Poems by Rusti Janecka
Brand Name High School
I see all of these absolutes,
in the depth of their emptiness,
I swim around in it, splash and play,
all while the aphotic cold nips at my toes . . .
This is their sea,
landlocked and unloving,
never knowing the terrain that follows,
that the non-conformist use them to soak tired feet . . .
after a day of enlightenment.
I'm leaving to live,
gonna squeeze the life out of everything,
gonna lay my track,
and lose the map to the way back.
Home will be my memory, if even that.
These wretched nubby wings
have been yearning to fly,
and they'll get their chance tonight!
new love new walks new day new colored chalks
to outline my being.
They will all breath,
and I will be there to answer.
I will breath the will to reinvent until the end.
I put a couple sheets of paper
in my future box,
with simple words embellished.
And I open the lid to do a review,
sing my protocol,
and the wood, solidity, intoxication, engulfs me.
Lack of lavender grace.
rose petal dryness
like all those before.
Only adornments are those damn ribbons.
keeping me from going the extra inch
.. to look and love is to die and fry...
pass the scissors.
and I'm wanting,
and it doesn't come,
just doesn't know how.
Says that I've grown,
and puts on the smile that makes me weep,
tells me of things I should be proud of him for.
Tries to give me my lifetime's dose of paternity
in one visit.
and I see him.
As just a man.
breathing my air, and calling my name,
but there are no words.
I just lie in his arms,
cheek against arm,
indulging in his smooth,
smelling his scent...
and oh his proud stubble.
With this I suck it up
knowing that the only man who can validate me will be gone in a minute.
and he pulls away,
"Watch out for the wheels of change"
"Change is coming."
I see in his eyes he means both of us,
maybe he wasn't even sure.
But he goes...
last sight is him walking to the car,
"lock the door behind me"
Biographical sketch: I'm 16 and long to be a nomad. Pastimes
ALL of the fine arts, consuming lots of Indian food and coffee, and
Rusti Janecka recommends:
Essential Rumi by Rumi (translated by Coleman Barks)
Reason: The bare truth of it knocks you over, forcing you
to pull yourself up from the inside.
Recommendations for writers:
Never fret over word placement or form. These things come far later.
your rawest self onto that paper with no one else in mind.