little house.

~ Chamberly ~ Leave a comment

what am I?
but that which is made
of parts, and parts,
and parts,

which even in a whole
cannot define for itself
the space it occupies,
nor purpose therein.

assembled as
may be the plans,
which laid down the
architecture of my soul,

I could not scale the walls,
but only dream of floors
and the vague idea
of ceilings.

structure of wit, and
senseless being,
of lofty thoughts and
unmet ideals.

the foundation
did crumble upon itself
and somehow
sustain throughout wreckage,

the silhouette of home,
undefined and wavering,
through flood and
assaulting winds.

inside.

~ Chamberly ~ Leave a comment

I want to be a singing ghost inside your whispered dream,
unremembered and unrepentant in the bright light of morning.
I want to be a sighing monster in your darkened closet,
rustling through old clothes and old memories you’ve packed silent.
I want to be a reflection in your fogging bathroom mirror,
where you write a message in the water and wait for a response,
I want to be the closing statement to your last eulogy,
the final sentiment imparted upon the world you’ve loved.
I want to be the opening to your always, always closing,
I don’t want to be the thing you left behind.

sing-a-long.

~ Chamberly ~ Leave a comment

you but merely smiled,
and I tripped over the curve of your cheek,
fell into the breath you exhaled,
sighing your sweetness onto my gracelessness.
your laughter like a song,
I danced my clumsy feet along its rhythm,
tried to find the tempo in my racing heart,
to worship you in movement.
you became a lullaby,
and I, a suckling babe,
staring upward into your heavens,
my heart begging to join your dreams.

bloom.

~ Chamberly ~ Leave a comment

with your fingers,
you sowed seeds in my skin,
and like that, I became a garden
from which flowers grew
under summer rain.

now, though it is winter,
and I wither, and I sleep,
I know your palms hold safe
the sun which you give
each day to me in silence.

wilderness.

~ Chamberly ~ Leave a comment

how I would have followed you with quilted roses
to the secret hidden spaces where we lied

under thick blankets of darkness
chilled and frenzied, dreamland of icy fire

how I would have hung your name about the stars
wrapped in willow branches and children’s hymns

swaying sweetly in the sighing breeze of thunder
quiet and crashing, solace in my heart of ire

how I would have found you in the mountains
crouched and creeping daisies in your hair

whispering faerie tales to the dead trees of winter
still and dancing, a tune on lovers’ lyre

how I would have handed you forever
could I just have found the time

slipping past the seconds, and the moments, all the miles
forgotten silken hours, threadbare hanging from the walls of memory

how I could have loved your tameness, had I been not wild and free

pennies.

~ Chamberly ~ Leave a comment

she jingles when she walks,
a pocket full of unanswered questions,
like a lifetime of spare change;
collected from passing strangers,
unremarkable faces in the grocery store.

she’s keeping time with the rhythm
of the beep, beep, beep of traffic
passing on the street;
impatient, and tragically slow like
sneakers on cracked sidewalks.

how far can these paths take
a girl with a fractured story,
where does the road lead to home?
a journey along the precipice
of a story no longer known.

camping.

~ Chamberly ~ Leave a comment

I want
to sit by the warmth
of the fire of your soul
to warm my aching bones
in your heat
to sing a song
without words
from my mouth
with no tongue
to touch the sky
of your skin
mapped with constellations
of all the places you’ve gone
to sink into darkness
with weary head
and thumping heart
to forget days
and nights
and space
and motion
all the pittances of life
to cut the thread of time
with the lover’s knife

immersion.

~ Chamberly ~ Leave a comment

I read the lines which curved your lips just so
but where I kissed your fresh ink you blurred
into something incomprehensible,
illegible in the same way the passion behind a sigh
can only be felt, and not recorded.

I turned the pages of your skin and read the stories you told,
kept pace with the way you twisted and turned
under my eager hands, prying eyes,
spread your wings open until I could see your waiting spine.

I pressed the sharpness of your corners against the
softness of my chest and breathed in the smell of you,
like a memory I’d kill to touch just one more time,
something so almost-real, I could taste it.

I felt your weight in my hands,
read your over-simplified summary as though it could ever
contain the vastness of you and the secrets
you might tell if I opened you up and opened myself up
and tried to feel it.

repetition.

~ Chamberly ~ Leave a comment

saying that there is love out there for everyone, is like saying that every star is a part of a constellation
when the truth is that some of us were just born, ignited, without close proximity to anyone who could see us shining.
and don’t you dare tell me that every cloud has a silver lining, because I’ve looked at the sun until it hurt my eyes, and blinded me for days,
and yet still, I could cry, and it didn’t matter that there wasn’t any rain.
don’t you tell me that things get better with time because I’ve counted the sand in my hourglass,
time after time, 30 minute intervals turned to days and turned to weeks and months,
just turning it over and over to see how much it took.
but when I sat it back on the shelf and resumed my place in line,
turned out that nothing was different and the hurts were still mine.