I know how you feel, it's been imbedded in my mind like a thousand little thorns and I can't lie. Im disappointed- actually, somewhere far beyond it. Deep in a little valley away from the peaks and ridges of the high-life, and the highlights, but that's okay 'cause I've got more too prove and it's bound to take time.

and the moon hangs low on nights like these;
when i put my own fires aside
in order to fight yours.

But I'm worried that'll come out sounding like an english essay- thesis, point, and blank, and somewhere in the blurr of the day you'll come across it; read it; and throw it out with the rest of your homework, because that's all I am. Someone elses mess you don't want to clean up? You've got too many messes of your own, and I'm one of the few that know you only sweep them under the rug.

and you slam doors behind you
because your angry
and because your lost


What if I told you I've got plenty of windex and a little more time that you think I can spare? Or, what if I told you that i'm here all that it takes to get to the bottom of those pretty brown eyes? I offer my time to renovate a little; lets remove that old rug and tear down the walls you built around yourself. I can't clean up my mess but I can surely clean yours-

I just want to lay next to you
and help you to forget
the years you spent
behind those brown eyes
afraid to say a word
to people who were supposed to love you...
but didn't.


The heart of the matter is that our late night sessions of one on one, 60 minutes style, as revealed some pretty elegant details lingering under your surface and the fact still remains that I'm the only one that knows. Maybe I can't stun you or wow you; or woo you in some original way- but I can surely showcase one single talent. No matter how deep you bury your secrets and pain away from everyone else but you, I'll still find them swirling inside of your eyes, and do my best to carry them away-

and kiss you kisses you can't ever take back.


The question really is: will you let me?


(wow... long. EVERYTHING IN ITALICS is actually copyright POLLY. if you cant find the words to say it- steal 'em- quoting's for those who aren't smart enough to come up with it in the first place)

ahhh, polly. why is it when there's something I can't put into words, and say so gracefully, you always do?

-excerp from Polly's latest poem:
"I'm sick of fighting for you.
I just want to hold you
in rhetorical possitions
and kiss you kisses you can't ever take back.
I just want to lay next to you
and help you to forget
the years you spent
behind those brown eyes
afraid to say a word
to people who were supposed to love you...
but didn't.
and I want to lick all your wounds
and make your scars shrink and disapear
but they're there for good."

when ever it is that
I work up the courage that lies
outside of my nervous bounds,
to turn around and say hello...
you're turned and walking away.

and in my selfish attempt to bring you closer,
I've already pushed you away.
one of these days I'll do it right.

My mouth moves and words come out, propelled perhaps

you've watched my moves,
imagine my fears,
identified and exploited my fatal weaknesses
suspiciously similar
to the other moves of God
theres difference in similarity and similarity
in our difference
and I applaud you
for your victory
caught in the chaos that is samsara,
there's demons on wing,
enchanting the mind with visions of beauty

our moves are fatal and our words often not whole

the wind shreads the trees,
until they come crashing through the windows
and running down my walls.
I'm alone in the waves of the rain up and down my panes,
streaming through the glass,
pooling on the hardwood in oceans, and
I'm alone on my patio.
I'm supported on the wind.
Im breathing in the excitement, and choking on the silence.
laying still in the silence,
barely dreaming in the silence...

Wake up, Wake up,
the whole world's on fire...
Im alone in the darkness,
as if the whole world shut their eyes.
and I'm reading your static face--
standing before me in the shadows.
you're a mile away...