You or Them

Sometimes I hear songs and remember why I love you 

Loved you

Sometimes I hear that song and remember how we both cried home silently that night 

Sometimes I hear a song and remember how I used to hear the tires against the road more clearly than the lyrics 

Sometimes I hear songs and wonder if you think about me when you hear them too 

Sometimes I hear the words meet in verses and replay how your lips use to softly harmonize with the lyrics 

Sometimes I turn the radio off because somehow so many more songs became more relevant 

Some songs don't sound the same 

Some songs don't seem the same 

Some songs have been erased 

Some songs allow my heart to dwell in the company of pain

You keep coming up

But you have been deleted 

We have been deleted 

You keep pushing me away 

You keep giving me reasons to come closer

You keep preaching of your hate 

Yet your constant interest displays your love 

And he thinks I'm still good 

He still sees the little girl in my eyes 

He thinks I'm still that girl

But he knows of nothing except fixing mistakes 

Yes he knows acceptance very well

But too much of anything is never too good

You know? 

And I think I'm witnessing two in love 

I think it's love

I think it's great 

Destruction is greater though 

Remember?

I don't know if it's defined in her drunken laugh but definitely in her sleepless nights 

The wine enhances, the weed lets her take chances

I know 
        because it's been too long I live in these circumstances

-C.C.  

Moments

and I hate how every afternoon on my subway drive home my ears have to stumble across lovers fighting so recklessly. I wish I could scream in return telling them to stop the bullshit. 
I recall all of our anger and frustration over all those same pointless little things, and that's the thing, their pointless. Yet those pointless moments are everything but pointless..they are untouchable and unable to hold the essence of being bittersweet because the end is never determined
until it has to be.
Don't take advantage of these moments.
I now find myself wishing I had more pointless things to fight over.

xoxo,
x lover              
                                                                                                                                              -C.C.

Lunch Money

I remember his madness in all things

And the way he kind of smirked while he casually acknowledged the intertwining truths and lies that stood in the midst of accomplishment and failure, which were apart of Our Journey, or rather just the fault of mankind

I guess it was sort of beautiful, sort of fucked

But the truth is sad, don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.

Truth is naked, Truth is vulnerable.

Yet it is better than living in between the comfort of lies

    coming to terms with the madness that lies under the surface appeals lonesome, but is then a structure able to hold its own

     in the way it is said to be so beautiful when we fall in love with someone else’s flaws

becoming beautiful on what you shed disgust over

Hey, that’s beautiful.

Do I acknowledge the truth, or let the facts fall away with my Sunday church dresses

Do I swim out to sea, or stay in the comfort of the sunrays that have risen and fallen everyday I have.

Do I stop using my allowance on school lunch because I know a cigarette does you well while you mute out your mother’s screams over the misplacement of her alcohol even though her humility was lost ages ago and never attempted to be found.

But I guess we supply the Lost- and-Found is these types of given situations

I listen to your dark heart because my eyes would not be equipped to enhance my ability to come to understanding the pain you truly feel

We feel more in the dark than we can ever see in the light

I am his home

I am his stability

I guess I am his Lost- and – Found

And I keep looking back

Looking front

And every time I look, I seem to be more lost than found.

- C.C.

Scattered

I don't know where my things now lie
Maybe somewhere in between my forsaken cry

I keep returning to pick the pieces back up
but every time I go back, I end up more stuck

I know each person has problems that hover
I wish mine were over a heart break from a distant lover

I know the phrase, once a plate is broken it cannot be repaired
But all these pieces are gone that I once loved, that I shared

I guess thats why its become so hard to lend
People like to treat emotions like the money they spend

Greedy and selfish, like the cold, restless night
but once it's gone, its forever out of site

Except the thing with emotions is we forever carry that fright.

-C.C. 

Unrecognized Reflections

He was never the type of guy to higher the volume of the radio because you were previously humming the lyrics under your voice. 

I guess her unrecognized smile had become his greatest possession 

He was never the kind to order dessert even after you said not to

I guess he held the key to the golden gate that my father told me would always guard my heart

Why was weakness so friendly

Why did I let her lure me in with her ever so unrecognized, cunning smile 

Why are those the only types of smiles I now found myself surrounded by 

He was never the type to stop in between the beautiful instances that Hemingway and Frost left for us to discover in a part of their scattered literature that seemed to cover my bedroom floor. 

Yet all that beauty that seemed to light my path, was nothing but worthless gravel he stepped right over.

He was never the type to say he missed your smell over 2 a.m. phone calls

I guess there was a frolicking echo that appeared somewhere in between his confusion and knowledge 

But he had already ignited the silence between my ever so distant body and soul 

-C.C.

Echoes

It kind of comes on slowly.

I try to recall the times before I could hear the creak of my pounding heart

  so clearly

Why can I not recall the taste of innocence, nor love, nor the way my mother use to cradle me

Why were these so jagged now..

Rougher than the surface we tried to scratch, which only wounded me in return

As my pace increases, the thump of my heart becomes the soundtrack of my life

Ironic how my anthem enjoys the songs of pain

He likes you at your weakest.

He likes your company.

Why do I run?

Why do we run?

Why do we attempt in escaping the inevitable

What is confrontation? What is understanding.

All this generation knows is running.

My heart sewn into my arties, veins, mind, and soul.

She takes care of me, yet I have brought her the greatest, aching pain.

She beats so beautifully, in the only tone she has ever known

Execution.

She executes her job, what she knows she has to do.

Why do I run?

Why am I so intelligent yet so foolish

The day she stops executing what she has always done and her mind is at rest, mine will be up in the clouds wondering why I fed the creak ever so constantly.

- C.C. 

Snow globe Sity

Plastic Barbie dolls. Small waist, big wallets, with even bigger houses. Shiny Skin, Shiny jewelry, Shiny floors, Shiny kitchen. Snow globe. When flipped upside down and tossed and turned, its snows pretty right? No escape. Torment is company. What’s more intoxicating, the inescapable water, or the plastic which covers every piece of my body and cannot be disposed of? Unless life is disposable. That’s optional. No eye contact, but Ray Bans took care of the fact that there was no more enthusiasm. What is motivation? Innovation? Inspiration? I know daily routines. Kids. Pilates. Clean (whatever the nanny has not). Hair Salon. Publix. Kids. Dinner. Turn my back. avoiding. but the money, the money is good, this is what Ken has worked for, he deserves celebration and happiness. Yeah one drink. Yeah two. Yeah three. Yeah seven. Yeah blackouts. Yeah for staring at roofs at 4 a.m. while you stare into the eyes of Barbie 2015, but Barbie 2012 is unburnable, not disposable, just elastic. That’s the thing with plastic. It’s just always kind of there. The mothers do brunches. I do bottomless mimosas. What purse? What model? What house? What hair dresser? What interior designer? What job?  What brand? What housewife mom? What gossip? Oh gossip. What are friends? What is company? What is full? Not full like I just had a lobster, or duck, or some escargot. Full like California, Venice Beach hotdogs that are shared and messy while the sunshine that use to enchant our afternoons of endless smiles with an orange and pink tint to our chuckles,our secrets, and sexy stares. What are secrets? Trust. But he loves me right? He loves me so its okay. The diamond reminds me, because remember in his vows? The words were meant, right? Right Ken?

Maybe I should’ve remembered the Ring was plastic as well.

-C.C.