One Day
We're going to stand
Under that one bright red arch
In the desert.
When the sun sets, we
Will roar away into the night.
You will take pictures of stars.
One day
We're going to drive
To the coast
And fight over food and the radio.
We're going to take our clothes off,
Run through the surf,
Because they told us not to.
One day
We're going to save up and fly
To an old green island
Where you'll show me art and alcohol.
Maybe I'm "settled,"
Maybe you aren't sad anymore.
Come on, let's be tourists.
One day
We're going to stand
Together at the altar as
You marry the loveliest girl.
I, your best man who isn't one,
Will hand you the ring
And remind myself that it's not the end.

One day
We're going to rise
Above that American Dream
Because we're the better ones.

I shan’t be yours to keep for all the days,
Yet we will not allow this fact to hold
Us back from nights of dang’rous run-aways
To rivers making feeble young feel bold.
None knows these moments though they are our best,
For journals are for those with shameless lives;
I tire of passing-halfway wicked tests
That won’t allow mistakes like love to thrive.
Now I begin to question all I’ve heard
About your kind and how we’re not the same,
To disregard the tales of hearts like birds
Caged under books of ancient writ and shame.
So time still has to tell who remains free
And who is here in youth’s captivity.

Wednesday’s child is full of woe;
Poised on the week’s ****,
Am I stop or go?

Sky and seas and ice
And wind and heartache;
Blue soothes, tingles, and bites.

For a time associated with dying and death,
Fall is a brilliant swan song
Of deep blue sky and blazing red.

The National’s “England” keeps me sane:
“You must be somewhere in London;
You must be loving your life in the rain.”

No useful information or parables
Holds the coffee table, but instead
Decoration and stories that make life more bearable.

This is my decoration.
No seriously.

A picture in paper,
Ink, graphite, rubber--
This is me

An introvert
With compelling words
Becomes an open book

The ruler-rigid lines
Do not hinder or confine
But support

That mere scratches upon a page
Can create a new galaxy of  understanding
Is a neverending wonder

Over the vast horizon
of a blank page,
One can watch a universe unfold

With a blank page,
One receives the ultimate gift
Of a liberated mind

These are my words
This is my passion
This is me

Taking flight

If you raise a knuckle to your eye
And draw away one salty circle,
Perfectly symmetrical,
Then why have a tear at all?

If crying inconveniences you
No more than a sniffly nose,
No make-up smears,
Then your tears did not water the world.

If you can sob an ocean into your pillow
But pull away when thinking of the mess you made
Instead of just crying harder,
Then I hope for you to be forever cursed

By that one person who holds a mirror
In front of your unrecognizable face.