brinemcallister's blog: "Autumn Thoughts"

Music plays a big part of my life.. and i find certain songs I relate to more than others.. so what song is big in your life right now? Right now i am goin back and forth between Passive by APC and *gasp and groan* Gravity by Sara Barielles.

Hey is there any bands ppl can recommend... i am looking for some new tunes. Thanks

I am foolish to think I could fly without wings so I am left dangling from the tip of a loose raven’s feather until they return these ravens my ravens clattering along a wire watching me cackling at me “you foolish girl! Why you trying to fly, when you have no wings?” I couldn’t answer my tongue swollen with embarrassment I want to cry but I had gone dry, cried myself into dust I am hollow, and the remnants of my soul Clang inside, and I am a bell tolling out the chores Of me simply breathing My ravens inched closer Their beaks glitter under the sun Cocking their heads down eyeing me With my own indecision “Foolish girl, why would you want to fly?” I want to feel the wind through hair To be held in the clouds Linger in the warmth of the sun I want to fly because it reminds me of being in love “in love, silly girl, what are you thinking?” They clatter their laughter “flying to be in love, but you have no wings” I am left with shadows They linger around my door Eager to come in, and for a moment I feel full of life, but in daybreak they are gone Sneaking out under the door before I wake Maybe I like them for that The easiness of slipping them on for a second Tasting their smiles, wearing their skins For a moment. I feel I have wings “Foolish, foolish girl, what will you do now? With these wings of yours… now gone” My ravens ask, and I look up at the sky Letting the sun blind me, so I could cry out my loneliness Heart beats slow in my ear My breaths become silent I feel my fingers getting light The feather wavering in my fingertips I am foolish to think I can fly Without wings I would cry, but I cried myself dry And I am so hollow I could probably float to the top My ravens watch me with my own indecision For a foolish that wanted to be loved But lost her wings except one feather of doubt “foolish, foolish girl, what will you do now? With these wings of yours… now gone.” I guess I will learn how to fly without wings I let go of the feather Let myself fall Losing all doubt, the pain The shadows that linger too long Remember my smile, my skin Foolish girl, I whisper Why did you think you needed wings to fly?

Caught in rush hour we are passengers sardined in a transit bus lost in the slow moving skyline of luxury cars, SUVs, and semi-trucks with back plastered to seat I watch my fellow captives slowly peel away the silence of screeching tires I form a story out of their every yawn, stretch and glazed over glances. A young woman, Kandi, but there is nothing sweet about her. Hair, the color of the horizon, bleeding down and pooling at her shoulders, while her days rest in dark streaks of black eyeliner. Her mouth swollen red and permanently cruel in a sneer. She scribbles out her rage onto tiny pieces of leftover napkins and gum wrappers. Sometimes, I catch a glimpse of the jagged scars etched across her arms in a map of her journeys and dead ends, and I can’t help but wonder if she is still lost. A few seats down from her sat an older gentleman named Charles. His eyes yellowed with age and the wrinkles of his face marked each step he took. His lips only cracked when he thought of his son and his eyes only watered when he mention his wife’s name. He lost them both in the same year: one to sickness, and the other to someone’s carelessness. The month of February is when he sees their ghosts reflected in windows, standing in doorways. He can hear his son’s voice in the morning wind and smell his wife’s cooking in the night breezes, but with winter comes the spring then summer, when he can see his grandson, and see the reflections of his family within every one of the smiles. Martha sat next to him cloaked in a heavy jacket and crowned in a burgundy hat. She rarely spoke, but said volume with her eyes. Scanning the smeared horizon, she fingered the cross weighting down her throat. The rumbling of the bus reminds her of family, hometown, friends, life before marriage, the pain, the addiction and finally the redemption. She volunteers at a downtown teen shelter, seeing herself in the mirrors of the young girls’ eyes. At night, she dreams of walking on syringes and she can see her daughter’s face and how she was taken away by greedy hands and wolfen mouths drooling out screams, oozing out desires. She prays everyday for the Lord to not forget her; not to lose her in the shuffle of the concrete city and congested skies. The last rider was a youth shadowing the door, eyeing us quietly as music blared and apathy hung in chains, while anger peeked out from under sleeves in etchings of black and blue. He reminds me of the city. Compounded and cluttered, he hunched over in the corner. Littered in graffiti of company logos and his eyes faded with chemical smog. The skyline decorated his arms in jagged scars and his hands were worn, depreciating factories. Pain loitered at the corners of his mouth, and grief hung in jagged strings at the end of his jeans. Cold and hatred divided him into a patchwork of incomplete ideas lining the broken posture and scribbling upon his wrist. Lost, he wanders over us with his eyes, before hiding in the shadows of the door. Caught in rush hour we are passengers sardined in a transit bus lost in the slow moving skyline of luxury cars, SUVs, and semi-trucks with back plastered to seat I watch my fellow captives slowly peel away the silence of screeching tires I form a story out of their every yawn, stretch and glazed over glances, but can’t help but wonder if they look at me, swollen with a child and wonder my story, give me an identity, contemplate my name, or am I just another nameless captive on this bus.

Angie had wings Tattooed Upon her back She said It was to help For when she fell Lovemaking Is the ultimate Form of cruelty Simple placed In a kiss The struggle for power begins Hands collected Small pieces of her To tuck in their back pockets She was left Lingering Dangling with discarded condoms So Angie has wings Tattooed Upon her back Tattered, shredded Tribal lines Dividing her left, right Passion Is the ultimate Form of servitude Simple collected In a touch The struggle for control begins Sweat glistened Pooled around wrists To collect in safe deposit box She was left Lingering Accumulating dust around dark corners So Angie has wings Tattooed Upon her back Never to be tamed Was tattooed Across her chest Worth Is the ultimate Form of freedom Simply found In her defiance The struggle of independence begins Simply collected In a smile Caught in the shadows of eyes Whispered goodbyes Ricochet against sleeping lovers To her exiting footsteps She left Lingering A kiss, a touch, and her defiance Angie had wings Tattooed Upon her back She said It was to aid For when she fell

Tami was clockwork with her sorrow It spilled out and steamed like the first morning cup of coffee She would press her brows together and frown Muttering something like she felt this life was a constant hangover And she always seemed to need another drink Her hair hung limp and her eyes were always dry For she had been crying since dusk and it only stopped at dawn She had a broken heart tattooed on her chest Along with a closed sign and on her back the words were branded Closed for maintenance and because you simply aren’t worth it Tami was clockwork with her sorrow Pooling herself next to me at this early morning diner Jenny was consistent with her rage Balled up in a discarded napkin she twisted in her fists She would grind her teeth together and growling Hissing something like she felt this life was a dead-end And she just wanted to drive off the edge Her hair was wild and her voice was hoarse For she had been yelling since the morning and it doesn’t end until night She was wrapped in black with mascara tracing lines along her face Vampires live branded her chest and it was her dedication To all her bloodsucking friends out there Jenny was consistent with her rage Slamming through the door and heading toward me at this early morning diner Connie was routine in her fear Following her like a shadow nipping at her heels Leaving her huddled down and whimpering Whispering something like this life is only a dream And she just wanted to fly away these days Her hair was streaked with gray and her skin wrinkled in the pain For she had been hiding since she was born and it won’t end until she dies Living in the past of her mother She wears a cross in hopes faith will keep the nightmares away Trying to find strength enough to walk away Connie was routine in her fear Skittering across my gaze as she takes a seat behind me in this early morning diner Lindsey was habitual in her happiness Rejoicing in the everyday chaos and mayhem like a never-ending train wreck Leaving her dancing on table tops and laughing Singing something like this life is a hallucination And she was enjoying the constant trip Bright blue her hair was striped and her skin glistened with sweat and lust For she had been painting the town pink since last week Refusing to stop chasing the night life She enjoys her platform boots and the feel of her fishnet stockings Sexuality and confidence peeking out from the corners’ of her eyes Lindsey was habitual in her happiness Laying across the counter in front of me at this early morning diner Then there was me, forever lost in my imagination Showcasing myself in a still frame of five Ordinary at first almost dull by design I blend into the background, a living shadow Writing out this life is like an endless horizon And I feel like I am helplessly left wandering Trying to find myself hidden in these postcard moments Of four women and me Trapped and cornered to your sight in this early morning diner

A sword was tattooed along her spine The word Brave branded the back of her neck Courage etched on the inside of her right wrist Strength could be found written on her left She gripped her little boy’s hand Clutched her baby girl closer to her chest Her eyes never left the gazes of strangers Silently braced herself for the long trip ahead Her body was Rome And every man she met was Nero Constantly burning her down in their grandeur Leaving her to slowly rebuild from the rubble Each of the fathers left her The way they came in The front door Not even leaving a forwarding address She changed her number So the first one couldn’t solicit her pity She moved to a different town So the second couldn’t infest her doorway with his shadow Relationships had become war Battling over the division of her body Men were eager to seize the area below the waist Taking her heart and soul as hostage Her emotions were casualties Happiness, love, trust slaughtered, hung upon the barbed conversations Sadness vultured and scavenged their corpses While rage and fear made ground upon the battlefield of her body Standing toward the horizon She looks in the eyes of her children for hope Weakness, vulnerability threatening to shatter her resolve Finding in strength in their kisses every night Determination to survive, to be strong for she held their universe upon her shoulder She told me she knew how Atlas felt Slumped under the pressure to persevere But as I watch them play during the day, sleep at night I feel a peace that I have chased for so long in a few fleeting men In the end, she told me Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a lover or a wife Maybe I was just supposed to be a mother And all those men mini trials before obtain the utopia I find in my children’s smiles

These days I wonder if you still see me if I have slipped into the background in this age of barcodes and two second definitions I wonder if you really see me the defiance and mischief flickering in my eyes ‘I really see you’ etched in the wrinkles of eyelids upper lip crowned with lover and lower lip holds fighter loud is etched into my tongue If you could still see me tucked behind the acres of billboards and cellophane blocked by twelve step improvements and two for one smiles you would see heaven and hell tattooed on shoulders joining hands at middle of my back where my desire lingers fear lines my spine with perseverance at my waist If you could really see me behind the pyrotechnics and flashy stunts hidden by the layers of reality shows and shallow ideals you would see the image of my heart upon chest cracked, splintered with “I remember” in middle memories trailing along my stomach meeting at the shadow of lust at my hip If you could see me for a moment isolate my image from the masses taking the time to provide understanding you would see force described in the contour of shoulders weakness lingered under arms rage bruised at elbows strategy and deception collected at wrists slave spelled in fingers palms hold freedom if you could see me today beyond superficial first meetings, trendy clothes outside of dollar signs and expensive lifestyles you would see pit stop for morons branded on my inner thigh sexual and innocence shadowed on the other mother, lover hiding on knees “to thine own self be true” loitering around shins knowledge graced my ankle while strength callused the bottoms of my feet So I wonder if you still see me see the real me the complexities, my depth levels of intelligence, mysteries, pain, and fears when you are standing across from me

Leather and lace were just toys to her True authority was contained within lipstick It slid across her mouth in a long red streak Tattooing her mouth, her voice Voluminous colliding and gathering in a reflection Of pink and satin trimmed with sensual grace and white tassels I like to control She purred nightly in the other end of the phone Mouth intensified each emotion, her tongue curled around my throat The dial tone cluttered thoughts, and static served breathing room Under the guidance of a carefully placed vocabulary coated in red Tracing faint lines along the receiver, my skin Tingling bound to her voice, collapsed to knees I like to control She poised near the bed Veils before eyes she handed me restraint and told me to enjoy it Scrawled red writing on my stomach, domination Submission on my thigh, pleading only reaction Clicked tongue into little demands and sharp breaths Dialogue of actions abbreviated in a glance, stance I like to control Watching from the window, She pinpoints desire from blocks away Pulling me near, she rests her red lipstick against my ear Hands move softly along my shoulders Patterns of authority cling to thighs Shivering out lullabies, voyeuristic gazes An audience she gave me in the middle of the afternoon I like to control In the mirror, her reflection becomes my own Domination cupped in my eyes, submission lingering in palm Everything else is toys and control the ultimate game Within my stance, glance and language Illustrated in the form of red lipstick.

Ophelia Millias’ Ophelia hangs above bed Arms open embracing a thought between partially opened lips With hair entangled between fingers, reeds As she slowly sinks, blends, meshes with swampy vegetation and small white flowers crying, sagging unrequited love, misplaced anguish At night I lay like her upon my stream of strewn sheets, mismatched pillows Mocking her grieving her embracing her lost innocence and drowning beauty Penetrated, violated by murky waters of deception I join her With eyes closed, I trace ripples’ outlines with tongue Breathing in the water ready to be released Arms fanned out with hair reaching out To touch, feel Ophelia my body lingers with hers Legs entwining in ends of her dress Fingers dance along back, enticing me into a web of soggy reeds Hair snaking across my face and smile as it brushes lips She presses mouth against my ear as I sleep to her mournful cries For a moment close to a year, I understand her trapped, isolated lifestyle Underneath these sheets of water her laughter circling in my ear I cry in Ophelia’s prison holding her closer, serenading with caresses We are fish Our bodies the terrain swimming around, around in each other’s gaze hanging on curves fingertips tracing, writing a history on my stomach hands run along back exploring her secrets, exposed at the nape of neck, slowly sneaking out of clenched teeth Ophelia wipes my tears away with her tongue telling me the day will be okay Water nymphs exchanging ourselves to a time we are forbidden, but under murky waters We cocoon ourselves in reeds plastered to our hips and thighs dreaming to whispered lullabies from white flowers floating, hovering, dancing in pupils of our eyes shadows dapple our skin, branding this slumber into my mind We join hands, entwining our essences within warmth of palms Shakespeare had it wrong Ophelia did not drown for love, but for herself To retain an identity from a crazy man Too busy speaking to ghosts and harboring hatred for relatives She sought freedom in those murky waters laughed as independence slowly filled lungs