From Ear To Ear

By Hart Heiden

The moment I saw your face I knew without a shadow of a doubt that a smile as radiant as yours deserved more coverage.  I clearly discerned, right away, from ear to ear, that I was brimming too. I was eager to become a compliant, stabilizing and nutritional component of your life and livelihood.  What I did not yet understand was that you were only me—that you were a mere reflection of the brilliant density I keep—hold it tightly to myself, but I wanted to share it with you. And I wanted you to get what I’ve got and who I am and what I’m not. I wanted to chase the journey alongside of you as a reminder of who I need to advocate myself to be—conditionally. I did not need to understand the upsets from the crowded diagram, or the lifelessness of humanity. What I was exposed to were the posits of my stowaway nature. My tendencies of which I thought I had well-hidden from the masses. I would let you peek in and see—see for your own self and irreplaceable showcase—an indefinite miraculous, but secure wonder. I wanted you to experience intimacy while still being loved at the same time.  I think it is only fair to disclose that what went on between us behind closed doors was reminiscent of what peace really feels like.  I am willing to overlook histories and flaws and imperfections of which only God intended on to teach us a lesson.  I knew I needed your presence to assure me that I was in the right place and doing the right thing with my life and who I had been. That my attempts of new heights and bludgeoned historic events were not cradled by anything new. This was all coming from me—this beauty? This heaven on Earth? This was literally my own point of view! And I got to experience that—at least for awhile—until turbulence and distance took us off for a mile—I measured it once. Safe to say that it was the wrong thing to do.  We both had our own outlooks, our own rational points of view. But did you notice once that time you woke up and I was right beside you staring into your eyes wondering what kind of visions you dreamt your own lies, but the vagabond in you knew they were partly true, paralyzed, by whether or not it was time for you to rise up out of bed and come up from the covers.  That I was a part of your story with lovers. And only I had a small piece of your story, but yet somehow I knew? That your skies had cleared up; straight from greys back to blue. And maybe there was a moment where you needed more sun, but I already gave all that I had we were one. And part of me dragged on for the story was fun—taking me places I would never have known, but only a queen could have done. And because I settled on the ideation of where I stood along the socioeconomic ladder—how I was the stowaway? And you were the chatter? I slipped into a landslide of which I did not expect. I mean? I kind of knew it was happening, but there was no redirect. There was no ability for me to stop you from leaving. My mind was made up—I knew you deserved more and better than grieving. The stones came down quick so I was left with no choice—promise me you’ll make it? Promise you’ll share your voice? Because the world needs to know—how beauty go. How it grows with the tides of the ocean’s of blow. The generations of layering and finishing first—to only discover that you are your worst—enemy, critic, pathetic, prolific. How can a light shine bright through acidic? Caustic is nature—crystalline is time vapor. You could gain the awareness of a minute on paper.

-Poewem