my feet are weary
but I walk tall
this path is worn
but I will outlast it
there is a city ahead
I imagine,
people who are strangers
now but perhaps not forever
the only always is my
desire to never be alone
I can only carry myself for so long
but I’ll make it, I say
I will collapse into the
arms of one who was once
a face in a shop or
a figure behind a book
who knows how many millions
will walk by
until I find the courage to fail
or maybe someone else reads
an Annie Dillard book
how much do I have in common
with anyone other than myself
probably nothing
I should let myself be lost
for someone else to find
I want to be a stranger again
tell me how to unlearn and
disremember

I miss having someone with whom I can share my deepest feelings, my hurts, my desires. I need to relieve this aching chest, this chest that tightens up without my noticing, until I begin to gasp. I need to cry; I need someone who knows my inside, and not my out. Its tough not being known—it is a situation one feels no need to prepare for, until it occurs. I desperately want to invite someone in—though only someone that knocks first, someone that wants to be here. And I myself want to be welcomed into another, to understand and feel for someone else, as they feel for me. Here in this place, how do I make my knock heard? My knock is faint, and unfamiliar. I shall keep knocking nonetheless. And pray a door will be opened.

the unused morning
sits pure and pretty on my window sill
calls my name, lures me
out to wet dew and warm sunlight

it asks me to walk within it
to traverse its every nook
to know the secrets it holds
in wide plains, open for those who look

look, it says
see what I have, for you
all of this is yours, if you want it

it says this as it tucks me into the morning
sends me to wakefulness with the sweetest tune

I am here, it says,
and you are here

dance with me, with wings on your feet
for I am awake, and have not felt the wind since forever

as the last drop of you thins in my veins,
I find I’ve forgotten how to hold a pencil
don’t remember the syntax of a sentence
this page would be better used for kindling
can’t write a poem with a pen that’s been emptied of its passion

no more nights of tangled limbs and cool-air conversation
no more days of light laughter, shy smiles, and a flower
growing in my gut -  you made a garden out of me

dipped your paintbrush in my pigments
the portrait you painted I hung in front of my mirror
for you made me the man I’d always wanted to be

that portrait still hangs in its place
I’m too afraid to see what now lies behind

no longer star-light bright
my eyes reflect ghost ship lanterns
fading in a sea of memory

I sink, wishing time would turn back
or at least hurry forward -
just stop standing so still.

I sit, waiting until I’m struck again
but knowing hope is no course of action.

He has the moon in his eyes.
This boy who stands still
as the others rush by.
His stop is brief -
he just wants to have a look around
But by the time he turns back,
the others have turned the corner.
A corner.
Some corner.
What corner?
He turns down every street,
every side alley
but finds only the cracked lanes
of empty sidewalks.
Lost, he continues to wander
searching for someone
who knows his way
or at the very least
is just as lost.

I’m ready for revolution
there won't be no midnight Revere
but let me tell you, it’s coming
cause I’ve had just about too many nights
dreaming dreams that ain’t mine
I go to bed in hollow bird-bone shackles
dreaming the world is telling me to fly
but only South, cause that’s where I’ll be successful
...I know success is really flying North and coming out alive
so when I wake
I get a book for a pillow and a pencil paper night stand
cause I’ve just been thinking its my time to take a stand
so here I stand
fluttering limbs and a nervous system that’s **** nervous
but I’m here
for it’s time that I tell my story
it’s time that I know who I am
I am done sleepwalking in the dreams of others -
unconscious of my own conscience  
this is my manifesto

to reclaim my crumpled dreams from a forgotten pocket,
to spread them out before me and point where I’m going to go

this is my manifesto
to forget about the past, and the future
to dance to good music
to tell a girl when she’s beautiful
and to have the courage to cry

this is my manifesto
to speak loud
run fast
to love hard
and to let go

for that is all I must do
let go of the placating promises that keep my dreams anchored in tomorrow
push off from the shore
and let the very current that courses through my veins
carry me out to sea
for there is an ocean.. waiting for me

an entire world in which I get to sail in whatever direction I please
so please, come with me
push off from the shore with your own manifesto at the helm
and we won’t sail together,
but when we pass, I’ll wave.
and you’ll wave too.
for we both know that the ocean is ours,
and we’re just dreaming after all

in a town in which I've never been
you light a cigarette and try to smoke me out of your mind
while I sit here, my ashtray filled with pencil stubs
from trying to write my arms around you

I haven't slept since you left
I've spent my nights searching for the sun
for if I found it, I'd climb right on top
so I could be with you in the morning

but my mornings remain rivers after a storm
memories flowing by like debris
I can't reach them without falling in
so I stand and watch them go

its the watching I can't stand
watching your hand slip from mine
watching the wrong time
convince us that we can't be together

I feel helpless, hopeless
these days hold me prisoner
the hurt trying to torture remorse from my lips
but I will never regret the days I spent with you

when I was with you
you looked at me like there was no past or future, only now
you listened to me like I was Buddha preaching the Eightfold Path
you spoke to me like I was memorizing your every word, cause I was

you hugged me
you held me
you kissed me
like I’m a boy you had a crush on became I’m a boy who loves you

but here I’m a boy who misses you

as the wind blew us together,
the rain shall sweep us away
and come fall we’ll be leaves of different colors

i just want to tell you
that for how forcefully my gut protests at the thought of letting you go
I cannot hear its cries when I think of the time I spent with you

you took my heart in your hands, you broke it in and stretched it out,
and then you gave it back
here, you said,
it is ready