughts during this awkward puzzle of time.

 

What is it telling you, that the pump of pressure isn’t?

 

Can you read more from my extended finger, than you can from my eyes darting around discomfort, than you can from the wretched trapping feeling itself.

 

Sometimes all it takes is a light cap on the fingertip to pull you away from vexatious space, no matter how unjustifiably bothersome.

 

Oh I just love searching for metaphors to excuse my psychology.

 

Am I witty and adroit in emotion, or do I just need to do some push ups?

 

It’s interesting, I still love getting my blood pressure taken.

 

 

 

Writing Workshop- Using Colors on a Paint Chip (purples, timed 5 minutes)

Newport breeze.

We were peering over stone walls with Gatsby to our backs. The waves collided with granite, or I think it was granite, I wasn’t paying attention because my eyes only alternated between you and the cave below, with shadows of purple, ranging from Naples Sunset to Rock Harbor Violet.

The hydrangeas tickled our arms as we leaned further, joking about hitting the water. Or I think they were hydrangeas, I don’t know my flowers and my arms were alternating between the coldness of the shaded stone and the heat of your skin brushing mine.

It was an ocean but I treated it as God’s wishing well, and I wished we would come here again, only there would be spring lilacs because it would be March. Or I think they would be, I don’t know, my mind is alternating between this idea, and the fantasy of being yours forever.