Your quiet disposition,
offering a distinct proposition,
Your eyebrow delivering
due suspicion as it
raises in question.

That look
so hard to deny,
as I sway my hips
sauntering towards you
methodically, calculated
like a pendulum on a
grandfather clock.

As I reach the edge
of the bed where you lay,
knees following behind my
hands as I crawl towards you
on the smooth,
navy blue sheets.

It's not an electricity
but a hot pulse
that I feel, as I lay
my head gently on
your chest, as you stare
at me:

Like a predator
stalking his next meal
casually, as he allows the
prey to come to him.

Then you stroke my
hair with such tenderness,
pulling my body into
yours with such care

Knowing that you would
be more than content
just to be able to hold me.

Mechanical reactions
slither through the cortex,
Binding our beliefs into
a solid jellied mass.

The peons go without a care,
wisdom is not their share,
only to be appeased
in the short term
is their game.

Yet the one who dances freely,
Gracefully fluttering down the walk,
gets stared at and gawked at,
Ridiculed and mocked.

The program
does not recognize the patterns
that are involved,
and the programmers are just too vain
to change the program's
stiff and rigid brain.

So while the programs interact,
the dancer keeps on dancing,
sensibilities in tact.

She notices the patterns,
the snide remarks behind her back,
the stares, the whispers, wonders,
of the program's capacity cap.

How she wishes just one
free person could truly understand
what it's like not to be a robot,
but a compassionate human.

Seas of judgement, seas of motion,
Seas of jealously and hate,
motivated by confusion,
in this altered AI state.

One day there is a person
walking out of sync,
the rest of the people shrink away
from the lone independent freak.

Free thought and new ideas
Are poison to their wires,
new data it can handle,
but independence acts like fire:

Burning through the program
like an arrow with a purpose,
piercing through its hardened heart
rendering the program worthless.

The boy who parted the sea of monotony
found this dancing girl,
and together created a barrier
shattering programs with a twirl.

By the power vested in me,
I command you to think,
Think twice about your actions
or you will find that you will sink
Into a sticky, jellied mass
where your thoughts will cease to think.

Relatively senile
the memories in my mind
fade as new ones replace
the broken past

Watching the lovers
as they stroll along
the rainswept streets
of connected
bliss and dischord

Looking around
at the silence
tasting the futile attempts
like ashes on a cold day

Feeling
the chill down my spine,
my quickened pulse
as you enter the room

Eyes brighten
as they think of you
Ever so noticably
Slipping into a drugged
state in which coming back
isn't a desirable option

Poetry laced with
an intoxicating poison
slowly saturating my senses
blinding faults, impurities

Grasping at clarity
and finding none
only your arms
folding around me
pulling me deeper into
the abyss

And then I made a conscious
Decision
to eat my pain to fill the void
Friends don't matter
Expression devoid
of the emotion
that I thought I had
an invitation?
None to be had

Not for me
and it always
Has to be
Me. to initiate
a line of invitation
to communicate
or else I don't go
I don't get to see

the real colors of
the friends that I thought
I had next to me
I see that time is of the essence
essentially,
I am the only one left

I can hang out with my guy
and the shadows that haunt
me at night when I sleep

My guy's amazing,
but other than he
Who do I have?
Nothing but a ridiculous
Boundary
that I cannot seem to cross
They've drawn the line
and laugh at the loss

Friends, ones that I thought I had
I'm screaming,
they whisper that it's all in my head

I am on the edge of what I think is reality
Somewhere between a suspended state
of illusion, and the backlash
of shattering, sobering, breathtaking truth

It's on the tip of my tongue
and I can taste the faint, sweet, dull
sensation that
I think is the sugar coating

I have to break past it,
see past it,
taste past it
Like the black coffee
beneath the layers
of milky sugar and cream

To somehow break it apart
seperate the black, bitter, reflective surface
from it's murky counterparts

Banging on a one way mirror
I can see myself
but what lies on the other side
is a hidden,
mass of intimacy
hiding and masked

masked, as the taste of sugar masks the
bitterness of my coffee
as I drink and ponder
the wonders of my universe
and why I am able to type these words
and yet not have any grasp
on whether or not they are real
if I am real
...

I think therefore I am.
Descartes put it simply,
but my thoughts are the only thing
that can be proven to be real in any sense
because they exist without me
because: in essence, I am defined by what I record
and I record my thoughts

So, the mask unravels
the thoughts unfurl
the mysteries of the universe tumble
intangible to this being who
believes she exists
on the brink of reality

That tapestry,
Red, Black, Gold
A Celtic Circle--
silently bearing witness
to the proceedings
of that smoky room:

The aquariums--one with
the large eel who seemed
to barely fit the tank
that took up half the wall;
and the smaller, vibrantly
colored fish in the
aquarium with the eggshell
colored coral.

The remixed music played
at a comfortable volume,
by the DJ we knew
so well, together;
as many times
it hardly seemed like
he was working at all,
as he just sat down and
talked to us, for hours.

Looking through
those over-sized books of
old advertisements,
and explanations of
historical artwork;
discussing the contents
with strangers,
who became friends
in the process.

Smoke billowed, enveloping
the atmosphere and filling it
with the smell of many spice
racks, pleasantly rolled in a
shell of a soft breeze
flowing from the oscillating fan.

The smell of joy,
of a relaxed sense of mutual
understanding; that it was okay
not to say a word, because the
atmosphere did the talking
for us.

We just enjoyed sitting
on those red pleather couches
that your **** sank back into,
not allowing my feet to touch
the floor; so they often just
dangled, legs swinging
to the tempo of the music.

As I took a hit
of the hookah,
I manipulated the smoke
into O's, puckering
my lips, trying not
to laugh as you
gazed at me in a
shy sense of wonder.

That face always made you
want to kiss me.

Sitting in solemn silence
all around me the deafening roar
of thoughts flooding through
my mind

Heads bent over their work
as they contemplate the
significance that this will even have
ten, twenty, thirty years from now

Looking around and seeing
stress on people's faces
as they sit and wittle away
the fifty minutes of
fluid time

Twiddling their thumbs
the equivalent of me
here
writing this poem

Bland revising conversation
with an overtone of educational
******* wrapped in a blanket
of disconcerting melodrama

Whispers of unfocused chatter
and my mind wanders lazily
from one thought to the next

Conflicted as I should be writing for
another purpose
to complete an assignment
that I couldn't possibly
care less about

Oh the joys of institutionalized
education
and yet
the irony:

I want to become
a part of it
in order to remedy
its imperfections
from the inside out

So, why is it that life seems to go on without me? It seems like I miss the bus because I hesitate with almost every decision I make. I always try to calculate every possible angle before making a choice, and I take so long to do it, that whatever opportunity I might've had disappears. Or, I make the wrong decision and pine over it like a dog licking its wounds.


When it comes to things I should think about before I jump into them, that's when I don't think. I just do it. I think that route is more risky, but I can't get past square one with the first option of thinking it all out. On the other hand, my decision-making process doesn't have to be dichotomistic either. There are more than two ways to think things through. I think it's just been really hard for me to find a balance because I tend to go back and analyze the results of my actions regardless.

Needless to say, I second-guess a lot. and third and fourth guess. Indecisiveness is one of my weaknesses. And yet, if you take me shopping I can be in and out of 10 stores in an hour and come out with exactly, and only what I went in for.

sigh

Emotional/life decisions are where I have problems. People can't help make those for you, and you have to deal with the consequences because you're the one who chose to put yourself through it. Maybe that'll be one of the things I'll get better at when I move off to college.

So many shifting tiles under my feet that I'm not sure where to step. If I second guess, the tile under me may shift and I'll fall. But then the one that I jump onto may also move before I step onto it.

In the company of a turtle,
By the light of its heating lamp
contemplating life's lessons
and feeling that heart tug
in a place deep down

Slipping sorely into a
sleepy state of sentient syllogisms
as logical as a bat sleeping under water
Distractions abound

Eyes heavy as the body begins the process
of hibernation while the brain fights
fervently for its moment in...

Your lips are firm
yet supple to the touch,
the electricity that pulses
it just feels like so much

So much feeling in a single touch
and I sigh and clutch
my racing heart
as it beats and beats
and beats apart
from the rhythm of life,
as my soul imparts

The wisdom to me
that I already had
I wrote it down
on my little scratch pad:

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn
is just to love and be loved in return"

The sour taste
of bitter company
Teeth clenched
Tongue held
to preserve the
somewhat peacful
lie of a setting

A good time
While stepping
around the eggshells
like a minefield
of emotional explosions

You know that one will explode
you just don't know when
Hoping, feeling guilty for the hope
that the explosion will avoid you
and fall onto someone else

The smell of dinner
sustained silence
small talk
strained smiles
Happy ******* Thanksgiving

This thought that refuses to leave
an unwanted raging lunatic
tearing at my soul

You are a bug
eating at my flesh
and you refuse to die
I squash you
I burn you
I spray you
and yet
I cannot sleep

Because  I know somehow
somewhere,
you will find your way back to me
and ruin my life all over again.

It boiled out of me
like a sharp harpoon,
pinning me to a wall
of certain destiny.

Swimming in the fate
I thought I had
tipping into a jar of vanity.

The transitioned lenses
seeing past and future
concurrently,
Shake their heads in protest
with confidence to be feared.

What makes one doubt,
to question the path of inconsequential,
Who gathers the berries
and decides which are sweet
and which are bitter?

Only to taste is to know,
to experience and to feel,
to revel and relate,
to touch and know.

How is it
that whenever I'm sure that you're the one
that you run in the opposite direction

How is it
that you always seem apologetic,
and I believe you,
but the actions never support the claim

How is it
that when I call on you to talk to me
for five minutes
you can't find the time

And yet you say you love me.

How is it
that I pour my heart and soul out
for you, and you understand me
but you break me afterwards

How is it
that I am so happy
when I am with you
and never want to leave
but the moment I go
reality comes crashing in
How is it
that every time I try to trust you
my face is the one
that ends up stained with tears

And yet I still love you.

How is it
that we keep coming 'round
to this same ****** circle
and don't get anywhere faster

How is it
that my heart beats only for you
and yet I feel
like I have been thrown
naked onto the street

And yet you say you love me

How is it
I can feel it in my very core
that what you say is true
and yet your actions
make it not so

How is it
that I progress and mature
and you have done nothing
but back peddle
in my absence

How is it
that I can take this
and still love you
more than my heart can bear

How is it
that I dote so heavily on you
and would end my life
to save yours
and still feel
the cold burn of inconsistency

The skies are sad today,
the sun shows not its face
to welcome my flight into
its skies.

Grey clouds and wind,
most unwelcoming
as I make my journey
to the Northeast.

I can't escape my thoughts of you,
even on a plane,
as I fly away,
my future as muddled as the skies,
as ambiguous as a paper cup
in the midst of everyday humdrum.

I watch the people,
bags in hand,
headed to loved ones
in foreign lands,
and it calms me a bit to know,
that even though there will be snow,
and ice and cold and wet,
that there will always be a sunset,
another day put to rest,
another time,
another place,
another unforgettable face.

This seed
this tiny little acorn
of a dream
sits in my pocket
as we wind ourselves
down this winding path
of intimate dreams

Your fingers laced in mine,
and I take a side glance at your confident stride
your face glowing with that smile that lights
the darkest of nights
and you look at me with those eyes,
those eyes that climb into my soul and hug me
from the inside out
and you tell me that you love me

Wild poets stylizing
beating the drum that must be heard:
Call from the depths that ancient heart beat,
Fill that genie ***: a word.

Snaking, Smoking, Slithering,
abundant with passionate lashing,
Tongue in cheek, match the beat,
Feed our hungry hatchling.

Unnerved by the dogged inaccuracies
Plagued by the sources that know,
Round about they seek the truth:
No further they must go.

To create a straight and narrow path
Out of the circle you must come,
Raised a glass anew,
Darkness must be overcome.

Nay, Nay, Nay, Nay
Faith is naught with you,
Belief comes from a higher power,
It is not your job to rescue:
For I am not lost.

On the hill where our *father lies,
Under a breadth of dew,
he lays there and he testifies
that he saw the King of the Jews.

Find the beat again,
Is it there, Charlie?
Do you hear it in your soul?
Rattling the cages of time,
you seem so very controlled
and you still have
a very long way to climb.

Options
for the beggar
that hath seen no
light
Takes what she pleases
and finds delight

Hath not the beggar seen
her fatal flaw?

The beggar is but a beggar and
not pleased at all.

For if the beggar were to see
that her situation is but irony,
She then doth partake in sentiment
whose cracked joke is eminent.

Never fear for the dear beggar
is near and does not realize her folly
She trips and skins her broken knees
yet does not board the trolley.

For the trolley will take her away to see
What she has so fatally lacked
the experience she needs to grow
and grow a bone in her back.

Each individual jelly-belly
jellybean in a clear bag
tied with a red wire
is so different from each
other individual jelly-belly
jellybean in that clear bag.

The one that I find,
without fail,
without fault,
is always the one that
tastes like black licorice.

The sticky, overly sweet,
bitter black gunk that junks
up my perfectly good bag
of jelly-belly jellybeans,
and I am never paying
enough attention
to catch myself
before I pop it
into my mouth,
unaware that I will be
receiving: not cotton candy,
not coconut, nor cherry or lime,
but a black piece of bitter-sweetness,
whose taste always seems to linger.

Sitting on the cold grass
today makes my stomach
hurt. The sun that would
normally warm and greet
my dreary disposition
only keeps the wind at bay
long enough to play the
jacket game:

Pulling the sleeves of my
royal blue petticoat
with ******* buttons,
onto my arms, shimmying
it until the collar rests
at my neck, as a makeshift
cheaper Snuggie.

Then as the sun peeks out from
behind the clouds, warming the
ground, I'm shuffling off the rolled up
blue sleeves, pushing the jacket into
a heap at my feet.

Take me on this summer afternoon

Sizzling heat cooling off the soon
related factions of the precipice in
my mind

The underhanded broken chains that
whisper in my sleep
that choke me as
I unknowingly gaze into
the face of eternity

Melting together the
bonds of society to my broken
identity
to them this is nothing but
a game

Corner street societies
smokingly gaze at my uncomfortable
place as I try to wriggle free
from the grip with which
they are holding me tonight

Is the night
Such a beautiful night
and they call it
Bella Noche

Undistrubed and peaceful bliss
Wrapped in a bacon strip
greased up in oily fat
that will be eaten by a docile cat
that has no inclination to think about
these things
that bind him to his master

I've long since forgotten
the way you held me
The way you touched me

Spellbound by your caresses
My breath suspended
when you look at me
with those mossy green eyes,
that smile that melts any sadness,
any care or worry,
your soft hands,
the calluses on the tips of your fingers,
the way you smell like puppies
is even the most endearing thing about you.

The way your voice reaches my ears
and my body forgets
that there is a world outside us
The sound of your guitar
as you pick and strum away
and I refrain
from placing my quivering lips
onto yours
because I know it would be
the end of a friendship.

My feelings behind an arcane barrier

I am dearly afraid to trust you
and more so afraid
that you will abandon me
at the first sight of intimacy

I grow wary of your questions
guarding my answers,
and you catch it.
You of all people
can see past my wall.

That is really the most frustrating
thing about you:
is that you see.
You see my vulnerability,
the moment I am upset,
you ask what the matter is.

You can see it plainer on my face
than I can perceive it in my heart,
and you understand me  so well,
too well to keep this charade afloat.

So, at some point,
I assume I will have to address it,
my love for you that has no end.

Until that day though,
I will remain quiet,
cherishing the growing friendship
we have achieved once more.

Panic strikes me
as I realize that
I'm alone

Alone for the first time--
and I don't know
what to do with myself

All these people
Insistent beeping, buzzing,
rolling, shutting

My collective mind
Unraveling
Before my eyes as I have
No one to talk to
to
Connect
with

Floundering
thumbing through
my contacts
to find someone

Anyone

To make me feel wanted,
to feel that my company,
even if through a phone,
is wanted, that I am
desirable

As I fold in on myelf
the Layers turning inward,
eating themselves--

The waitress leans down and asks:

Is everything okay?

I respond, muttering:

mmhm.

It's killing me from the outside in
you know...

But I don't say that

As the layers fold,
the only thing that remains
is a scared little girl
just as frightened as she was
the day she opened her eyes
underwater
and looked around
and realized how eerily
vast and deep the water was...

It still scares her.
It scares me.
And I realize
that the one thing
I can't stand more than
Anything
more than death itself:
is being alone.

Why?

Because when I am
alone with my thoughts
That vastness
that deep ocean of nothingness
bathed in a burning, purified chlorine
Haunts me

Because I cannot fill it,
not even with the deepest of thoughts,
the most vivid sentiments
Cannot satisfy the depths
of the reflective blue against
a slate of unfeeling cement

I've made my decision
now let's play roulette
I'll take the black
If you take the red

Watch the ball spin
past colours that blur
My eyes follow
while my vision obscures

Thoughts whir
as the dial stops
dancing with death
as I hear the gun pop

I close my eyes
waiting to die
not this time
though my end
feels nigh

The barrel makes
a menacing sound
as it goes around
and around and around
and around

Where it stops nobody knows
In its chambers
my heart echos

It aches
it pumps with ferocity
with vitality and fervor
Counting down the seconds
'til it utters its last quiver

Standing boldly
laying down
crunched up in
womb's position

This is where I started,
and So shall I end here.

Tick. Tick. Boom.

The pain that pricked
me so curiously...

Not an aching or a throb
but an all out assault
on my stomach
a nagging
a stab

An insistent ****
in my side
the side I cling to
when the pain is too much

The side you laid your hand on
to tell me it was going to be
okay

But 'okay' only suffices
for the mind
and does not ease the pain
caused by this thorn
in my side.

Its slippery surface denies me
the ability to pull it out,
and I have not the resources
or the will to remove it.

Somehow I've become accustomed
to this stabbing, unsettling sensation
and as a developing *******,
It seems that I like it there.

Like a friend when no one
is there to listen
the thorn is still at my side

Willing to listen
as it buries itself deeper
for a long chat

As a beloved growth
now a part of myself
if I ripped it out,
I too would perish.

Therefore, it lives with me,
in my side,
along side me
aiding me with grief
and providing a
bit of its own.

Indescribably infallible

a vault of secrets kept gaurd by the walls of my memory
a picture of innocence sustained by the secrets that are inside

A Pandora's box of gross testimony
shaded in by the lines of worry on my face
a small undisturbed box of calamity and fear

Unguided and unaided,
My own decisions staring me in the face,
Unsure if my own self can sustain,
let alone stand the problems of the world.

My shoulders alone cannot bear the burden,
But I have already accepted the responsibility
So I must carry the weight and imperceptable sadness
of others so that they may flourish in place of me,
so that they may blossom while  Iwither away into
age that is beyond my years.

Quietly, in solitude, silence, packed full of secrets that
threaten to tear from inside me like a demented child from a womb,
with claws so sharp as designed to rip me open and bleed out my sympathies.

Getting quieter now as I back away into the corner that I have reserved for myself,
A somber face with the perilous, treacherous things of my past and the past of others contained in a box inside my heart.
A ticking time bomb.

The drawn anticipation
tip-toeing on the tip of my tongue
I can taste scintillating titillation
of action
of resolve

Slipping slowly into this
vastly unorganized state
of solace and  servitude

Bound by the beautifully ironic
Brush of fate that has brought me
to you

The luscious laments you utter
so lovingly
lap at my conscience
like a lap dog in the life of luxury
oblivious to anyone else's needs
but its own
as I languish the morsels lain on the
cold, wet floor

Freezing as my heart flutters
feverishly to fight the frivolous
attempts to win back the love
that frightens me now

Never doubting,
Nor noticing the imperfections
that nag at the niceties performed
eloquently in your presence

Putting my progress
on hold, while I become
less and less patient
still trying to understand
why you're still with her...

and I'm still here.
Loving you.

That time I stooped
down really low to the ground
just to hear where the cricket
sound was coming from,

lingers just as the smell
of the wet grass in
springtime when it's
a vibrant shade of green
instead of dead shade of brown.

That time that we pinky swore:
"I'll go if you go",
untamed matted hair flying
through the wind as we ran
as fast as we could right up to
that hill and tucked into a tumble,
rolling like over-sized armadillos
down our very own
vibrantly green
nature slide.

That time we were at
your house, and the permanent
markers were begging for us
to pop off their smooth shiny caps,
as our Barbies relaxed in your
Malibu Barbie Pink Sports Convertible.

The makeup and tattoos
in red and vibrant green and blue
that graced the hard plastic skin
of their smiling faces
never came off.

You're 5 foot 6 inches,
you know, not the 5 foot
8 inches that you claim
on the face of your
Texas driver's license--

Your hair was long
and curly then, and so sunny
beach blonde that you
could have walked right
out of the ocean and--

Right, thinking about
your driver's license at 6am
not having been to sleep
isn't what I should be thinking about.

But it is.

Look up to the sky:
It's still the same,
On the surface at least...

Look closer and you'll see:
the billions of planets moving round
Celestial heavens to which we are bound
Moving in an elliptical sea
Wrapped up in universal intimacy.

Blanket of stars:
Tuck me in,
Wrap me in your woven dreams,
Spill me into a cup of steam.
Crossbeams of light gleaming through
that dark blanket of deep blue stew.

Soup:
Carrots, peas,
celery, meat,
potatoes, beans,
simmering heat.

The heat from which this poem flows
through my mouth and out the window
into the ears of the passerby
fluttering into houses nearby.

Houses:
connected by a single thread,
we are all here together
until we all are dead.

Living:
Vivaciously
until that day I will greet the
blue, rolling sea.

Pouring a glass of skim milk
and squeezing a bottle of
Hershey's chocolate syrup
into the glass,
until the last drop is drained
from its wheezing container

Watching, as the chocolate
settles at the bottom of the
glass, creating a barrier
between the creamy ivory
and the sticky, rich brown.

Taking a spoon
and putting it in the glass,
stirring up the milk and
forcing it to take on
the identity of the chocolate,
the spoon clinking merrily
as it churns two very
distinct substances
into one entity:

The milk with the
brown sugar coating,
Allowing for you
to think for a moment:
the skim milk
doesn't taste so bad.

Trying to find the words
that will mend the hurt
To smooth the pain
to render wisdom
and understanding
into a soft salve
to rub onto
the open wound

Wincing
as you turn away
reaching out for you
but recieving
a single,
over the shoulder
glance
and a slight wave

as my stomach
tightens into knots,
several bound together,
squeezing the life out of me
the vivacious thing that once
made me as colorful as an
Andy Warhol print

Smiling with joy
twisting with sadness
oh what a tangled
Massive
web we weave

Daemon,
Purring animal that aids my hand
Coursing through my blood as
I attempt to dominate the page
with blank ink:

No pencil,
No tape-recorder,
No pen,
It is going,
It is going...

You cruel temptress
Who mocks me on a whim
or insatiable creativity,
that imagination
that explodes with vibrant imagery
when your back is turned
and the camera is off.

Scrambling like a father
urging their child to
"Do It Again"
Forced to beg the imagination
to allow me into its folds,
on my knees in utter
curious desperation:

No *genius am I,
but to be with you,
I seek.