Istanbul (Not Constantinople)

I don' think they realize

I don't do it

to make my college applications

look better.

I don't do it

because it's a hobby.

I don't do it because

I need to compete in something.

I do this

because it is the only way

my soul can ever breathe.

It is the one thing

I want to throw myself

into with reckless abandon.

I do this

because without it,

I would drown.

Because it makes me

happy.

I do this.

And it's what I want

in my life.

Poetry.

It's like

taking in a deep breath

of clean, after-rain air

and exhaling

and knowing all you've

ever needed to know

with impossible clarity.

I do this,

because it is who I am.

It is woven into my being.

It is written in the stars.

Sand.

(Intentionally stanza-break-less)

Salt lies thick on my cracking lips,

face seaward in the thick shroud

of a morning remembered

where the coastline once met

the jutting cliffs with admirable

abandon. Here the terns call

like the low rumbling of the

pine trees clinging to the craggy rocks.

The feel of salt settles deep

in the worn grooves

of my hands,

resting in miles of sand

the color of one's hair

after months and months

at sea. In a rocking ship

on a distant shore,

my crackling hands raise sand

in a greeting to the grey clouds

hanging like wet linens

on a sagging clothesline.

The humidity rolls of the

roiling sea, and crashes into my

upward face, as the waves

hurl themselves in an angry lust

onto the breaking, ancient rocks.

The tides come to lap at the last

of yesterday's dilapidated sand castles,

disfigured by the late-night rains.

The miniscule clams blow salt

to the surface. My toes trace the holes

of homes where they hide from the

incoming tides, who kiss the shores

with placid tentativeness.

I throw myself to the sea,

who will only throw me back,

to lie gasping for breath

as the sailboats come in.

-

You know something?

I abhor how much I like him.

It's basically sickening.

He's just, there.

In my thoughts

and in my mind.

He's sweet and funny

and dorky.

And he's stuck in my mind.

A broken record

by your favorite band.