Dusty Calcote Poetry

You only ever meant the most to me.
Like the most beautiful moments
Compacted in my memory may just be
The day we heard the earth crack like brittle bones
Your memory breaks me in waves.
Stuck cycles.
Rolling in the doldrums over and over again.
In beauty.
Burning.
I lost you,
But I won’t forget you,
Doesn’t mean anything
If you never say it back
And God damn it I’ve learned that’s a hard fact to deal with.
When you’re too busy peeling sunburns from heavens heavy sunlight
Off your back like demons
To notice the the spikes in Christ’s palms growing larger
Like Jesus finally had the strength to face his father
Saying I am just man,
Not a pawn for your holy wars.
My dear,
If I could burn dust in the sunlight
Just long enough to see your pupils dance wildly
I would have.
But I am just a man.

I guess I should have realized I was more of a rebound
and less of a consideration, but what can I say,
I try to be optimistic in the right places
Without much luck.
I think I’d be better off if my tongue wasn’t always so stuck
With patience,
While my brain keeps turning over treetops and bandage boxes
To find the roots of my battle scars buried beneath thick skin.
Some say it’s what we call the human condition
I know my bright ain’t always the light show you wanted to see,
But some people are flash grenades.
If you feel one pass by you, be sure to throw it back,
Because I’ve made it through one to many minefields blindfolded
To risk giving in to your heart attack.
I swear we looked like young doves falling,
Partially from clipped wings,
Partially just giving in to gravity
Holding on to each other like skeletons.

So tell me,
If I were to write you a letter of my best epitaphs,
and send it with a box of roses
To make up for the stumbling that my prose did
Could I scrape my way through to your skin
Just under your confidence and defense systems,
And catch you bare bones in the center,
Where the hollow rests.
And hold you there.
Tell me
Would it make you change my epitaph
To something more worth remembering,
You only ever meant the most to me.
Your pull sends me dancing.
Like stars stuck in orbit waiting,
Too afraid to come crashing down in someone else’s atmosphere.
But I am just a man.

I guess I should have realized I was more of a rebound
and less of a consideration, but what can I say,
I try to be optimistic in the right places
Without much luck.
I think I’d be better off if my tongue wasn’t always so stuck
With patience,
While my brain keeps turning over treetops and bandage boxes
To find the roots of my battle scars buried beneath thick skin.

Some say it’s what we call the human condition.

So tell me,
If I were to write you a letter of my best epitaphs,
and send it with a box of roses
To make up for the stumbling that my prose did
Could I scrape my way through to your skin
Just under your confidence and defense systems,
Could I catch you bare bones in the center,
Where the hollow rests.
And hold you there.
Tell me,
Would it make you change my epitaph
To something more worth remembering,
Or would you be just as scared of me?

Your memory breaks me.
In waves.
Stuck cycles.
Rolling in the doldrums
Over and over again.
In beauty.
Paralyzed in the eyes that broke me.
We realized the distance between our camp fires that night.
Searching through trees for life
Like specs of dust in brilliant sunlight,

I lost you,
But I won’t forget you,
Doesn’t mean anything

If you never say it back

And God damn it I’ve learned that’s a hard fact to deal with.
When you’re too busy peeling sunburns from heavens heavy sunlight
Off your back like demons
To notice that some people are just flash grenades.
If you feel one pass by you
Be sure to throw it back before you’re blinded.
Because I’ve made it through one too many minefields blindfolded
To risk giving in to your shockwave.

I know my bright ain’t always the light show you wanted to see,
But I still bare it.
Burning bowls like pushing through paychecks,
About to push my soul out of my fingertips,
Could burn rich with promises
Like I could burn better until my bic is burned out
But I’m too bitter from letting life misplace everything I hold dear
Before I understood that sometimes love
Looks like two young doves on a park bench
Holding each other like skeletons.

My Dear,
If I could burn dust in the sunlight
Just long enough to see your pupils dance wildly,
believe me,
I would have.

Even though I know you have no faith in what I’m saying right now,
I’ll still be the spotlit asshole on your soap box show
Just so I have the chance to speak.
But

“I’m sorry, please don’t take the blame for this,
and my feelings for you still haven’t changed”

Are far too contradicting for this conversation.
Let me rephrase that…

Repeating broken muscle memory spasms
Due to far too broken in break up defense systems
Isn’t making my case any more convincing.

And honestly I knew
“Born at birth with a disease no one will ever bother naming”
Was a bullshit line, I just didn’t think you’d notice.
But then again I never thought you’d notice me.
Standing so unconvincing in my stability,
Like constantly carrying cardboard stand ups of what I wished I could be
But I suppose I can’t view myself without some level of bias.

Tell me, why is it our hearts have become over run by reason?
Because what better reason to follow than our hearts.
And why is it emotions are considered faulted next to doing whats best,
Especially when it’s only best for everyone else.

Because the truth is, I just want to dance with you.
Maybe a simple two step, nothing more than a waltz,
Just me and you in a place we could care nothing less about.
Just dancing, without fear of the minefield constructing our every move.
Like we were Bonnie and Clyde laughing in the face of everything stacked against us.
Because all anyone ever wanted was a love that they could go away on,
At least for a little while.

All I ask is that we can enjoy each other’s company however long it may last.
Because I’ve always been able to hear the ticking of time bombs
And I may have never found one that failed me,
But I’ve noticed you seem to wear your beauty like a kevlar vest,
And your scars like ammunition.
I may not be the most impressive of my species you’ve encountered,
But over the years I’ve transformed this chest into a bomb shelter.
I’ve learned from experience that I can take
Whatever aftershock you may leave me with.

So take everything you’ve got,
Load it into that chamber you keep your heart locked up in
and open fire.
But please, don’t go easy on me.
Bomb shelters weren’t made for that.

Fuck me for remembering how good it feels to lay beside you.
Tie me up in the bedsheets, lay all my I miss you’s on the table,
And fold the stars in half
So they always have something warm to hold inside of them.

I don’t even want to bother
Considering consolations among their constellations
Like mothers and fathers, don’t even bother.
Your goodbyes are my only excuse these days.
And these new hellos,
Well they only seem to slightly dull the echo
Relentlessly reverberating between my ear drums
From smashing my head on the wall again and again
Trying to pound out memories of ever being more than your friend
Of ever actually considering myself happy.
This is not a break up poem,
This is not a broken up poem,
This is a you live too many miles from my bed on nights like this
And I don’t know how I feel about it poem.
This is a that other girl lives too many years ago
To still be fresh enough in my memory
To hold on to and I fucking miss her poem.
Believe me, I wish I knew why I cling so easily to feeling desperate.
This is something I never asked for;
Born at birth with a disease no one will ever bother naming,
Hopeless romantic defines me too easily.
And though you haven’t left yet.
That good night kiss after my shitty bar gig set sunk everything in,
And I can hear the call of being alone again.

Call me a liar if I said I didn’t know what it would feel like,
And call me a liar if I said it wasn’t expected,
But please don’t use my own words against me,
Putting them down on paper and repeating them weekly
For a room full of people who have no clue
How hard the true meaning hits me
Hurt’s enough without you reminding me that I fucked up again.
See I had doubts about this novel before it even began,
Now I’m just trying to figure out how to end the story.
But it seems I’m only comfortable writing tragedies these days.
And as much as I wish I could say I love you back,
I’ve already let this go on longer than I should have.
Girl I should have never given you what you wanted.
Born at birth with a disease no one will ever bother naming,
I have a tendency to be brutally honest.
And to be honest,
I can never love you like you want me to.
But thank you.

I know that you are beautiful,
In the same way I know that thunderstorms are breathtaking.
But before this rain dance becomes anything less than habitual meditation,
Assure me that everything contained inside of your lungs
Is worth holding my breath for.

Because the fact remains
That I still write myself to sleep because I am broken.
And I still sit in silence after perfect scores from impertinant judges
Because they just don’t get it.
Don’t get me wrong, I am very thankful,
And I appreciate your listening ears

But these words are not for your judgement.
These words are not for you to relate to.
You see these words were drawn
From shards of glass still stuck in vericose veins
Staining my sheets like bloody murder
Because no matter how loud
I scream mercy like masochism in the mirror
God.
Just.
Don’t.
Come.
That.
Way.

And he sure as hell doesn’t mistake Dear John letters for parables.
But Maybe that’s the difference between me and the man from Nazareth.

And though these hands may never make the blind see
And my words will never make the deaf hear
I can still wake up in the morning and remember you,
Vivid as last night’s nightmare,
And graceful as the suicide that ended it,
But you were never dead to me,
So much as I was forever resting in pieces to you.

So carve your gravestone out of my promise
And buy the gravedigger a fresh shovel
Because I know
No hole will ever be deep enough for you to bury my memory inside of.

I hope it still haunts you;
That nightmares of midnight kisses could still have come true
If you weren’t soo scared to open your eyes and see me
Laying beside you wondering if I was dreaming,
Holding you like a headstone.

See I’ve been dreaming of summer again lately.
I’ve been dreaming of the quiet calm
Of half hearted afternoon kisses,
Between deep sighs and after-the-fact smiles.

I’ve been dreaming of evening sunsets
Framing your face with glowing complacency,
Illuminating every stray hair as proof
Of the beauty pouring out of you.

I imagine you and I
Slow dancing among daisies in the stifling night
As the ghosts of our past gather around
To chant soul sick revival gospels
In perfect time to the birth of our absolution.

-

I know that you are beautiful,
In the same way I know that dreams are breathtaking.
And it’s in the morning, just before I open my eyes
That I finally know why you didn’t.
Because I’m afraid you won’t be there when I do.
But the nightmare is..
The difference is..
I’m right this time.

I write poems about pretty girls I haven’t met yet.
Pretty girls who will hold me on a porch painted lovely,
Surrounded by bricks solid as the kiss I’m standing on.

I write poems like vocalizing printed paper carbon copy cliche daydreams
Will make you realize that I’ve been looking
For someone with harp strings for eye lashes,
And a smile that makes the sun feel like stepping it’s game up.

I write poems standing on mountains of my insecurities,
Shooting red flares at starlight
Hoping they might just be bright enough
To make you notice the tremble in my stutter step trigger finger,
Because shooting down metaphoric romanticism
In the eyes of strangers doesn’t do much for breaking the ice these days.

So here I stand.
Awkward as bad poetry,
And I’ve heard a lot of poems talk of taking things at face value,
But I’ve never considered myself too attractive
So please, dig deeper than this,
Because under all of this false confidence
Stands the same shy little boy I’ve always been.
The one that sits in the corner not saying a word
Just because he enjoys listening to conversations,
The one that still gets the most overwhelming sensations
From simple elementary things
Like holding your hand,
Or hugs that just don’t let go,
Or just sitting beside you,
Knowing that I like you and you like me
And we feel that same butterfly stomach for each other
And I don’t have to doubt anything,
Because I’ve been known to doubt myself,
But I’m trying to not be so predictable,
So I’ll just tell you what I know.

My name is Dusty Calcote.
I’m a cliche poet,
A washed up musician,
A hopeless romantic,
And my heartstrings are constantly tuned to a low E minor.
If you listen closely you can hear the groan of my breathing
Like bag pipes.
Slow and steady hit the notes right
And I might just find you
In the held breath of silence
Deafening as all get out
Ringing like your name in my eardrums
Pounding out the darkness like choirs singing hardcore breakdowns
To empty cathedrals of cut throat songbirds
Under ceilings painted by Michael Angelo graffiti bombers.

Also, I prefer masochism over honesty sometimes,
So I’ll only say this once.
I’ve been told I give the softest kisses.

But for now,
I’ll just stand here,
Awkward as bad poetry,
And recite cliche poems about pretty girls I haven’t met yet.

I’d like to believe that we are dancing.
Not a two step. No swing, not even a waltz.
But never the less
We dance,
To heartbeats and moonsongs,
Sky-blues and love sick lullabies
Slow enough to close our eyes,
To shut out the monsters that wont stay away,
To comfort a trembling heartbeat
To hold our hands when we reach for temptation,
When we reach for the stars.
We all dance the same songs.
Try this with me.

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe
Release your pain,
Your worry,
Shame,
And doubt out.
For we are dancing,
Breathing,
Dancing,
And we are beautiful.
As we dance to the same song as the moon
You are beautiful as the moon,
Dancing with it’s earth,
Holding each other soo tenderly
As tides rise and fall in their oceans
You and I sing the same song.
It is a beautiful song.

If you don’t believe me
Take my hand.
Hold it inside of yours.
Feel my heartbeat beating it’s way through my fingertips.
My heart, wants to hold you.
My oceans are singing for you.
If you would listen, they would tell you;

There are monsters underneath my bed.
The ghosts of my past lie deep beneath the sheets
Waiting for me to crawl into them
So that they may climb up and over my tired shoulders
To whisper from between my eyelids
Quit breathing so easy
I’ve never been one to sleep softly.
I hope to do so some time.

But some nights, I hold my pillow like it is a pretty girl
Laying beside me with her head on my chest,
Rising and falling with every shallow breathe I take
As her hair quietly sings sweet songs of soft serenity
So that I may breathe them into my tired soul.
I am anxiously awaiting the day I hear that lullaby I’ve know for soo long
Sounding back to me as clear as holy water
Waking in her eyes,
Soaking in her cheeks,
As the sun somehow finds it’s way back to them,
Making the small hairs on her neck glow lovingly.
On that day I will baptise myself
And finally
Breathe
Softly.

Your God paints the sky.
Play Devil, make it worthless.
You are beautiful.

Load your volcano,
Let us paint the whole sky black.
Dip our bones in ash.