I sit there and know
That I could never
Engage myself in conversations
With these conundrums.

Those who are both human, and
Badly wrapped paper packages,
Filled with so much experience,
Brimming with knowledge which
Is rapidly fleeing through
The holes in the brown paper
Worn by time.

How can I speak to those
Who cannot hear my words in full
So that they must be talked to
Slowly, like
They are children
But that have been through so much
More than I
At the tender age of seventeen
Could even imagine.

How can I speak to these enigmas
Who keep asking me the same questions
But which I cannot talk to
Without being
Disrespectful

Not only towards them
But towards my future
Aged self, who will one day
Be in their position
And who I cannot imagine
Will want to be treated
Like a five year old
At the age of eighty five.

I am not myself in that
I cannot seem
To bring myself
To care, which
Not only
Feels wrong
But is also
Against everything
I believe in.
In not caring
I retract myself
From my surroundings
And disregard
Those around me
It's everything I
Go against, and
Is a recipe for
Hurt, but I
Cannot bring myself
To care.

Songs which I would never
Consider writing and which
Are enveloped in fond memories
Play on the radio.

The edge of my trousers
Are wet but my feet are dry
And cold as ice in their warm stockings
Which I want to take of.

My life feels like one big
Disonance at the moment
As I take books off the bookshelfs and
Bang them open and shut.

Open and
Shut and open and
Shut and the dust asks
My lungs to let it
In my but my lungs
Protest and my nose
Wants more and my
Hands hurt and my eyes
Beg more
And I am sore.

מתוך המעשים
נמשכים הלבבות so
We clean the outside so that inside
We will be cleansed as well.

And I am sore.

The mirror tells me
There is still a flower
Stuck in my hair.
The aftermath
Of today's
Daisy chain mood.

The mirror was only
Trying to be kind
But sent me into
My own
Personal
Brand of rain.

I couldn't find a soul
That would comfort me
Only the rotting daisy
That is not
A daisy
Staring back through the glass.

Daisy chains are past
Long, lush, British grass
And longer, lonely breaks.
I wasn't sad,
I was content
In my own dream world.

Daisy chains are future
Hands linked in hands
Making chains together
Hoping they'll
Last forever
These are my dreams.

But daisy chains
Are also now
The single daisy
That is not
A daisy
Rotting in my hair.

You mix all the ingredients together
And then you knead
And the more you knead the
Easier it becomes and
The better the bread.

But sometimes I miss the
Hard work that is
The beginning when we
Would both work so hard
To impress, when our
Conversations were witty
And sarcastic if
Somewhat forced, when
The dough was still
Stiff beneath our fingers
And so the product
Felt even more satisfying
Than now when the kneading
Is supposedly easy
So that you don't pay as much
Attention to it.

Although I love
The taste of bread
I kinda like
Stealing the dough.

From all my houses
One is most forgettable
The natural defense mechanism
Of my toiled mind
Doing its job perhaps
A tad too well so that
I completely forgot my
Safe haven, located
Under the house which
Jutted out, so ugly, from the
Mountain side, so that
A small triangle, filled
With Ivy,  was my home
In the period
Of my life that is
That house, but with
The good memories
Of golden sunshine through
Lush green leaves falling upon
Discarded sandals and
A familiar English classic
Come the lonely hours -
The occasional hidden
Poison Ivy among its
Friendly peers hurting
Much less than
The sting of unwantedness.

I. My knife is poised and ready,
I approach the easy ones first,
The nicely shaped ones which are
Flat at the bottom and round on top,
Only then moving on to
The misfits, the oddly shaped ones.
I criss cross cuts over their shells-
You will open up to me,
The cuts promise.

II. I cut them open
And thought about them.
I stole one, tore it apart
And put it in my mouth.
It was warm, and sweet,
And good, and,
I thought,
They'd probably like it.

III. The looks on their faces
As I deliver them more
Of the warmth.
As they take them into
Their hands, their
Fingers closing around
The miracle look-a-likes.
The rhythm of my feet
As I take out the remains
And eat them, on the way
Away, trying
To making myself feel better,
Failing.
They leave only
A bitter aftertaste.

IV. And in a few years
It will be a proper winter day
And we'll all have free evenings.
It'll rain, and we will decide
To spend the free time
Together.
We'll watch a movie, or
Something.
Or something.
And I'd buy chestnuts
On my way back home and
We'll eat them
Together.

Your perpetual state of tired
Irks me, because I want you
To be better and happy.

Your inability to fall asleep
Weighs me down, just like
Your tiredness does to you.

Your jerking body, sleeping
Restlessly, makes me wish you
Were awake and away.

From your nightmares
Which have become
As much my enemies
As yours, by now,
But which I do not
Have to experience.

A never ending loop of either
Tired-and-nightmared, or
Day-haunted and hallucinating.  

You just want it to stop and
I do too, but I don't say a thing
'Cause you're having enough trouble

Sleeping, as it is.

Once upon a time
in a land
far far away and

only now do I understand
the recursion, you feel
more then just far.

In familiar locations
Lacking only you
I sit and slowly forget.

You envy my ability
To remember, please
Don't.

I sit in my house
With the door handles
Crumbling
Beneath my fingers.

I am so far
Yet I am also
Amazingly
Close.

I sit here and can
Get up and go
Whenever
I want to.

But responsibility
Beckons and Duty
Calls and I
Must stay away.

I envision them
Sleeping in close
Proximity and
As peaceful as they get.

One of them always
Tells me that
Jealousy
Is the worst emotion.

Now I can understand
Why he said that - it's
Self destructive,
And I am so close.

I lie in bed,
In my own filth
I haven't cleaned
My bedroom in ages.
It's filled with scattered
Books, ***** cloth and
Worthless, abandoned pages.

I kept it up to humane standards
As long as I'd visitors once a week,
But now that I see them so scarcely
My room has begun to reek.

I only ever do the right thing
When someone else is watching
Only when I want their good opinion
Will you see me washing
Dishes
In the sink.

(I never do
The ***** dishes
Unless I have someone
To impress.)

Of course it's all in your head,
But that doesn't mean it
Isn't true; then I am glad
Your head is so clear, my head
Is not, my head doesn't believe
I am good enough, but does that mean
Dear headmaster, that that is true?
I know, you will surely say no.
My head inserts pieces of my
History into my present, and I know
Yours does too, that is
What heads do, and we are still
Both humans. It is not words
That are pretending to be wise
That will help me outrun
My own expectations, because
It is all in my head and I will
Make a change, because my head
Is lying, it's lying, it is
And you cannot possibly want me
This time, to think is isn't.

Everyone shared their own experience
And I realized how
Self centered I had been
How self centered I am, how I
Stick my head into my own problems and
Forget that others are not
Asexual inhuman beings
That others have problems, have feelings I
Cannot fully comprehend,
But I must try, I must
Raise my head up and remember that they
Are just as human as I am,
Though to be honest, right now
I kind of feel like a monster.

And away from you
And forced onto others
I want them to feel me
As much as you do.

I want them to touch
My bare flesh physically,
Human proximity
Is all that I need.

I take walks alone,
Because I just cannot,
Be so near these humans
Who aren't close enough.

I find my comfort,
In the small baby girl
Who will so gladly ******
Her arms around me.

Her cold fingers touch
Both my neck and my cheeks
Her hair curly and light,
Soft against my chin.

Her heart beat reminds
Me of your chest which is
There, and warm and solid
Beneath my own head.

There's a patch of grass
Which is familiar
But from which I have been
Away for too long
Things have changed since
I was last there
Changed for the better
But still I am scared
Of going back
To the place
Where I had first
Forced myself
Upon them
Being there with them
Now
Seems weird and
Somewhat wrong
As if we are regressing
As if it will
Take us back
To square one.

Above my head
The sky is grey.
Before me,
On the offing,
A band of golden light,
With a few rays of sunshine,
Peeking through.
Behind me, a rainbow
Stretches out
In all of its translucent
Magnificence,
And to my left,
Loom the monsters.

Four silhouettes,
Beastly chimneys,
Pointing their *******
Up at the sky,
As if to say,
"We own you."
Smoke rises from them,
Like from the barrel of a gun
Dark against the golden light.
"Who have you shot lately,
Chimneys?"

Me.
They shot me.

And at that moment,
I hate them,
These ghastly cement creatures,
That steal my air.
I hate them,
For ruining the beauty of the day.
I hate them,
For talking away the pleasure
Of the smell of petrichor.

If Freud were to read this poem,
He'd smile at me and say,
Dear, this is what I call
Projective identification,
Before proceeding to touch my breast.
But he's right,
Of course he's right,
He's always right,
Because I, too,
Like the beasts,
Have a *******.

Sometimes
When we were younger
I'd be her little sister.
I'd put my head on her lap
And she would lovingly
Stroke my hair and I
Would be comforted.

When we were younger
She was eager
To hear what wisdom
I had to give her.

When we were younger
I was eager
To give her the wisdom
She craved
And which I lacked,
So I would just make stuff up.

Lately I've been seeing,
How much she knows
Her surroundings
So much better than I could ever
Know my way around mine.

Today
When she called me
I could hear
How lost she was
And bounded upon
The opportunity
To be
For once
Her big sister.

She is cursed
To forever be
My little sister
When she's just
So self assured.

Beauty was bestowed upon me / A golden
Crown of self loathing / Replaced
By a thorny wraith / Unforgiving
Self worth / Slipping
Cutting clean / Through my ears
The ruby / Sensitive
Gum / The welling of red
On cracked lips / The raw
Pink inside of my cheek / The slight
Glisten of fever / Eyes / Forehead
The nape of my neck / Swirls
Of sheets / Alternating / Crisp and damp
Sunsets and shadows / Cast
Ant parades / Majestic
In their toil / Finding myself
Beauty in the very hight / Of senses
The senseless sun / Mine
For the taking / To use
For my own needs / Of the
Contrasting and blending/ Of
The human consciousness / Of
Beauty and pain.

Feeling inferior
Is avoided
By many and
By me
Especially.
I will do anything
To not feel inferior
But that will mostly
Make me superior -
Finding the balance
Is so difficult.
I preferred
To shut up
And not be looked down upon
And not be looked up towards
Just be looked at,
Yeah, that's her,
She's quiet,
We don't mind her.
They might feel superior
Inside
But they can't make me
Feel inferior
And that was good enough for me.
But now
I want to be heard.

But it hurts, that and
My sore throat - Raw
From transporting the substances
I cough out of my lungs.

The pain and the phlegm
All pass through it
The lungs inflicting their pain
Upwards into my head.

The last spot of sanity
Clear and calculating
Filling up with everything
My lungs cannot handle.

Threatening to explode,
They can't take it anymore
Transport it into tears
Only to seep back inside.

My pain is raw
From all this time
I didn't do anything
About it.

We joke that he is God
Because that is so much
Easier than admitting
The truth, which is that
He is simply a person,
He is not an omnipotent
Immortal, or an angel
Sent from heaven, but
A human being who
Is beautiful and amazing
And sees the world in
The best way possible.

We refuse to see it so
And keep calling him
God
Because that would mean
Admitting to ourselves
We can overcome
Our own problems.

It was the kind of night
That if you just stay long enough
Something miraculous will happen.

I was the kind of girl
Who always left too soon.

But that night, you,
Miraculously human,
Begged me stay.

You were my three year old
My own little clingy kid
Hanging onto the edge of my skirt while I was on the phone.

But that night was one
Were the phone call was not
More important than you.

And so I stayed

Humanly miraculous

Sane

Close by.

I ramble.
That is what I do
How I talk
How I think
A long line
Of thoughts, branching out
Jumping from one place
To another, before
Returning to my main route,
Or else losing themselves,
Completely
In the sea of my mind.
I like it this way
I lie to myself
It makes life more interesting
I convince myself,
And I'm a pretty good lair,
So I believe
And live
On, with this
Rambling life
And rambling goal
And rambling mind.

Pulling
                                                               Has become second nature
                                                   Pulling at strings
                                       To make the beings around me
                                Do as I will

                            Gentle
                          Barely felt tugs
                       At the cords of existance

              Pulling you closer
           A hand
          A hug
      Your shoulder against mine
   Sitting on the bus
Talking on a bench

Feeling you close

Knowing you're there

     The doors here
        I tell you
           Refuse to be pulled

                I must place my hands firmly
                   And tilt
                       My weight against them
                           Against my promise
                              To never again

                                                                  Push away.

He strikes a match and smoke
Fills the room
Gently spiraling
Upwards
In drunken swirls of white.

The inside of my mouth
Tastes sickly sweet
Cotton candy
And iron,what
Have they been feeding me?

Forced friendships
And forceful
Interactions, I look
For a means of escape
But the florescent lights glint
On the collection
Of bottles sitting
Abandoned
On the grand wooden table
Catching my eye
Catching
Me in their trap.

Mindless talk
And thoughtless comments
Create the fabric of our current universe
Constellations of blood ties and big
Black holes
Inescapable.

I make a point to cry
Only after you leave
After I am walking
Alone down the dark
Path or after you bid
Me good night and
Close the door behind you.

Only when you are
No longer near me
Do I let the tears
Spill down my cheeks
The tears that have
Been awaiting their
Turn so long, for all the
Hours we were together
They were paitently itching
My eyes, and I held
Back, I held nothing back
But them and maybe
That is my problem.

I am a morning person surrounded by night
Time people, with whom I have become one
But still the conflict stands
I am torn inside between night and day because
If I go to sleep, when will I see them again?
But in the midst of my chase
After nighttime people
I seem to have lost myself.

The construction
They labour on
Will become, one day
A building.

The earth
That they tend to
So religiously
Will be a blooming garden.

Whether herbs or flowers
Skyscrapers or cozy cottage
They will in the end
Have something to cherish.

And I
Take my journey
And I
See their work
And I
Look back and
Am not even able
To retrace
My own footsteps.

And they
Will be able
To dwell in their houses
And eat the fruits
Of their own labours.

And I
Will have memories
Which will
Gradually
Fade.

I am aware of that
And so
Frantically
I write my journeys down
Incomplete
Unwhole.

Because by the time I reach my destiny
My exquisite memory
Will too
Fail me.

She
Of the failed health
And abundant poetry.

He
Who absorbs all of
The others' pain.

They
Who are entangled
In my brain.

As a single entity
Of nightmares and scars.

He
Of the manipulative words
Which tell me not his problems.

And me.

That is my group.
Those are my problems.
These are my friends.

Looking at the stars
Resonated back
To crying on the water tower
Between one former enemy
In shape of friend
To another.

The man who pushed me
Resonated back
To the unwelcome touch
That made one gender
For a while
My enemy.

Boys,
****, boys, no
Please, stay away
Please, oh, ****,
Boys.

Talking about middle school
Resonated back
To grasping at friendships
That didn't really exist
But also to now
When they do.

Friends,
God, friends, yes
Please, stay, stay
Please, thank you
Friends.

Gender not mattering anymore
Resonates back
To when it mattered the most.

My lungs are filled
With them,
And they won't let
Me breath.

The further away
They try to get
The more they press
On the soft sides
Of my breathing organs.

And I must find
Other ways,
To live without
My breath.

Every day it gets
Worse and worse
And I start to wonder
If it's all worth all
These tiny people in my chest.

They wonder around
Quite aimlessly
And every footstep
Hurts.

But I don't want them to go
I want them to stay
I want it to go
I want them to stay
I want them to never go away.

But my lungs
Will not be able
To hold on
Forever.

I am
incredible, look
at all that I have accomplished / a satisfied smile
flashes at my reflection / anchored / anchoring
when all the world is spinning / round and round

The balloons where white and popping / always popping
disappearing with the loud
sound of your voice / almost spoken / but not quite
conveyed / through your hands / but no more
I am
anchoring / anchored
I am

incredible, look
open your eyes and look / I tell myself
as I cry myself
to sleep.

Not that I doubted it,
I was told time
And time again;
It's mutual!
You're amazing
You're brilliant
We believe in you.
Of course;
It's mutual!
I'm suppose to know;
It's mutual!
But time
And time again,
My past
Get's the better
Of present Me.
Mutual Me.
It's mutual!
Of course;
It's mutual!
But I'll doubt
Time
And time again.

Tomorrow
I'll forget
You love me
As I love you.
Time
And time again,
Please tell me
It is mutual.

I paint my fingernails
A fresh coat of polish
I cannot afford a construction
Cannot, in this state
Fix my life
So I repaint myself
The tips of my fingers
Now a lavish turquoise
In hopes that by alienating my fingers
I will be able to alienate myself
From myself.

The aluminium folds
Under my able fingers
As I shape it to my
Will
My own tin man

I did not choose you
To be so heartless
Your purity lying in
The utter
Emptyness of your chest

And I, being the human I am
Constantly unpure and purifying
Find comfort in your
Sinlessness
Your inability to right me

No hope rises around you
And no shiver runs down my spine
At the touch of your cold skin
Frictionless
No strings able to attach.

The guitar strums coming
From the brown fenced house
The obnoxiously loud music
Coming out a car window
The old man humming
To himself, as he wheezes
Past me
On his motor scooter
Make my day.

It's scary
How easy it is
To feel alone
Suddenly
How easy it is
For your joy
To turn into sorrow
The daisy chain mood
You had been in
Withering away
Like the rotting crown
Of flowers on your head.

And everything feels wrong
And everyone seems far
You want to sit
In a lush, green meadow
Surrounded by daisies
Your fingers nimbly
Wrapping the stems
Around themselves
And then securing
Your new treasure
Onto a friend's head,
Crowning them your champions
Your saviours.
Day dreaming in the dark.

I felt safe
Encompassed in his arms
After days of feeling
Lost and scared
Finally I was in a place
I didn't have to be afraid
He was warm and his hair
Fell upon my face
Got into my mouth
Somehow comforting
Not letting the world
Harm me in any way
And I was too relived
To be properly grateful.

I always wished for long slender finger
So that I could play more nimbly, so my
Art would be better but now I look at the
Bones and flesh that are my hands which
Seem disconnected from this world, from
Real life, from she who is me, they feel
Fragile, as if they might break at any
Moment and with
Them is me.