The jagged pebbles poked and dimpled my body
as I sat on the shore of Aleutian Alaska.
Each rock was dusted with patches of grass like an old man’s tangled toupee…
Not that the epic beauty of nature should be compared to
something so artificial and ugly.
The air was so cold and crisp that its fresh purity burned my peeling nose.
I am not a Native Alaskan.
I feel like an alien spectator, blemishing this astounding autonomous habitat…
But I am trying not to disturb the locals.
I haven’t seen any grizzlies yet, which maybe I should be happy about.
I wouldn’t want to be anyone’s meal-

What was that?
A puff.
An exhale.
A lingering ghost waltzed atop the water and faded.
Further down the bank I saw more dancing vapors.
Is that what it looks like when a whale comes up for air?
I have never seen how their breath shoots up the water like that.
The mist is like a ballroom dance class
swaying and skirting about the glossy, smooth surface.

Speechless…


Do you remember in elementary school how you knew everything about animals?
What was who and who was where and why?
I forgot a lot.
I forgot that whales are mammals, needing air just as I do.
Obviously, they can hold their breath longer… But I still try to hold on.
I guess those fun facts that you collected as a kid fade as you grow older.
All those little things get whisked away,
And waltz until they dissipate in the wind.
Against all reluctances,
We inhale.
We exhale.
And we forget some things along the way.

Speak completely
Don't skip, you'll stumble, upon your words
And when you choke, you will turn
Away your face in shame and defeat
Speak completely.


Speak completely.
For when you hide your words
Your tongue will weaken
The life in your eyes will fade away.
And all you exhale is what you wanted to say.
Speak completely.


Speak completely
For your thoughts will crowd and collect
Inside of your head.
Swimming and swirling
Waiting to be said.
You try to ignore them
But they keep you up as you lie in bed.
Speak completely.


Speak completely
There are people who listen and care
And think and share your thoughts.
Please don't be scared to
Speak completely.


Speak completely
because the world goes on
While you remain reserved
Without ever knowing
Who you were.
Speak completely.


Speak completely
For your words are powerful, bright, and beautiful.
You could meet people
who find you fascinating and gifted.
Your words could carry you far and high
away from your dismal disposition.


But you are the one
who hides in a cave
And drowns yourself in echoes.


But you are the one
who hides in a cave
And drowns yourself in echoes.


who hides in a cave
And drowns yourself in echoes.


And drowns yourself in echoes.


In echoes.


Echoes.


Speak completely.

I love the vintage crackle
Of a passive microphone.
Each warm hum captured like
Our campfire in a Polaroid.
Every lethargic pop sounding like
The raindrops on our car roof.
I am swirling and lost in your skin.
Your voice glides through the current-
Distorted and tinned.

I am drowning in the static.
It started with gentle waves
Nursing on my pruned feet.
But they soon tugged me away
From the sand beneath you and me.
I am soaked from the ocean!
I am burning from the fire!
The hiccups and coos of your voice
Is something I no longer admire.

My time was consumed
As I swallowed each lotus flower.
I forgot all that I needed to do.
I forgot all that I wanted to happen.
I burned all of my bridges
because you made me believe
you were my only dream.
But I’ve awoken from my hypnosis,
and it is too late to repair who I once was,
because all I have become
is the vintage crackle between your words.

The Moon

She tiptoed through the mountains that night
hoping she could find a place to hide.
She searched the convexities and crevices for shadows
where she could whisper her knowledge to the owls.
Her thoughts overwhelmed her-
Sour. Swirling. Hissing.
They pulled at her loose skin like the aggressive hands of a taffy maker.
Each thought that came to her in the shadows
with its horrendous, grotesque honesty,
she painted a little yellow dot upon the dark blue rocks.
The dot’s vibrancy was cold and distant,
but each bright freckle she counted upon the rocks,
reminded her of the end of blackness
and soon arising illumination.


The Sun

He emerged on the crest of the hills every morning
as he came into town from his work in the mines.
His lantern rested in the crook of his swollen shoulders,
growing brighter and brighter the closer he got home.
The dewy grass wiped away his ashy clothes,
revealing his warming pastel colors.
Some days, the hairs on his chin were thick and dark.
Some days they were thin, wispy, and white.
But this morning as his colors arose,
his jaw was as naked as a blue-eyed newborn.
He smiled blissfully at all the animals and at all the trees
as he trekked his way down the hill.
But just before the bottom,
he disappeared behind speckled blue rocks.


Blue Rocks and Yellow Dots

She panicked at the evanescence of her blue rocks and yellow dots.
They would return, but she always forgot.
Her blanketing shadows began to recede
as the sky turned to hues of orange and pink.
"Good Morning." he sweetly spoke.
He grabbed her hand before she scurried away.
"Oh, don't go! You need a hug!"
She groaned as the warmth ached her iced bones,
"Why must you always do this?" she said almost hissing.
She recoiled as his grip loosened.
He looked at her slightly offended, but his golden eyes softened as he told her,
"Because you are too lost in your head.
You scare yourself with the darkness
and hide yourself from others.
And don't even pretend that you don't treasure
these few moments we have together."
She looked down at her hands and started peeling off the yellow paint.
She could feel his lustful gaze burning into the top of her head.
She couldn't look at him anymore.
"Good Night," she uttered before she ran off to find the shadows again,
where she could be in the comfort of her
blue rocks and yellow dots.

I heard a girl in the other room.
She whispered soft, choked sobs;
her exhales chopped,
and inhales stuttered.
Her moans were as sorrowful as a loon,
making my heart feel turned inside out.
I could not stand listening to her cry alone much longer,
so I stood up
and walked to her doorway.
I did not enter, just waited outside her framed room;
feeling numb and helpless.
Her eye lids were plump
Her nose was glossy
and she stood looking back at me.
Her tears rolled down her slumped shoulders,
and her wilted knees barely held her up.

I gazed at her golden tiger eyes,
her curly cinnamon hair,
her cocoa tinted skin,
and statuesque figure.

I frowned at her.
"Why don't you love me?" I asked.

I open my window
and let strangers' breath flow through the screen
just hoping your exhale would be carried
from miles away through my window and onto my neck.
But I already know,
I'm going to be cold in the morning.

I leave my door open
so I can watch the shadows on the wall across the hallway
smear back and forth past my room,
just hoping your silhouette would walk into my doorway
But I already know,
the door will be closed in the morning.

I turn my music on
to drown out the quiet
to block the sound of plastic wheels on the pavement of the late-night-skateboarder
to slur the punctual tick of the clock
to wipe away the sounds of tears upon my cheeks.
But I already know,
the same sad song will be repeating in the morning.

I turn out my light
and pale in the absence,
hoping that when the sun rises in the morning
and its blinding blaze slips through the slits of the curtains
that your smile with be the brightest thing I see.
But I already know,
you wont be here to have your back turned to me.

I pull up my blankets
all the way up to my chin and past my forehead
baking myself in the smells of the sheets
trying to find the scent of you left in my fuzzy blanket from the night in the field.
But I already know,
I lost that months ago.

But I also know,
that I haven't lost you yet.

And I don't plan on it.

The land flooded,
the sky was dark and wet.
I had reached the bottom of my jar
and there was no glory.
It was all drained away and swallowed up by careless mouths.

A pool had formed
in the flooded land
and in it sat two boys;
young like adolescences
yet humble and mature with knowledge.

I felt like I should know them,
but their faces were masked by their black hoodies.
And their voices matched everyone's
and they matched no one's.

One beckoned me to swim to them.
They were familiar
in a welcoming stranger way.
So I submerged into the comforting warm water,
and I slowly swam next to the boy.

The one who beckoned asked me,
"What is your story?"
and
just as easily as unzipping a jacket,
I spilled out my worries
he soaked up my loneliness and aches,
and I found myself
curled up in his arms.

He took my empty jar
and filled it with a glowing light.
The land surrounding
was still cold and dark
but the light inside was the one thing that brought me
warmth and renewal
and undying hope and joy.

He was the holy man.
Who welcomes everyone
and forgives everyone.
He is equal.
He is greater.
He is the one who sat in the flooded land
and waited for me
so that he could give me
a wholesome warmth
that I've never felt until now.

An October night
of 1823 in
a town of England

In the darkness of ev’ning
a man was hit with a pipe.

He was dragged away,
to a shack far from the town
to meet his vermis.

The man laid on a table
with ankles and wrists strangled.

Slowly, he awoke
frightened that the room was not
the one he dozed in.

“Where am I?” he asked confused
by ev’rything around him.

“Somewhere,” came a smooth
voice from the shadows behind
a large contraption.

A trail of gears showed the path
towards the straps on his limbs.

The voice spoke again,
“Do you know Miss Dianna?
Do not lie, Gustav.”

Gustav recognized the voice,
he replied nervously, “No.”

The machine started
pulling slowly on his limbs.
“Ah! Okay, yes, yes!”

The clicking of the gears slowed
but the straps still tugged his limbs.

“What did I tell you?”
the voice mockingly asked him.
“Who is she, to you?”

“I-umm,” The straps pulled again.
“I won’t be patient Gustav.”

“Ok! She was a
beautiful woman, that I
had an affair with.”

The ropes did not stop, the voice
said, “The truth can be painful.”

Gustav’s body ached,
his arms and legs began to
pull from their sockets.

“I believe this is yours,” and
across the floor, slid a watch.

It was pure gold. “ I
found it in my bed, with my
*****, ******, dead wife!"

Before he was torn apart
Gustav uttered, “She liked it.”

It was the winter of 2009,
14 inches of snow had fallen overnight.
It was the most I had seen in years,
since when I was 3 years old living in Kalama.

My siblings and I
as soon as we saw the snow
rushed into our
heavy winter coats
and overall snow pants
with mittens and caps
to cover the gaps.
Then we raced outside
moving like marshmellows
with our golden labrador with us.

Determined.
we laid the first angels of the snow
and created the first snowman of the season.
The snow man didn't have buttons for eyes
or a carrot nose.
He had stones for eyes
and a smile and ears made of granola bars
and peanut butter pinecones for hair.

Our mom named it the birdfeeder snowman.
But our fat old goldfinch labrador ate him
before the birds could ever get to snack.

I've been lost the past couple of days.

Nevermind,
I've been lost the past couple of weeks.
Time has been pushing by
painfully leisure.

Days have become so long
that there is no longer a day and night,
no longer a black and white.
You wake up,
go out,
work,
come home,
cry,
sleep.
It's an infinite cycle,
and I am lost in the grey.

My mind is in a constant haze,
lacking emotion
and achieving an absurd amount of stress.
I feel as if I am about to
burst,
like an overfulled waterballoon,
but I am yet to be thrown.

I am stuck in the between.
Not a yes or no,
indecisive.
No starting or stopping,
restrained.
Just left to wait
in this enternal limbo.

I am obsessed,
obsessive
obsessing
over you.
So much that I think I've become ill.

My mind throbs
from all the memories.
Vague and vivid
and even imageless,
remebering all of them
from when we were five
to just last weekend.
My eyes are red and itchy,
my tears that just won't cease.
My body aches,
my muscles feel twisted and ripped
beneath my skin,
as if you tore through my arms
trying to escape from our embrace.
My chest feels heavy
carrying this burden.
And my breath feels thick
with the old blood of our compassion.

I am sick.
Sick with you
and why everything seems totally fine one moment,
and then I get lost in the lull of my empty bedroom,
with a knife reflecting
your handsome rigid face.

Red
the color of passion.
Love and Beauty.
Hate and Bloodshed.

Do you remember the red dress?
The one I wore the last day I saw you.

Gosh, I love you.

I talk about you often.
I think about you constantly.
I gaze at the only picture I have left of you
that hasn't been burned, torn, trashed, or deleted.

I talk about how much of a **** you were to me.
I think about how you called me a lesbian and unattractive everytime I look at my hair.
I gaze at the picture of us as little kids, sitting together on your porch swing.
I think about how you're different from those days.
And I wonder about the things we might do if we ever see each other again.

Somehow after eight years, I'm still horribly in love with you.


It is probably a good thing that I can't see you anymore.

The sad look in your eyes,
breaks my heart.
I don't know what it is,
but then I might know what it is.

I don't need to know
if you are okay,
I can see it in your expression.
The limpness in your bottom lip,
the way you shoulders are slumped over,
the way your eyes glide their way
to me and then look back at the table.

That's a stupid question.
I won't ask you that.

But I need to know
if you will be okay.

When?
I don't care when.
The sooner the better though.
But if you feel like
you will be okay,
that you can see the light
at the end of the tunnel
and find your way
out of the mess,
then that's all that I need to know.

I just want to know,
Will you be okay?

One of the best days of my life,
teeters between first and second
like the moment you lose balance
and your body tenses
and sways back and forth until inner peace is found.

It was cold out
but we ran around outside anyways
in the dark night
in the glowing beems from the streetlights.
We sat on that bench that said
"Dedicated to Mark Xander"
or something like that.
We watched the sunset
pull the pinks and oranges out of the sky
below the surface of the Columbia.
You fell asleep in my lap,
as I ran my fingers through your hair,
for some reason you love that so much.
And I watched you,
you looked so peaceful.

A few minutes later
you woke up
and jumped
saying
"We're losing time!"

We ran up a few more blocks
to the downtown park
and sat by the man-made waterfall
that drizzled down from the clock tower.
Aspen trees bordered the square
already decked out in their flashing Christmas lights.
I love Christmas decorations,
did you plan this? I thought.

We traced the bricked earth with our toes
as we held hands on the bench.
The clock struck 8:00.
You stood up
and took my hand
and we kissed
as the giant bells sang to us,
beautifully.

It felt like a small promise...
that one day I'll hear those bells again
on our wedding day.
We pulled away and I looked into your eyes,
I could tell you thought
the same thing as I.

I don't remember much of the rest of the night.
My eye sight was blocked
from my clenched cheekbones
so big from smiling so wide.
All I can remember, was that we
were the happiest people on earth.

It's been almost a year since that day,
and we still remember
and embrace
that one Sunday
as the best days of our life.

I write
to admire the beauty
of the world
our thoughts.

I write
to share my joy,
ease my pain,
to try to forget.

Writing is an amazing thing
because it helps me
just almost
forget.
I put my pencil down,
and get on with my day.

But I'm afraid
that if I write about you dear,
the ink of
every word that you've said to me
every detail of your face
every feeling of your presence
and every memory of us
will sink under the surface
of the pages of white sea
and become forgotten.

I'm afraid
that one day
I will entirely forget
why I love you.

And its painfully true,
that it has happened before
and you knew.

And you know,
that I am afraid.

I've never had luck with blondes.
Well,
I've had lots of luck
falling ever so
deeply
in love with them.

With their eyes
of bright hues in
blue, green, and greys.
Going head over heels
for their charming smiles
that make your eyes linger a little longer
that what's permitted.
Dying
to feel their
godlike
comforting
powerful
touch.

That was easy.
Horribly easy.

But what surprised me,
kicked the backs of my knees
and made me crumble to the pavement
were that those handsome
heavenly faced blondes,
have no soul.

And I am sure of it,
because every
single
******* time,
they leave me...

Alone in the dark,
confused,
disoriented,
with not a single word.
Which leaves my thoughts
to echo in the emptiness,
rummage around inside my skull,
looking in the hollow cabinets
searching for clues
and slowly growing
frustrated
and angry,
angrier,
angriest.
But not at the blonde boys.
At myself.
As of what I did wrong?
Why did they go?
How could I let this happen again?

And every time,
I can never find the reason.
Those blonde boys
just appear in the rays of the summertime
with their golden locks of hair
and leave with their icy dark souls
in the cold breeze of the fall.

And I know,
they will be back next year.
With the sun,
and happiness
and my stupidity.
Until then though
I'm stuck with the abusive markings and stabbing aches.

He doesn't last long
like the flowers in my garden
that I try to grow every year.

He doesn't stay long
just washes down the storm drain
with the worms in the rain.

He is agonizing,
can't walk away fast enough
like the stormy clouds that interupt my day.

Very little memories,
and ones kept aren't pleasant.
And only recalled occasionally when staring out the window of a ****** day.

He,
They are Spring.
My least favorite.

His skin
is burnt and broken out
like cracked pavement trampled by children that run and shout.

His eyes
are wild and constantly changing
from blue, to grey, to green,
unpredictable like the teenage flings that are lovely and mean.

His smile
is bright and charming
like a sunny day that you just can't stop enjoying.

His hair
is brown and opaque
like the dirt that's under our feet.

He is summer.
When all the best times happen.

His skin
is dry and faded
like the bark of naked trees gathered.

His eyes
are dark, stormy, grey,
like the sky of a snowy day.

His muscles
are lean and strong
like the harsh winds that blow cold and long.

His lips
chapped and pale
like foot steps in the snow that go out to get the mail.

His personality
is bitter and unmerciful
like the emptiness of the lull.

He is Winter.
Long and lingering.
His favorite.

His skin
is light and glows,
beautiful like snow.

His eyes
The color of a sunny afternoon sky
with pure clouds strayed off in another land.

His freckles
scatter across his cheeks
like migrating geese.

His lips
speak of beautiful breezes
and naked trees.

His hair
is warm and smooth
and curls in the wind of his mood.

He is Autumn,
late in the season,
my favorite.

In the darkness
I find my way to a chair,
worn cushion,
and splintering.
The uncovered nails dig into the back of my calf.

Theres a click and a bright light that shines on a desk.
I squint.

There is a man sitting in front of me.
Bloated,
wrinkled,
and silver haired.
His swollen sausage fingers with yellowed chipped nails
are neatly knitted together on the table beside his coffee.
His teeth are yellow too.
Jagged and crooked beneath his cracking lips
and sunken deep into his skull,
just as his eyes are
like a bear in a cave,
deep brown,
warm,
but fierce and strong
staring at me.

I shift uncomfortably in the chair
as he sips his coffee from a styrofoam cup.
I notice it may too bitter for his taste.
He scrunches his nose,
which wrinkles his forehead,
his eyebrows tangle in the middle.

Time passes by. I adjust to the lighting and find a somewhat comfy spot in the chair.
Then I become uncomfortable in ways that can't be settled.

His mouth opened,
white tongue rolls out
a stale breath flows out
with his thick heavy gargled words.
I nearly choked
for the small enclosed room had little ventilation.

He questioned me
of who I was,
what I've done,
what will I do.
His words surrounded me,
stared down on my small little body.
I tried to hide behind my long black hair
but I know my green eyes glowed through the gaps.
I could not hide
who I was,
what I've been through,
my unpredictableness.
It reeked through my pores
and danced with mischief in my eyes.
My tears streamed
and his words did not pause.
He wouldn't stop until I responded.
And eventually I muttered out,
*"I will never stop."

Blue.
Blue eyes,
not like the ocean tides
or a pretty sky
but blue,
bright,
clear,
with strands of white
and miscilaneous colors
weaved into the fibers.
Blue,
like my sweater.

Blonde.
Blonde hair,
***** and smooth.
Not like the sandy beach
or the dry grass in the field.
But blonde,
thick,
wavy,
and you scratch your head a lot.
Itchy,
like my sweater.

Pink.
Pink Lips.
Not like any flower
or beautiful sunset.
But pink,
thin,
chapped,
with blinding white stars
hidden behind them.
Covering,
like my sweater.

Freckles
across your face.
Not like splatter paint
or migrating birds.
But freckled,
brown,
random,
little dots dancing
on your cheeks.
Cute,
like my sweater.

Skin.
Pale skin.
Not like fresh snow
or the paper these words are on.
But pale,
soft,
tight
and warm as you hold my hand.
Comforting,
like my sweater.

And with every
stitch and knot of this sweater,
I embrace your love
and how every morning you'll
walk that extra distance
just to give me a hug.
And I always wear our sweater.

I remember
when we were seven
we would sit on your porch swing
for what felt like minutes
but was probably more like hours.
We would talk about silly things
like your mom's hot dogs
and the push lawn mower
or how "cool" you thought you were.

And I thought you were cool.

I remember
when we'd spend the whole day
in your room.
Or until our moms made us come out.
You would show me your rock collection,
purple and silver.
We'd play darts,
or Monopoly
and talk about your crushes,
me hoping that my name
might come up.

I've always had a crush on you.

I remember
when we were twelve
we sat up on that hill
that looked across the whole
beautiful city
and we barely even spoke
a single word.
We just sat there
in the tall pokey grass
eating our dry sandwichs.
I would glance over at you.
I don't know if you were too.

Your mom took pictures of us there together that day, I wish I could see them.

I remember
when my mom said,
"Emme, you ride up with anomonys"
My heart skips a beat
when I hear your name.
I was so happy
to sit with you,
yet so nervous
hoping I wouldn't say anything weird.
The chair lift ride was quiet,
we were quiet.

I kept scooting closer to you, were you too?

I remember
when I looked into your eyes
when we looked
into each other.
The world stopped.
Something changed within me.
I felt something
I had never felt before.
I felt lost, stray.
I felt found,
like I finally belonged.

I turned away though because I got dirt in my eye.

I remember
for six or seven years
we were pretty good friends
or I felt like we were.
The past one or two years
our friendship has been
the best
and the worst.

I want our good friendship back.

I remember
how we were sweet
and "twitterpated".
I remember
how we were bitter
and in misery.
I want to stop this madness.
But to do that
I would have to let you go
and I can't do that.
Because what I saw
in your eyes,
was love.
What I saw
was my life
with you.

I miss you, more than you could ever imagine. I wish we could be together, but right now we are only memories.

I missed your eyes.
They've seemed so dark,
no light ever reflected in them.
But now I see
little stars
in the pools of silver.

I missed how the light
splashed onto
the planes of your face.
Though you've been hiding
behind your shadows.
But now I see
your smooth tan skin
showing again.

I missed your voice.
It's been so monotone,
coming out of lips
curled into a fake smile.
But now I see
your mouth stretched
so wide across your face.

And your words say,
"Do you ever feel like your not so alone when you're touching someone, even in the smallest way?"
A smile stretches across my face.
"Yeah. It makes me feel like someone can protect me for just a few moments."
You pull me closer to your chest,
arms wrapped around me and you whisper,
"I want you to know, I will always be there for you. I will protect you. I will love you, always."

Now that I have you again,
the aches in my heart
don't exist anymore.
The need to dig my feelings for you
deep deep down
is no longer needed.
Now that you are back in my life
I don't feel so alone anymore.

I was a fire,
burning,
crackling,
bursting.
Many have tried
to effuse
my vitriolic flames.
But I was too strong,
too powerful
for their deterrents.
I could've take on anything
everything.
I'd burn,
scar people,
just so that they'd remember
who I am.
Strong,
independent,
ultimate,
indestructable.
But then,
in a moment of weakness,
I was extinguished
into nothing
but a pile of ashes.
A stolen soul.
A broken heart.
And all it took
was a missive.

It was then
that I realized,
I'm not the fire.
The true bearer of this flame.
The fire was from
the one person
that I respected
that I trusted
that I loved.
They fueled me.
And they
were the one
that killed me,
that left me dry
with just the words
"Good-bye."

I love you.
But I shouldn't.
There is someone else
who makes me happier
than you ever did.
But
they don't have something
that you have.

Something special,
that made me want
to care for you
and forgive
even when you were
hurtful to me.
Something special,
that made me want to know
all of you,
that there was always something missing
in you
and I had to find it
somewhere.

I never saw your eyes.
I think they are grey
as you told me.
I wish I could see them.
It's been years since I've gazed
into your pool
of wonders
and horrors.

I heard your voice
barely.
If you count
distant words
spoken into cups,
with no string,
talking of nonesense things,
like how the wind
moves through the field
we sat together in once,
once.

I've known you
ever since we were toddlers.
About ten years now
but I feel like I don't even know you.
Every time we strike a conversation,
I get shy
timid
nervous
that I'll say something wrong
that'll make you leave me forever.
It makes me feel
like we are meeting for the first time.
Like we are falling in love
all over again.

I miss you.
My heart aches for you
so much.
Somedays not as bad.
And some
I can hardly take the pain.
Someday we will be together again.
And everything will work,
everything will fall into place
and we can be happy again.
There will be no 2000 miles
between us.
But we have to wait,
and I will wait
as long as it takes.

Run.
Running.
Early in the morn.
Cold.
Crisp.
Dark.
Feet pounding
against the asphalt.
Air is frigid.
Breath is hot.
In cool,
out warm.
"You only get what you put in"
Sweat drips,
hands clammy.
Rain falls,
clothes soaked.
Skin is frigid.
Shoes are hot.
My feet burn
as I run;
past curbs,
past cars,
past homes,
past people,
past civilization.
Work.
Working.
Just for fun.
No.
Just to please.
"I am not perfect.
I must be perfect."
Push.
Push harder.
Run.
Run faster.
Go.
Go away further.
Think less.
Breathe more.
Find strength and power.
Hatred.
Sadness.
Doubt.
Anger.
Run away
from hungry hands
grabbing for your ankles.
Run away
to somewhere better.
Leave the darkness of
hate
screams
sorrow
weeps
mistakes
regrets.
"Come."
he says.
"to my arms,
let me hold you,
let me take away
the black matter
in your heart."
he says.
I will forgive you.
I will bring you light again
Come, please
Let me hold you"*
Beep
Run is over.
The sun is risen
outside.
The light shines
in my eyes again.
Edorphines
injected into my veins.
Time to go home.
Enough running for now.

There's a little bird
living inside her.
It's rich red
like blood,
or a rose.
And has blue tipped wings
Like veins,
or the berries in a blueberry muffin.
She keeps it in a cage
under her heavy jacket
and feeds it
little sweets
and bits of food.
The bird lives
a dull life.
It doesn't do much
inside of its cage,
it just swings
on the squeaky bar
hung from the top
of its chamber.
It doesn't sing a song,
or even
lift it's wings.
It just swings
back and forth
to a
slow
rhythm.
But,
there is a handsome boy
who talks to the young
beautiful girl.
And every time
he comes close to her
the red bird in the cage
starts to jump around
on the walls of the cell
and chirp to the girl
Let me out.
She is shy though,
small and timid
when the boy comes close.
But the way he flips his
glossy
smooth
chestnut colored hair,
makes the bird flap its wings.
The way he walks
down the hall towards
the girl
makes the bird
scratch at the bottom
trying to find a way out.
The way his blue eyes shine
as they gaze at her
when he stands by her side,
makes the bird sing
through the cage's walls,
up the girl's collar,
out of her lips,
as a beautiful song
that she whispers
*"I love you."

I grew up in a little town of Washington
called Kalama.
It really wasn’t too little,
just small enough
that when you drove by on the freeway,
you could blink
and miss the whole urban part of it.
Downtown at the time was just
a gas station with burgers,
a church with preschool,
and two schools;
Kindergarten through 8th grade
and the High school.
The rest of Kalama
was acres and acres
of forestland
of fields
and tall hills.
On top of one hill
was a big
three story high
Cedar House.
That one
was mine.
Our backyard was a field
of tall wavy grass.
Behind it
was a forest,
40 acres thick
of rich evergreen trees.
And most houses these days
have views of the home across from them,
but for our view,
if you stood
at the top of the hill
you could see
the majestic Columbia River
flowing
from the Pacific into Washington.
It was the best view in Kalama,
and we had one of the most beautiful homes
of Kalama too.
In our home lived five people.
My sister Madison,
who loved the neighbor’s horses.
My baby brother who would pester our dog,
Lucy, who’d fight bears in the forest
with her sidekick,
Sunny, our cat.
There were also Mom and Daddy,
and of course,
Me,
who liked to chase the chickens
trying to catch dinner.
Now, why would we live here?
Daddy wanted his kids
to live in the country
just as he did as a kid,
but Mom was always on the verge
of insanity
because she couldn’t take the
bugs and wild critters.
But I loved the bugs
that would coat the exterior walls of the house
in the summer.
I loved how the wild animals
ran free across our property;
anything from
little mice, masked *****, and elegant deer,
to hungry coyotes, fat bears, and free horses.
I loved everything about that place.
And there was one thing
that I still remember
and still love
a decade later.
Daddy would take us outside
some summer nights
to lay on the hill
in the tall grass.
The ground was always
still warm
from the hot afternoon,
it felt like a heating pad
under my little fidgety body.
We would lay there
for hours
gazing at the white brilliant dots
that Daddy liked to call stars,
but I’ve always thought of them as
sky freckles.
There was a way the cool breeze
weaved through the meadow
like my Mom’s fingers running through my hair,
it soothed me.
It’s a feeling I have not yet forgotten.
It’s kept with me for years
and some nights
I’ll step out into the night
and get a little bit of that same sensation,
but it’ll never be the same
as the feeling on that hill.
I have so many memories in Kalama.
Some are kept in me
and some are kept in the grain of the Cedar Wood house,
in the bark of the evergreen,
the blades of the meadow,
everywhere in Kalama.
I wish I could go back
and make more memories.
I miss the small creek
that Daddy made for us.
I miss the muddy trails,
running barefoot through them.
I miss the fuzzy black and orange caterpillars
that’d **** on my hand.
I miss
the forest,
the field,
the wild animals,
my room in the attic,
and how beautiful the stars would look at night..
But Mom couldn’t take the country life anymore.
She made Daddy and us kids move
to the city, Vancouver.
It’s fine here;
people are nice,
I’ve made some great friends
that I won’t ever forget,
and I’ve had many
fun and life-changing opportunities.
It’s just that I don’t feel like I belong.
I don’t know how to explain it other than
You can take a girl out of home,
but you can’t take the home out of a girl.
And Kalama,
will always and forever be
my true home.

I had gone the whole day
for the first time ever
without
thinking about you.
Well,
almost.

I went to check my inbox
and noticed you texted me.
You texted me.

I was just getting over you.
I thought we were done
talking.
But you sent me a text saying
"This is how I feel about you"
with a song connected.

I listened
on the verge of tears;
the crying words of Paramore
reached towards my chest
broke my ribs
and clenched my heart
tightly
in its gentle hand.

At first
Pain
surged through my body.
Then
Warmth
caressed my whole being.
Pain
because of past emotions
rising from the
deepest
most secretive
parts of my heart.
Warmth
because the thought of
He still cares.

So I texted back,
we talked for a little while.
And I
cherished
every
single
word.

Because it was the first time
in months
where he wasn't
bitter
angry
and sad.
He was happy
and he had moved on.

Which made me happy
because
I finally got some closure that
all is good,
I guess.

But when he said good night.
All the happiness
All the Warmth
left the night with him.
And I was just left with
pain
and emptiness.

Love Hurts.

I feel tired
exhausted
worn.
I want to go to bed.
But I'd feel stupid
because it's not even 7.

I woke up in the hallway
this evening
after dinner.
My stomach was full
my eyelids were heavy
and I felt content.
So I accidentally fell asleep on the couch.

When I woke up
my shirt was inside-out
my hair was frizzy and stuck to my forehead
and a trail of blankets
were left behind me leading to the couch.

It was like I had been dragged,
that the little toe peering from under the covers
dared the devil to pull.
So I got up and went to my room.

And now I'm writing this poem
that doesn't really have any meaning
at all
other than
I'm tired.

The way water pellets run down
your tan firm body
like light nimble fingers
caressing your edged jawline
makes me wish those fingers
were mine.

The way the sun reflects off of
your white brilliant smile
like many bright little stars
inside your lips
makes me wish your light could shine
into me.

The way you walk towards me right now
your muscles tensed and eyes locked
like an animal going in for the prey
makes my heart race and skip beats
a little kid on a sugar high.
Which I am.

Looking at you is like feasting on
Halloween candy
eating the entire pillowcase-full in one night.
Gazing at you is like going back for
seconds
thirds
fourths
on dessert
and not feeling the least bit guilty.
You are my secret stash of
eye candy.

I love you.
For everything,
that you are,
that you were,
and the amazing person you are going to become.

We seem so perfect for each other
but so
distant.
Two missing puzzle pieces
that fit immaculately together,
lost.

We tried so hard to stay connected,
but our edges became worn
and images faded.

So you stripped me
of everything I was.
You took all my colors,
all my strength,
all of my will,
and left me as just
cardboard.
Soggy,
from the tears,
of a shredded heart,
streaming from within.

But over time,
my skin dried
and was stained and crinkled.
Showing a new picture.
A new me.
Stronger.
Happier.
And even more beautiful than before.

I love you.
For everything,
that you are,
that you were,
and the amazing person you are going to become.

It's just that you don't love me...

She has hair
short,
and even though
she has the face of an angel
and a heart of gold,
she can't be a natural beauty
according to the world.

The waist line of her dress
on her
long torso
falls a couple ribs short.

A couple seconds short
for 1st place.
She will push and push
getting her short legs
to take her as fast as they can go
and get in
4th place.
Not a natural runner
that's for sure.

But her legs are strong
and so are her hopes,
she won't stop running,
she won't stop trying.
She will keep pushing
to get through the barrier
that's almost as thick
as her stubborn skull.

In that cranium
she will jam
months
of school work,
assignments,
pages of blank notes
into one night.
She wakes up the next day,
takes her final exam,
and comes home with a
barely passing
D.
No, definitely not a natural student.

But she will take that D
and make it something
beautiful,
something worth looking at.
An object more than just a letter,
where lines to her
are perfect and proportionate
and can flow onto the page
at her own pace.

That big red D
on that paper of black and white
now looks like a unicorn
jumping over a rainbow
that emerges from the depths of the ocean of
Failure.

Her parents look at the paper
and say
"Wow, you are a natural artist,
but you know what that gets you?"
"What?" she asks.
"Nothing!"

But she is the girl
with the short hair,
the long torso,
and short legs
that carry
the biggest heart
and the thickest head.
No matter how unnaturally
things may come to her
she will keep going
with a huge smile
on that angel face of hers.

I wish we didn't have to breathe.
That there was no need to exhale
before we take a picture
for things to look their best.
That there was no need to inhale,
because all that is left
is the pollution of a world
full of empty people.

I wish we didn't need to breathe.
That instead
all the empty people
were full.
That we inhaled
beautiful, undying, unconditional
love
filling our chests with it
to the fullest capacity.
And instead of Co2,
we exhaled
hatred,
sadness,
regret.

And watched it rise above the clouds,
above Earth's atmosphere
far past the stars
and into the corner of the galaxy
in Time-Out
until it can learn to love,
and it will come back as
the stars we gaze at this very moment,
my head resting on you.

I listen to your heart skip beats
and feel your chest
fill up
with my love
and breathe out
your pain.

You give me butterflies

I've never understood that phrase.
Butterflies are
majestic
beautiful
colorful floating snow flakes
in the summer breeze.

You don't give me *butterflies.

My butterflies
aren't light little fingers tickling me.
They are strong hands
wringing my insides
squeezing them out of me
like I'm a tube of tooth paste.

But what comes out is an unruly passion for you.

It seeps through my pores
and comes as zits on my nose,
but they don't bother you.
My passion
trickles
from my eyes
as tears at night
wishing I could be held
in your strong
yet graceful arms.
It arrives in words,
that I eventually stutter out as
"Hi"
when I'm next to you.

I sit on a porch swing at a friend's party one night.

You sit next to me
and smile
so bright in my darkness.
You whisper to me,
your lips wisp against my cheek
like delicate wings
and take my hand.
You pull a pen out of
your khakis pocket
and draw a
small
simple
butterfly.

And as cheesy as it was you whispered to me

"You give me butterflies"
A huge smile came across my face
glowing with yours in the night.
I took the pen in my hand
and drew another
butterfly
but on your palm
and replied,
*"So do you."

I do not fear death.
But I do fear wasting life.

I don't fear the pain
of my skin burning,
the emptiness
of my last breath,
the aching
of leaving the ones I love.

I do fear
the lack of scars etched into my skin.
I do fear
the emptiness
of my thoughts.
I do fear
the tears that I will never cry
of a broken heart.

I want to meet all the people of the world
and share our ridiculous stories
before my lips become silent.
I want to make mistakes
and learn to be right the next time
before I see the Devil.
I want to fall in love with the Earth,
with the people that walk on it,
with the mud that gets under my nails,
with the sunlight and rain that my skin soaks up
before my body shrivels into ashes
flowing in the wind.

When the comes that I should die
and I still have not lived
I should beg the Lord
Give me one more day
I beg you, please!
I wish to feel the sun bake my withered skin.
I wish to smell the bitterness of the sea.
I wish to see the stars dance at night.
and hear the laughter of children running by.
Let me live
for one day
and I'll let an infant take my place.

I do not fear losing life
I only fear losing a life a that never got to live.

Child of mine,
do not hold your breath
for that your heart will become heavy.

Child of mine,
do not clench your fists
for that your bones will ache.

Child of mine,
do not restrict yourself
for that you will never learn.

Please child of mine,
let out your air,
your pain,
your regret.
I am only one of the many
that care about you.
So let out your tears,
let them trickle down your face
and run down our skin.

Child of mine,
take your breath
of cleansing relief.

Child of mine,
open your pale hands
and let me hold them.

Child of mine,
let yourself make mistakes
and be right the next time.

We will help you
carry the ocean of life
and eventually
it will evaporate
to where it's only memories and sand.
Then you can sprout wings
where your fins used to be
and fly to a better world.
But right now child of mine,
let it rain.

Take my hand and we will fly.
Above the trees.
Higher than the mountains.
Through the clouds.
Out of this world.
And into the stars.
Here we will gaze into the lights.
You pull me closer and we lean to kiss.
As our lips touch,
the stars explode just for us.
The colors paint the black sky,
like the color of our lips painted by love.
Take my hand
And fly with me.

Dear Hatred,

I listened to you scream,
yell,
cry,
fight.
For days.
For weeks.
For years.
Ever since the day I had been born,
I have heard you
argue
through my bedroom walls,
under my bed covers,
through my tears.
My life has been
miserable.
All my fifteen years,
and you haven’t
even once
considered,
to stop,
for my own sake.
But now,
I sit on the corner
of a trashed intersection
holding up a cardboard sign,
like one of those
pathetic,
hopeless,
women,
that can only wait for a miracle
that won't come.
I ran away
from you.
Away from the
noise,
from the
abuse,
from all this
hate.
You have caused my life,
so much pain,
regret,
sorrow,
questioning of my
own existence.
I just tried
to run away from it all,
but you found a way
to make it worse.
You have made life
unmerciful,
and you continue to
torture me.
I have never been
wanted
by anyone.
So I guess it’s better now,
that I’m gone.
I hope you are happy.
Because I’m not.
I hate the world.
I hate life.
I hate you
I hate myself.