did it work?
I give a useless tug on my skin, done to reassure me
instead it reaffirms to me:

I am, again, inconsolable.

is the mask I wear today sealed on tight? too tight?
does it hurt to pretend so much?

does it seem clear to anyone else that there are loose ends I've yet to tend to? backdoors I've overlooked?
transparencies?    can they see through me?

I bare my teeth. canines, canines from the days of carnivores.
am I that carnivore? in my genes I am.

and in practice?

inconsolable, uncontrollable
barely a threat in her form.

this question comes to me under many guises:
an old man asking me: are you that of practice or are you that of genes?
a professor lecturing: are you that of cultivated identity or that of inherited form?

my concerned friends crying:
who are you?
is your mask anything like you?

and then i wake.
it's a terror turned nightly chorus.
recurring nightmares, doctors offer.

i admit i know the content of my dreams to be unfounded:
in life there are no physical masks that do the jobs my terrors depict.
no veil to hide the contours of each flawed personality, no mask to others, just me, weeping-in-the-bathroom, never-myself me

and those attempted favours to be like one another
i'll be like you so you'll like me
i'll like you because i'm like you

so the body charges on in this society like a mirror
cross your left leg when she crosses her right, fold your arms when she's folded hers, raise your hand to say hello, raise your hand to say goodbye

a kiss on the right cheek, a kiss on the left, one more on the left
this is how you show love and a greeting all at once

fold your arms over each other, this is sympathy, this is greeting, do you take comfort in this too?

so you learn to speak with your arms, and you learn to speak with your legs, and you learn to speak with your face, and you learn to speak with your head.

soon your eyes are apprentices of acquaintances, learning to borrow looks like library books, take on others' stories like they've read them end to end.

so in the middle of this process you learn to effectively say:
i see you, i hear you, i perceive you.

and in these attempted favours, at the end of your night terrors, is the parrot that they want to see. the parrot that you argue, can't really be me.

Cupcakes and jello,
Sun drops of yellow,
A year old prince smiles with glee,
Happiest times started off free.

One foot in and one foot out,
Each step weighted with doubt,
Wan smile for the camera snapping away,
Two years old today.

Messy hair and muddy feet,
Too much energy to take a seat,
Toothy three-year old smiles for Mummy's photo,
Looking as proud as winning the lotto.

Marvel comics and new-found heroes,
Fan-art drawn in multi-colored Biro's,
Cheeky grin to hang on the wall,
Four years old, 3 feet tall.

Backpacks and Elmers' glue,
Cafeteria food that's hard to chew,
Pose in school uniform, charcoal gray,
Five years old on this big day.

Ring pop marriages and rainbow smarties,
Confetti always being thrown at birthday parties,
Yours is no different, cup them in your hand,
Hold out six fingers and composedly stand.

Swimming lessons and soccer practice,
Coaches being overwhelmingly fractious,
Hugging the soccer ball to your chest,
Seven years old, smilin' your best.

TV marathons and video games,
Struggling to learn hockey players' names,
Staring intently at the wrestling match,
Eight years old, hoping to catch.

Game of tag and playground fights,
Pretending to be English knights,
Awkward personality you've yet to define,
No longer eight, now you're nine.

Reruns of Spongebob Squarepants, ******-Doo,
First time trying fried tofu,
New experiences 'cause now you're ten,
Eight years away from joining the men.

6th grade comes and 6th grade passes,
Schedule in hand trying not to be late for classes,
Remember your locker combination 1-20-7,
Sigh of relief that you're eleven.

Too thin, too slim-
Too fat, not "that"-
Hallways you seldom dwell,
Twelve, trapped in a living Hell.

Bitter, reserved, aggressive you turn,
Nagging from parents makes your stomach churn,
Yelling "I hate you," till your face burns red,
Thirteen is an age of words over-said.

In a rash decision, you stole a beer,
A crowd welcomes you with an electric cheer,
Only fourteen, your choices will sway,
With time, you'll rue this day.

Not young, not old,
"Be fun", "be bold",
Caught in the middle of the unforeseen,
Not quite fifty, still fifteen.

A year has passed and you're feeling tired,
Can't bear to tell your father you've been fired,
Sixteen has brought you misery and sorrow,
Dreading the fruits of tomorrow.

Nothing is "for fun" anymore,
All this working out is making you sore,
Your head gives in and you pass out cold,
Seventeen and you've already been sold

Eighteen candles in one big breath,
Closer and closer to inevitable death,
         You feel so old already,
                Want to take it steady...
But you can't.

Tangy scent of ginger ale,
Hands stained cotton-pale,
Flames crowd your barren soul,
A childless mother, not completely whole.

Colors burn through your mind,
Words blaring that aren't so kind,
Forever trapped in an endless maze,
Your own father called it a "passing" phase.

Only you know the truth of it all,
You miss the days before the Voice would call,
No matter how long or how good the day,
The Voice always got away.

"Illusions," they called the voices you heard,
But to you they were as vivid as the song of a bird,
Chirping outside your window to greet this fruitful morning,
Soon to be faded by the Voice's scorning.

Dull and gray your nights transform,
Like a passionate magician with no acts to perform,
The last straw pushes your limits too far,
Like a flame engulfing spilled tar.

Bucket of white and paint brush so clean,
You're painting your flaws away before they'll be seen,
A gulp of ginger ale along the way,
White you've been painted and white you will stay.

You find a pair of scissors and snip off your hair,
Leaving your scalp looking erratically bare,
You head to your room for a final glance,
Really, it's because you're hoping to be given one last chance.

"You've been bad," the Voice would state,
In a tone of voice you're starting to hate,
You grab your phone and make some calls,
Then head to the bathroom with the checkered walls.

A few moments later you lay in the bathtub,
Already your fingers feel slightly numb,
You read the instructions and swallow the pill,
Inhale and exhale to get rid of the chill.

Your eyelids grow heavy and your head is sore,
You turn on some music that you adore,
Your chest feels tight and you brace yourself,
Place your phone on the top-right shelf.

Your best friend finds you later that week,
Her fingers start shaking and she's too shocked to speak,
She clutches your phone and as she dials 9-1-1,
She finds your note that writes, "The Voice won."

you have a bathtub for a bed
    hairbrush as a mic
no roof over your head
    go everywhere on your bike

wall for a friend
     stone for a sole
running water is merely Godsend
      being materialistic was never your goal

i offered you money
                          love
                            ­ companionship
but those offers fell to the floor

"i ain't no charity,"
and you were already out the door.

A happy ending,
existent only in our minds?
Or is it possible that one day,
one refreshingly glorious day,
it can join our world of memories,
and stand alongside our courage.
Squeezed in-between faith and hope,
only to simply wave farewell to our troubles?
Can one swish of a broom,
or a sharing of a smile,
the stroke of a brush,
the birth of a child,
end it all?
Will fireworks erupt,
is a crowd going to cheer?
Will we know when?
Will we know how?
Are the birds going to sing?
Celebrate with chirps and tweets?
Will we all learn to get along?
To co-exist and to belong?
Will this victory last?
Or will it crumble?
Can we blame anyone for cupidity?
Or is it just plain stupidity?
Sometimes it all seems like a game,
with a pause button and a controller included.
Other days, the pain is more vibrant than ever,
radiating and penetrating through your body,
physically, emotionally, mentally.
Our grief and loss on some days seems to tip the scale,
outweighing love and belonging significantly.
“Why us?” I hear them say,
Sometimes, there is no answer.
Scarred women, defeated men, and fretful children cannot bear to speak.
On those days, the breeze is left to answer the question that tints the air.
Some days, especially just after a demolition, the question seems to pull a trigger,
and cries and moans and sighs accompany the summer breeze.
But on the really bad days, there is more than that,
there are shouts and yells, insults and threats, slowly starting then spreading like wildfire.
There is no mercy on those days, only thoughts of revenge circle the air.
But one day,
perhaps one day,
someone will break the silence,
and answer the question,
perhaps they will say: “Because we are strong, we can get over this”,
or they will quote an inspirational person,
and then we will all applaud,
and our worries will leave us,
will carry themselves across the sea.
Can our dreams just be fragments of our imagination?
Pointless thoughts?
An abomination?
Sometimes,
just after a bomb goes off,
or perhaps when a cousin or two is killed,
I will lose hope,
my mind left astray.
“But you’re alive… you’ve been spared…” a wise voice inside me whispers,
but it’s too late because now anger replaces loss of hope,
and it surfaces to my skin.
The taste of defeat is almost palpable.
On those days,
I feel great loneliness.
I mourn and grieve,
and so does the rest,
but they don’t offer sympathy,
no condolences or warm-hearted wishes.
On those days, you can stare them right in the eye,
And you can tell.
Their eyes,
they’ve lost their depth.
Their life, they’ve lost it.
There is nothing left.
Nothing at all.
So you decide that they’re dead.
These people are the living dead.
And you think, why not just **** themselves now and save the pain later?
On those days,
Your focus isn’t right, and you’ll sometimes say things aloud,
and their eyes, for just a moment
they’ll seem to bounce with joy,
as if you’ve granted them a wish or something,
as if they’d never considered there ever being an escape.
And so they do.
Look what you’ve done now, stupid. Look at them! JUST LOOK AT THEM NOW!
But you fight the urge to follow their paths,
and you stare at them for a long time.
And then something catches your attention,
a spark,
and you notice their eyes.
And it seems they’d been alive this whole time.
They’ve just been to cowardly to show it.
And, the people, a second or two before their last breath,
They’ll regret it,
They’ll see that life truly is a blessing,
it is joyous, it is happy.
It might not be perfect, but it’s something.
Something to work on, something to do.
It’s better than just turning and tossing in a grave, at least.

Woke up this morning with an itch to write,
To put pen to paper,
To put height to flight.

Broken words for the good mans' soul,
I write to feel happy,
I write to feel whole.

Like an anxious athlete on a trendy diet,
I weigh-in to reflect.
I weigh-in to free an internal quiet.

Similar to an artist using brushes and paints,
I draw a paradise with fire,
I draw a hell with saints.

Feelings twist my fingers and toes,
Force me to write of worries,
Force me to write about woes.

These words are like screams,
They are my pain,
They are my extremes.

To think I only write of distress is utterly depressing,
There is also beauty in the world,
There is a myriad of issues far more pressing.

Yet given the chance I would write my worries away,
Save me another hour,
Save me another day.

I would wish for an eternity of bliss,
For everlasting love,
For time's abyss.

I could write about cities,
Filled with people and cars,
Filled with ruins and pities.

I'll sew you a quilt of all my fears,
Hoping no one realizes,
Hoping no one hears.

With this quilt I'd make my bed,
Rest on it with fluttery thoughts,
Rest on it with a heavy head.

And on it I'd cuddle with the quilt,
Wish away all the bad,
Wish away all the guilt.

For I know I could write for a hundred years straight,
Still have those debts,
Still have a tarnished slate.

the hairdresser used the wrong dye
       your boyfriend dumped you for a guy

all you have left is shattered dreams
      camera flash blinds you with its beams

missionaries bring word of an impending doom
    your dog snuck in and broke your fave perfume

trying to grow your hair but you have split ends
        the guy you've been eyeing wants to be just friends

your favorite jeans ripped and you don't have spares
        you would ask for a friend's but nobody cares

you're late to work and you don't know why
      you got scouted to model but you were suddenly too shy

you failed the pop quiz that everybody aced
      you got mistaken for a celebrity and brutally chased

you dropped your wallet jogging around
      you found it empty a week later in the lost and found

you forgot not to and picked a scab
       your favorite uncle's stuck in rehab

your grandmother mistook you for her son
      in reality you're female, and nowhere near fifty-one

you're a penny short but the cashier won't budge
     your mother is still holding that 10-year grudge

what can you do, what can you say?
when all you have is first world problems, today.

from the very first glimpse of world that greets you every sunday,
                                            tuesday
or perhaps thursday morning
the thought of an ordinary day will not dawn upon you
for every day, to you, will be as good as your first
and as bad as your last
life is your dress rehearsal
and its creatures are your cast

seated at the breakfast table
alone
   with alphabet cereal
swirling in milk
avidly spelling out the names
of all the galaxies
    and daydreaming
of sleeping under the stars

daytime means schooltime
which is synonymous with
underpaid teachers
    and high-pitched gossip
and boys with peach fuzz
who never bothered remembering your name.

the cafeteria is a habitat
which houses many
different species
of human
including the undercover poet
scribbling on a grease-stained
napkin :
the ballad of a sad child.

upon a steady return
to the undercover's residence
three things occur:
      his fountain pen is quenched
          his tears dried
and of course, a bitter realization
that his day had been most banal.

so once again the poet sets off

footsteps patting against textured carpet
   your shaky palms
grabbing layers of soft duvet
  dragging it across the empty floor
through the hallways
  and out the front door

under the stars
   you lay and weep:  safe forever
and fully submerged in the calm of the night

forever is not a lifetime
it seems
but the time it takes
for the sun to win over the moon
in a fight

horror stories muffled by pillow forts and blankets that stretch across the
vast of my beloved
room.

in hiding--
your young skin
    is shielded
  by a lonely
shadow dancing
with sunlight.

the room's symphony plays on as
a crescendo of
soft laughter
and light footsteps
cues in.

magazines     sprawled on
the carpeted-floor
jennifers & ashleys
glamorously sporting
shiny hair.

away messages
are synonymous
to x's and hearts
bordering
your
besties' names.

and these are the best
years of your life
but it just feels like dirt
to your name
being young
gets old.

mobiles in purses
strapped to your chest
"I HEART NY" keychains
dangling by the locket
that frames your blurry
picture of
him.

you feel so important
surrounded by friends
and people who
shower you with
lots of
cheap love.

you don't care
about what you don't know
and it's easy
living
when all you're living
is the lie of happiness.

driven to the brink of madness
       to the edge of insanity
            standing on the corner
                 bracing for the fall

push me dear stranger
      give me what i deserve
         you don't know what i've done
               you don't know what i've learned

come on old pal
      laugh in my face
       tell me what you've told me
          time and time again

hey little fella
      show me a smile
         i'm holding still for you
             but only for a while

oh momma oh poppa
       don't you frown
           this is so hard for me
             but i've already let you down

faux friends, faux friends
       where are you now
           you saw this coming
              no need to ask how

*i'm not dying
     i'm just going away.
a bird migrating for the winter-
        but indefinitely,
             to-stay.

I can't write anything
    that doesn't sound slightly stupid
            anymore
                    my words haven't kept up
with my maturing. Or so it seems.

         maybe I'm just outgrowing
   the stupid words I used to use to describe
things. but maybe is also another stupid word.

maybe maybe maybe
          the word dances off my tongue. which is totally
(completely) repulsive.
        why should a word
that sits on the top of everyone's
        tongue
               waiting to strike
dance. it's a drug they don't warn you about
     ****** if you use it ****** if you don't.
        
the next best excuse
                     to 'I don't know'-- couldn't tell you how many times
i've held back because i clutched that word
     like it was a part of me.

maybe. here it is again. maybe, I thought that "maybe"
     really was a part of me. it's hard to distance yourself
from something so excruciatingly
     fitting.
there was something about "maybe" that just felt
necessary. as though certainty never stood a chance.

the worst of things being that we were all defined by our cowardice and that we couldn't stand
       the thought of being wrong (not even once.)

nobody  saying anything
with any certainty. they knew how fragile
the world was. none of us were
strong enough to deal with being any shade of WRONG.
we're all too insecure to be throwing around words like that anyways.

i want
big, doe eyes
     that you can't take seriously
even when i'm yelling at you
          face red, voice scratchy
at 3am
                      to leave.

i want
soft, wispy hair
       that you'd twirl round and round
telling me you *love me, i'm your baby &
                     eyes red, voice low
at 3am
                           i'd tell you the same.

i want
a nose only fit for pleasance
        that'd allow me to enjoy the roses
you brought to apologize for coming home late
                               hair up, voice hushed
at 3am
                            and not the alcohol on your breath.

i want
featherweight skin
        so when you pull me by your side
there is only a thin layer of cells between our hearts
                            noses turned, voices unheard
at 3am
                               i hug you closer.

i want
a burning ambition to make things work
        that would keep this alive
whatever this may be
                    skin tight, voices livid
at 3am
                    waking up the neighbors.

i want
to be 80 pounds again
         so you would carry me back
when i fall asleep in the car, hand clasped with yours
                             mind on hold, your sweet lullaby
at 3am
                                sending me back to sleep.

oh,
         i'm not trying to be perfect
i just want you to stick around a little longer
                      deep down
i know i can change
                      but the problem is you

green trees
     green grass
         green light
              (oh)
fast

yellow bricks
      yellow road
           yellow light
               (my)
faster

amber hair
      amber eyes
           amber light
             (God)
too fast

red heart
    red blood
       red light
         (!)
impact

blue lips
     blue skin
          blue bed
           (I)
rush

blurry touch
    blurry eyes
        blurry words
          (love)
sinking

dizzy spell
    dizzy haze
        dizzy thoughts
          (you.)
*falling

hold my hand,
and pull me tight.

for i am too tired to speak;
tonight.

trip me up,
and make me laugh.

for i am too sad to cry;
tonight.

pour me a glass of juice,
and pretend it's wine.

for i am too sick to get drunk;
tonight.

sing to me a lovers' song,
and ask me to dance.

for i am out of ideas;
tonight.

bake me a cake,
and sprinkle some love.

for i am craving lots;
tonight.

make me a bracelet,
of old charms and beads.

for i am in need of luck;
tonight.

tuck me in bed,
and read me a story.

for i will be restless;
tonight.

dim the light,
and keep the door open.

for i might awake with a fright;
tonight.

open your letter,
and read it slow.

for i cannot say these words;
tonight.

Honey,
You were the One.
A savior of sorts.
I cannot thank you.
I cannot love you any more than I do.
Be brave, if not for me, for you.
Take care of yourself, as I know you will.
Signed,
Your Beloved.

promise me you won't cry,
and promise me you'll make it.

for i am dead;
tonight.

there were years i held
unburied but moving in undetected lingers
before i finally caught them in standstill
sore between my fingers

sore is sore and ache is ache
and i held both in silence for silences' sake
till weight made pressure and pressure made bend
I used to call them my Godsend I used to call them my Good Friend
but bend made break and break bent friend
and weight came back to make me sorry again
cause sorry meant take and take meant give
and give meant I forgive but
you didn't forgive

so came the break between real and fake
so came the merge between real and fake

you say you don't have to go there
don't haunt me like this
so good
so good
so good
because i didn't want to remember more than i should!
and if i could just stop myself yes i would, yes i would
i am so so sorry and if i could feel worse i would
and if i could feel better i would

but it's beyond letting, beyond forgetting
and the hand in all these memory choices isn't mine
the closest thing i had to control was time
the closest thing i had to sense was rhyme

here we have to choose where to store
up on surface? deep in core?
and when i keep it there, you'll finally tell me more

so you say forget and
i let it
sink deeper
ugly rivulet
down my back down my
back

come back to sink me too but
i won't let
anything that has to do with me
do with me

you know deeper isn't better you know
the same thought'll still get her

but it'll have gone deeper now
okay! yes! you're in my face! so i'll say this

yes i don't
remember it! yes it's not on the surface for me to look at it!
but i promise you
when i bury it i hear it saying
it'll come to bury me too

i just felt that i've been up brushing against all the words for a very long time
rubbing on the edge, sometimes it's sharp, usually
it's sharp. always
it's sharp.
they're stupid honestly

and i'm trying to lose myself somehow
and i remember wanting to sand away
the fact that i was another chip off the block another
boat off the dock
another piece of lint another stick of chalk
here's a space here's a space where we can talk

and i wanna start this walk
past the doors i hear it knock

(and i'm going to get on a bus and it's not going home)

and i have been wondering, i said
i have been wondering.

what have you been wondering?
at a time like this?

at a time like this?
I've been wondering if this is close enough for it.

who's going to know?
who has to know.

if this is close enough to feel and if this is
close enough to think and
if there's enough air here
to take you between now and then.

is this what I could be doing to survive? is this what i can live
in between. between the unsaid said and the unseen scene

i can live in-between the times, i said. in-between the times / hoping that since it's been spoken / this stupid spell's gone broken

but first we gotta
hold onto the rope
hold onto these cords
cause they're asking me
you wanna live in the spaces of your words?

i said if i could if i COULD
(oh God if I could)

and there's no hope here not with them
so I say a prayer and I say it fast
cause I need this beautiful life to last
and I need this beautiful hand to hold and I need to stop this terror fold and I need to
let this prayer go
into the air
God I'm so tense here hoping someone out there is gonna care
that I'm sending
for sweet beautiful survival yes have it
Sent please
bring me back to the last Good Place i went please
let me wake up the next morning and hear the Jack
and hack and hack he's going to go I know
this I know
hack hack hack he Went
the last Good Time that we spent
hack hack hack he went
at all the pretty wood
in this nice neighborhood

and i promise myself the next time i tell myself
to open up i'm gonna stay closed
and the next time you tell me to feel
the warmth
i'm gonna stay cold

i don't know how to talk to you-
      i don't know where to start with you,

i thought this was a ship
       worth sailing

"dreary weather
        no match for us"

then,
      it started hailing

you took cover
     hid from feelings
of doubt

i put a shield  
    between us

i only wanted
     to protect you

or at least make you feel
      just as i had
  with you

no calls
   no texts
between us

a clean break
    with a messy outcome

avoiding you everywhere
      so you'd forget

no

      this is not a letter to you
merely an adieu

     i'm posting this on your wall
           to let the world know
        how people can fall
                     in love
               and out

we wounded up here
    on an island of fear

our ship had long sunk
      all our treasures
in its trunk

the ocean washing
    away our sandcastles

leaving a salty foam
       in its place

i dream
    of you from time
to time

you were a drink
    i liked
             for a while

a summertime destination
    an iced-beverage infatuation
    
                and

in case you were wondering
         your taste
is lime

"ehem"
we all hear it
the voice of the once-feeble boy
whom we always assumed would
end up in some shabby office job
typing away schedules and making spreadsheets
avoiding fellow humans and drinking coffee– black

the voice that seemed so small to us then
now seems impossibilly loud–
ridiculously honest, and tragically sad

and no trace of anger or shame
or anything that bears resemblance to
the last picture of the boy
you carry in your minds

important people, marked by name-tags
and good posture–
nice suits
surround him

it's all very intimidating
all of you hoping
he makes no mention
of you, or you, or you

and the wait, for him to speak
is nerve-wracking and
feels remarkably long
with people tapping their feet
impatiently, and readjusting their ties

until finally he clears his voice once more
and addresses the crowd
the audience exchanges expressions
of amazement, wonder

his voice is strong and reaches you
though you're hiding in the very last row
and you can't bear to meet his eyes
or return his flashy smile

he makes a speech
and you settle into your seat
as you forget your own presence

all seems well
until
he stops mid-word
and meets your stare

and

all of a sudden it's 1979 again
and you're back in that playground
and you have a bat in your hand
and he has fear in his eyes
and he's crying
and begging you to let go
but something in you snaps
and you hit him
right across the nose
before you could stop– and then you sprint

it sinks in when you're halfway home
and you stop and hesitate
feel the guilt
but shrug it off
and walk the rest of the way back

the roles are reversed now
and he is clearly the bigger man
and you are small, and weak
and petty

a playground bully is your only claim to fame
while he is the president of this ******* country.

he starts again
and you feel worse than you would had he
given you the punishment you deserved

nope, this boy ain't angry- or ashamed,
only hurt, and blatantly sad.
so, so sad.

every interaction there is to know, there is to have
every feeling
every color in the sand
     every triple-drip, color-trip in the spilt gasoline
coming off in a faint rainbow, coming off in spilt energy
on some days just as fly ash
on other days peeling off the moon
peeling off our walls as well
and maybe this is just as well
and maybe this is just as well

D- Days go by and I keep hearing footsteps. The rhythm they make is undeniably catchy.

A- Always, always I hear the tip taps replay in my mind. A constant song amid incoherent thoughts.

N- Never have I heard anything like it. It’s new yet old, original yet familiar.

I- In-between my coffee breaks I type quickly, quicker, quickest. The sound of the keys jumping up and down passes time, ever-so-slowly.

A- And, once again, the day has ended. The song has played and bills have been paid, a day I would call complete if not had I known it will once again repeat.

Tomorrow.

Jumping nerves and tingling senses,
Uncontrollable thoughts within restricted fences,
Shaking palms and prickly toes,
Troubling times and shameful woes.

A stranger quick to lend a hand,
Like a rope or ladder in quick sand,
A sudden weight in a heavy sack,
You carry on your shoulders as you try to pay back.

Days under the hot sun with helmets and axes,
Logging the days to try to pay your taxes,
A soft whistle blown to end the day,
You sit in the corner and quietly pray.

A final deposit of one-eighty-seven,
A rushed cheque dated March 11,
A sigh of relief and maybe more,
The fulfilled hopes of no longer being poor.

You are the ringing bells in my ears,
     A whispered inside-joke that no-one else hears.

You are the fleeting scent on my clothes,
     You are a daisy and a light pink rose.

You are the rising sun in LA,
      Eye-candy, for me, with each bright ray.

You are a smooth spot on a bumpy path,
    The bubbles in-between my fingers in a nice, warm bath.

You are a sour candy still classified as a sweet,
    
     I'm certain you'll be the greatest person I'll ever meet.

Your shoulders, sturdy,
hold me, heavy,
I am groggy but awake.

Push at a rock and hope it will move.
You reap what you sow but I did not
plan for your barren lands,
I hadn't thought of the desert,
I have not been able to dream, I have yet to fall asleep.
Watch me fall into the abyss of my own unconscious,  salvaging dollops of conversations we have not had.

Look at you ramble... uneasy, too afraid to let
a comfortable silence sit between us, too insecure
to share anything but emptiness disguised as words.

I did not believe in the power of company,
and their influence.

Now all I can do is stare inertly at the fallow lands of my nightmares
Only to awake, heaving, still heavy, gesticulating wildly,
reaching for familiarity.

I hate this obstinate reality.

We are friends by habit not love.

A thousand thoughts never said,
A thousand books never read,
Youth exploited by drinks and cigars,
Attention to knowledge seems so sparse.

A thousands thoughts still in my head,
Waiting to be released, freed, and shed,
A thousand books in the bedroom drawer,
Replaced with TV scenes of blood and gore.

A thousand stones left unturned,
Waiting to reap to those who've learned,
A thousand lessons never taught,
Brain cells die and brain cells rot.

A thousand miles set us apart.
Miles of envy, frost, and change of heart.
Like a dog that's been told once too many to go away,
People acknowledge but know not to stray.

i guess it was always this cold every
winter but i never fully realized 366 days
later this is exactly where i'd be again

i say goodbye to it every year and i
take whatever veil everyone makes for me
to throw it over

we all want to start over

but it's here that january starts to cry on my shoulder
i liked this shirt, and i liked to keep my heart on its sleeves
but i let her cry until i feel each shoulder freeze

knowing this year was a bad one and
that she's lost a lot

(this entire time i think: ***** you. ***** you for hurting her)
(but i also want her to forgive)

the entire time wishing i could have her back
and soon i'm having a panic attack

my hand over her now
under my breath i'm praying
i wish i could take the weight off her
i wish i had plainly had more
to offer
i wish i had it in me to say i could stop her

from everything but mostly from her own suffering
even months away i'm so ****** cursed
to already see the sadness buffering
her software overload

switching her hardware up thinking it would do us any good
when the world will still spin and the events planned
will still happen as they should

all i do is hold her and hold her fists
away from her eye
stop rubbing them while you cry
she said she'd have worried about wrinkles too
if she didn't plan to die

i'm getting too old to ask her to justify why

every year i get asked
  please won't you please
  keep this boulder?
i need it to stop me from getting older
please won't you please?     i want to stay on your shoulder

and every year she says:
don't **** my dream don't **** my hope don't **** my illusion
unless you want me dead too

i said this year i want this and i want you
but
keep that february away from me
if you want it gone i want
all of it gone

she said
i might not be right but i can tell that
that is wrong

(and she adds
i wish instead i was
left
cause i need you going and i need you gone)

but i'm
hanging tight
hoping my heavy burns down to your light

no , light
lightest lit light
stop me turning everything into
a fight

no light
isn't that winter?
yes
wake up
it's winter it's march

you know what i want to say?
i'm waiting for sweet april days
roll around fast paced craze
and all her showers i'm waiting for
i'm itching at stories because i can't wait for more
and thank april for the showers for the flowers for the
bloom for the
run around turn around
find yourself hanging on her
every move

till May said May
till May said
you may May
you may stay you may be mine
you, may,
be mine

you maybe
mine

you, maybe mine

just for a few days more

till june comes around to hack and **** up my door

unsturdy but there
one against the problems door against the thought door against
the dizzy door against the rot

so  hinges slipped and hinges slid
and nothing felt heavier than
my eyes, right shut close they did

i was holding in the only way i knew
i was keeping up before i blew

i was keeping in as much as i could
i was holding on more than i should

and tell july she was ugly

and tell her if i hadn't been too busy crying
and too busy sad
i would've been mad

dare she
did anyways
and poked me in the eye

she said

they have to be open

i said

you're the one trying to **** me now

she said august is here and
you missed it fighting

i said i missed myself
more than i could ever imagine
and i feel myself
on seven clouds
at once

she said i know who you're talking about and give her four days
she's going go away

i nodded
but i knew it couldn't be true
this was a form of me as much as it was all i cared to say i knew

till friend my friend called her friend to call my friend friend to call around and say that i found myself
at the edge of myself and i realized much of the ******* up and i realized more than sorry
and i remembered big guilt filling up pools of myself and
incapacity to swim and
overcrowding
means drowning

in august i remembered how ugly
i could be in the rawest form of myself

and i spent 2 weeks with my hands on a blade wondering
when the day would be that i'd ditch
the body

i was possessing feeling and thought and i was
something more than that

i was surprised to read in my journal that this was something i thought consistently about

so if i were to let go it'd be the body it'd be
the mind and i'd let them die
the only way my spirit could ever learn to fly

and body got weaker call me
weakest on the plane
but september came here right back and
she came back quite like the best
hug attack

no hack no more she said
no need for
a door

she came back to say i'm here! she came back to say i missed you!
and i missed her too i missed you so much i love
you so much i love myself i am superwoman i am
superwoman today

she said you are superwoman everyday jesus
christ you have no idea what you've missed

i said i love you i love you i love you don't you
dare go away

and friend called friend and friend called friend
till the sad came around to finally
shove me again

locker of myself i thought
bullies were insecure

but she looked me straight in the eyes with words
and a voice that made me know she was sure

i didn't even say hi to her this time
so don't give me crap
i hate her
as much as you do


and i was thinking out loud to my best friend to
please just make her go away make her go away

but stupid idea because i stayed for months
in a bed
with her
in my head

so month beat month till month turned month
happy birthday month happy
anniversary month
marking days
i knew what it
was for

and in october i swore i
was feeling it come on this year mild

but november was so cold and december
looks at me in that way that january felt
and i knew it wasn't innocent enough to leave me alone

i can't defend you january i am so sorry this is
so much bigger than both of us

i'm just so sorry to have not kept my promise to you

so you put your face close up to mine before
your eyes flashed a little wide
before you said hey let's go inside before you said
hey it's warmer in here before you said
why don't you have a beer
before you said all of this
        your eyes flashed a little wide.
so i guess that's when i should've known.
but as i felt my hand grip over my phone
i realized how badly i had to be done with the trust games
you said i knew so much better than to trust old flames
and you're a new thing. up and away
cupid's a shooter till this very day
and you were excited for me to
learn what would happen if i did it your way

you were excited for me
to finally see what was on the other side of this kind of fear.
so i let you be and i let me be too until my
fingers loosen and i don't even have my
thumb on speed dial anymore when our eyes finally lock again.
somehow i just
know this is a bad idea but at the same time it feels like
something i should've done a long time ago.

distance rolls into the highway
as we vicariously live our lives
rebelling against the speed limit
whose faulted existence was deep-rooted
in restraints that meant well
but were restraints all the same

You cry everyday
      and you lose a bit of yourself everyday
and the only time you feel yourself smiling is after you've drunk so much you're passed out on the floor.

you love that headache you wake up to
because it fogs up your brain
you don't need to stop yourself from thinking too much
cause you can't think at all.

and you're thankful you can't remember last night or even the night before
and if anyone asks you if you've been drinking again
it's always a "no, not anymore"

and it's clear they know you're lying
but they've given up on you for a while
so they just pat you on the back
and leave with a forced smile

people call you
to "check up on you"
to ask "how's it going"
to say "I miss you"

you mumble
"thanks" and
"it's going." and
"yeah."

it's hard for them
knowing you don't miss them
back
knowing you want to die

and it takes everything in you
to stop yourself from crying
so you hang up
grab a bottle

and laugh
because in a few minutes
you'll be smiling
while you pass out on the floor.

honey i've got a rhyming boom box attitude
aptitude
gratitude
fill me up like  a garbage chute

running backwards like i'm kinda cute
getting honked at to tell me
to get out of the way

well Mr Driver that's not very nice
i'm not yet a big girl
so don't fight my fire
with your deadass ice

meet me beneath the churning river
         wearing a golden mask

oh

love
   have you awoken
from your deep slumber

have your eyes
     accepted the many
definitions
       of beauty
in this world

have your senses
    aroused at
the thought
     of a butterfly
landing on the tip
        of your crooked nose
          
have your plans
     recoiled
into petty
      dreams;
have they spoiled
         once again?

    have your fears
rebound
      pouncing like
a hound
       steady to return &
  desperate to be found

is there
    a sound so sweet
is there
     a beat
            so neat
   as the pitter
and patter
     of teeny-tiny feet

There is new air
        and old air
             and fresh air
                    and stale air
                          cold air
                               hot air
             and air in-between.

There are young people
                   and older people
                            and corrupt people
                                  and naive people
                                      mean people
                                          kind people
              and people in-between.

I'd take air over people
         because
                people can be
  (sadly)
  (regrettably)
  (unfortunately)
                      S E E N

operator
pick me up a fix me up

pick me up at 6 and pick her up too


he's calling me but i'd rather talk to you


and won't you also shut the backdoor too
i'm having a private conversation

you have to stay outside

but don't leave me i'm
going through a bad time in my life

operator operator pick me up
don't you dare drop
this call
i don't ever want to be
without you at all

operator operator call me back i

am having a panic attack

dad called me names

i know you can hear
i know you're always here

operator operator i believe
in you

operator operator i believe in this system


i need you to come through

you pulled the cork
   like an open faucet
      my feelings poked through
          and poured out

you pulled the door
     like a misplaced barracade
        no thoughts came in
            and none out

you pulled the wedge
      and like a balloon
           my reason whizzed
               around the room

you pulled the trigger
   so swift and at ease


      my heart took the shots
          my head took the wounds

incoherence, cold spoons, feeding myself off pieces of myself lodged acutely on the tip of my brain's tenderest sense

i don't have time to cope, i tell everyone
but i do make time on my own to mourn
to cry for the lost memory i used to play again and again
with obsession, with burning resolve
till every nook felt rummaged and every crack felt filled

i call it futile
because today i only remember playing it over and over again
and yet not a clue what "it" is

lazy sunday
       hazy monday
          you found me on the street

dizzy tuesday
     frizzy wednesday
          you took me for a treat

flurry thursday
      blurry friday
          you threw me into the cold

saturday, saturday
     when did i get so old?

let me guess we weren't the first
to sneak out here on our own
to "break the ice"
by raising skin to skin
and bone to bone

to tell all your good friends to leave us alone
when you know i'll tell you to leave me alone

god i always liked the flow that went
getting another life to swallow
without needing to pay rent

just another person to know we were just
other people to know

before figuring whether you were
the person to tell me when to come
or the one to tell me when to go

how do we know we know?
when i only try by saying
i'll try to know

but we look towards each other and
invite the other
to come and be the latest reach
for me to refer in relativity
all true all emotion
leech

and if we could just choose the things that run forever
then let it be the golden feeling i found
in the absence of sound

in the absence of speech

if skin was touch and touch was reach
and reach was sin and sin was breach

and if we pretend preach
could and would make it all better

then were you back here
when you finally got it together
put it all together

and when she tried to ask you to come back
why did you go ahead and get her

taking forever to open up and even
longer than that to close
it scares me how much she knows
here the truth comes here the truth goes
     here i am sought for sad
doubly ***** prose
can you tell me again how much she knows
    
as she watches onward i float off ****** propriety
      i am a ghost coming through the drift of society

does she wish
she could chain me here
does she wish she could change me here
i am a ghost stepping through
a different body

to myself i cannot be recognized.
  through things i love i remember myself
i see trees i see a breeze i feel
and conclude that
i am a person of ease

then i see spurting
silver
smoke
      and remember another part
of me and hope
to God it's not from another thing that I broke

she looks at me and I already feel what she knows
you are a breeze and fire as it blows
                 through a different body
       and it steps on my toes
tough chalk take it easy with all those throws
tough chalk take it easy on the hose
      why was she the one you chose
// // here she confesses to be a concept to expose
// //   here i confess to already know
// //  here she deviates from
internalized dialogue rendition
lending me renewal in my own special edition
          here the deviation is turn that suffices
                        to scare all existential devices
kiss the existential murmur away
here she faces me to colors parts i used to call my favorite of the day
    till she comments on the fact that i didn't notice they were gray
here she fills here she pours here i am floating on her insistence on coloring with elemental cores
here is a gas that makes me feel more lighter than higher
        here she gifts me brighter day
better ray. does more than she will ever say
not to be pathetic but i'm definitely hoping that all this coloring could forever stay
though i love her enough to send her away
     but  beautiful fire don't put yourself out don't
put yourself out. don't show me what's brighter
then gift me a lighter
then put yourself out.
 here i feel the reach here i feel
a gentle tug and it's
good for me, i can tell.

here I am laying in a light painted on for me
      and I am so happy to be living off a dream

performing live in this city here I am performing
live in a town
old lady don't tell me to come down
here I am learning names of
a crowd

I'll die before I lay ties to it and I'll live before I lie
to it

this is when survival feels tempting

but I shouldn't let a dream take me off another
if it was my dream to never be a bother
if it was my dream to lay low and live wild

i. worry;
buries itself deep beneath my bones
  sends shudders down my throat
plants a cluster of
        mines on the tips of my feet

ii. fear;
lingers longer than i would like
    beams and shines with a blinding light
manifests itself in the
         otherwise empty hollows of my soul

iii. change;
stands outside my curtained windows
  challenges the way i think and act
threatens to intrude at
             the most unexpected of times

i woke up this morning
feeling at ease
today was "the day"

      oh, don't be alarmed
spare me some charm
     i truly won't be missed

if anyone happens to wonder
  for the sake of table-conversation
     the cause of death was overdose

oh no! i wasn't troubled
     tortured or muddled
i just saw through it all

like a moth to a flame
   death called to me by name
blinding me
      until it was
           all i could see

i wasn't leading a life
  i was merely following one

i was winter when it was fall
a large in a small
nothing ever
quite
fit

it wasn't always this way
     i remember:
pink robes
    stationary
              gel pens

depressed mother
absent father
    i guess you were always there for me

it's hard to plan your day

no friends
no mail
no drive to do anything

my will
         it's inside
the closet

i am sorry
    you will lose your job
so i've left you
                         all my money

my mother-
       the rest of the pills
i will surely pass out
       before the bottle is finished

my father's inheritance
doesn't fall too far from the tree;
absent.

i have no friends
   i only have my poetry
        please submit it for me

i could never do it myself

there wasn't another day
where i looked here right in the eye
to tell her i loved her

i was so scared of her
being alone in a room with her
was like going into a dark house
and having all the lights turn on at the same time

she was bitter at best, everything mean she said
came out like spit in her mouth,
but i loved it so much because it always
made me see the whole world anew

and i loved her so much,
i just couldn't tell her that
she's not the type to want to hear it
but i'm the type to want to say it
i just couldn't

you understand, don't you?
when you want to do something so bad
when a word is on the tip of your tongue,
when you're about to confess something but you find out
the person isn't so trustworthy,
so you change the subject. pretend to have forgotten
what it is
you're about to say.

i never forgot.
i never forgot what to say.
i loved her, it was always on my mind.
it was terrifying. i would think about something unrelated for
a single second of peace and then back
to remembering her and how much i loved her.
and how much i couldn't say it.

i wish i could end this off saying i told her, that
i caught her by the shoulder and looked
right into her eyes.

but when i finally realized
to say those stupid words
it was too late

And you think this is ironic, don't you? Or you think it's funny, or that it makes sense. And it does in a way, I'm trying to agree with you enough to say. It does make sense, but in a way that disappoints me, because to have it make sense would mean certain conditions were fulfilled. And thinking of fulfillment gets me thinking of filling and I'm filled and I'm empty all at once. And it's because I've got all these hopes and all these promises, all these leads to nowhere– and I know deep down how good the somewhere I'm heading to without you is, I know, but I really hoped there was some way to make this journey we had seem like a trip I'd want to look back on, seem like a trip I'd want to keep an album of photos from, like an album I'd hide all the concert tickets and gas station receipts from and all the hugs all the stupid hugs I got from you, I'd still feel the warmth from. But it's not like that, I guess I spent my time in nowhere, and I guess that's where I'll have to admit I stayed. And I'm somewhere else now, somewhere good, and it isn't funny, and it isn't ironic. Ironic is talking to someone who is no one to me now. Ironic is in that space that used to be filled with something else and now it's nothing else but space, space, space. I want space from the space. I want a belief to hold me in my place. You can't give me what I need, but I've been thanking God anyways for what I have, and I'm getting by just fine.

It's 7 o'clock on a Thursday night,
As I write this letter,
I write with fright.

I am torn between what I have to say,
What I want to say,
And what I'm going to say.

I crumple the paper,
I toss it away,
There isn't anything worth it to say.

It's 9 o'clock on a Thursday night,
I am starving for love,
A faux appetite,
All I can write in cursive loops,
Is a "goodbye for now,"
And a "goodbye forever."

There is beauty in you.
In your rhythmic movements,
In your soft chanting,
The way your eyes glow brightly,
And the way your grasp tightens around me.

There is beauty in you.
In your wild, unstoppable dreams,
In your hunger for adventure,
The way you act on impulse,
The way you follow your heart.

There is beauty in you,
In your timid smile,
In your careful gaze,
The way you stay true to yourself,
The way you manage to pull through,

You began to realize,
There is definitely beauty in you.

you think i don't know
         how much
         you want
             to be
            small
              thin
              (air)

oh, ­                   darling
but                     i do
i        want         you
(almost)          (nearly)
just as              much

              i
            want
            you
           with
           all the
           fibers
           of my
           bones

you                       say
you  want             to  
be        pretty  for me    
be                     skinny          
for me           strong
for                        me

i                        sa­w        
you  waste      away
from      flesh     to  
skin          to bones
to air         then no-
thing             at all

i want you to feel
ha-
ppy
but you aren't happy
till
you
aren't you anymore

i begged you to stop
but you               just
brushed           me  off
you were too far in
and              too far
gone           a hopeless
case               of sorts

soon i said we'll be on our way
and soon you said we'll forget today. forget the way
soft-spoken half-hearted things started to mean more when they poured
out into the open air that was between us and all of a sudden we found ourselves waiting on
    the next july-day friday
when we'll be under the same summer bright
light in my eye soft skin this one bruises easy this one burns fast but
we spend enough time dreaming to make it last
dreaming back and in and out again
       soon to remember and later to forget and i'm praying july
finishes with rain and i'm praying august is a full-blown hurricane and
i'm hoping in september you'd still know my name and i'm hoping
october is not too cool for us to be cool with each other.
but so long after these dreams i cling to knowing this story
like it is part of a past i can change

i'm here on an edge of a thought i used to long entertain  

i loved to swing my legs out the window pane

our ocean ***** the water and spits the rain
and i loved this city all the more and all the same

in those days i was more
i was more

i was vain

so today just put me out of my pain
before this hollow town swallows me
vein by vein

but gives me that cue first
to prompt us both to look up
at the clouds, that same old sky
we were together for days but this one...
it tastes

different

waning, i've seen moons do it
waning, i've seen candles do it
but i can't watch this

crying without crying
laughing to fill the room
because small talk
isn't big enough
and see you soon
doesn't mean
see you soon

but small shrinks too
i've got so much to empty talk to

and I don't miss that storm
(I'm lying. I miss that storm)
or maybe i miss the chase and
the holding hands that came as it passed

i never run but i did it then and there
because you pulled me past so much already
and i knew the only way to get out of it was to get out with you

you're my oldest
i scratch out all the firsts before you
but you have no youngest
and i know i'm a child

the trees and the bridges and the humid
in Toronto it all smells the same
i hope you liked it too

we did it best when we turned our time into a playground
and it's finally almost right
that i want to swear to you on something

that you don't miss the storm
please let me tell you, and trust me on this
you don't miss the storm

i miss you helping me out of it i miss helping you out of it
but we don't miss the storm and i can't think outside of it either

it's all foggy now and you offer to stay to help but damage is damage and
baggage is baggage

and i'm travelling guilt-free this year

yet i'm sad and i'm sad and i wore down the led of the pencil you loaned me
to write about that

and forgiven once but never twice i say
and trip me up, so do it, that's a cost i'll pay

but i've got no money to pay for that now
and i miss you
and i miss you

but i don't miss the storm