Is life a course
or a curse,
a path
or a pathology?
Is living a blessing
or a lessening,
a miracle
or a mirage?
Is it a kiss
or a miss,
a tender touch
or simply a come-on?
The opposite of love
is not hate,
but uncaring,
simply not feeling.
Are all illnesses
psychosomatic,
a disguised, silent way
that we take out
our unconscious anger
against ourselves?
Love both clarifies
and resolves these ambiguities,
seeking always the better
over the worse.
Life can mean love,
but too often
means meanness.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

no one loves me
but they claim they care
if they really did wouldn't they see

i am falling apart
fragile to the touch
yet they keep on pushing me

closer to the edge
and they think i can take more
so they push farther till i'm at the brink

it's like they know i can't swim
but they are going overboard
and they'll be suprised when i sink

like the air is being squeezed out of my lungs,
cheeks growing hot,
tears springing to my eyes
as i bite down on my tongue, hard.
and just like that, you're there
tapping my shoulder,
searching my face with worry once you realize
i'm not
actually
fine.
and then you walk with me,
then you talk with me,
talk me down from the ledge of my anxiety,
make me forget i was even
on the ledge.
but then, just like that
you hug me goodbye
and it all comes flooding back-
the fear and the heart rate
and the overwhelming
sadness
when i know i promised myself
i would stop letting other people be my happiness. i can not
let you be my happiness.
-a.c.b

if you were hurtling towards the busiest road in your town, too
with a life full of darkness only occasionally
breached by the sun
you might not think i'm crazy for saying
in that split second moment,
vision blurred by the rain or my tears i don't know,
but i wasn't sure
if i was going to stop.
-a.c.b

it always starts the same way-
mild disinterest, apathy
growing like ivy on old stone,
rapidly multiplying until you can’t even
find the door.
then comes the anxiety,
an iron fist clenched around the tendons of my heart,
questioning ever decision i make, every
thought floating through my mind like
my own soul, never tied down.
it haunts me in my dreams, sneaks up
behind me whenever i forget about it.
my own mind is my downfall.
third is the sadness, of course
but it’s happened enough by now
that you can see the shroud of darkness from
a mile away, maybe
next time you can warn me that it’s coming,
shout at me to run before
it consumes me again. sure,
the sadness is pain but
at least by then i know it’s coming,
from the moment i lose interest in my grades
snap at my friends
cry because my heart aches.
at least i can prepare myself, pray
this time it will be fast
even though i know it won’t.
at least i can spend longer crafting the perfect lie,
stop hating myself so much because i know
when the time comes my own resolve
will crumble...
just like that old ivy covered stone.
at least i know that one day,
i’ll see the sun again.

there are so many of you
that i would love to sit down with;
maybe over a milkshake and a plate of fries;
and just talk.
i want to ask you about the boy that hurt you,
about the anger you feel deep inside
over a father who said he’d come back...
and then didn’t.
i want to run with you through pages of words and say
“oh that’s right, what a lovely metaphor.”
i want to see all your smiling faces and
thank each and every one of you for showing me kindness,
for saving my life.
i want to collaborate on novels of poetry
and laugh with you through the tears of our pasts.
so until we sip those milkshakes and eat those fries...
thank you, to
some of the most beautiful people i have never met.