The night has fallen, yet the sky is a light shade of gray
The morning sky is pink like a dainty rose
The snow sparkles in the evening when the street lights shine upon it
My eyes crinkle in laughter, and tears drip down my cheeks
City lights bounce and reflect off of the lake
Friends are there to back me up
The biggest, ugliest birds look majestic in the sky when migrating South
Something looks so perfect, and I wish I had a camera to capture the splendor
A book intrigues me so much that I zip through it and don’t remember a word
I can share all of my secrets with a person I just met
My hands graze the water that rushes past the boat I am in
Something so terrible turns out to be something wonderful
I experience a literal OMG, ROFL, LOL, or LMAO
The wet sand oozes through my toes
I get a perfect score on a test that I studied hard for
I feel the cool, frigid water slap my red hot face
A song fills me with extreme adrenaline
The wind hollers, whines, and moans outside of my window
A tree starts one inch tall, and grows to be one mile tall
Someone tells me that I have inspired them
People compliment me on my work
I am able to get in front of people and be honest with them
My body feels rejuvenated and young
The veins on the back of my hands pop out and pulse rapidly
I can feel the hot air blowing on my face when I roll down the car windows
My legs are smooth because I have just shaved them
A poem seems perfect to me…
Stick a lolipop
into the mouth of moments
your life is a child
and somewhere in there
you give a flying fuck
about the moon
and no it's not cheese.
That mouth knows what dirt tastes like
but that wont stop me from pouring caramel
and cigarettes over it.
I need a fix
of candied dirt
I'm not afraid of the eclipse
because I'm already addicted to the dark.
So lock the door
draw the curtains
The tide wont be knocking
no matter how much you
want it to fill the room
or how big is your sweet tooth
anything will do.
So thank the moon we were wearing seat belts.
Otherwise we might be vegetables
eating only exhaust
force fed the sun
you only make war on an empty stomach
or with an insatiable hunger.
for the civilians and thier children
who only know the taste of war.
Idiot flavored idiots with a hint of
that will bore a cavity so big
it'll put holes in the head
of kindergardens everywhere.
Who write their valentines on bombs.
Who's love murders buildings,
plowing through bodies on city streets all to reach
for the people
you because when parents fucking in a box
you call a country means
you don't care
you put genocide on the menu
and there are some things that just wont do.
As I grow weary of rivaling chefs pointing fingers
in circles forever
becoming a porthole to the murder business
becoming the unsuspecting manhole for
the human animal's existence
The dead mothers would find safe shelter in the sewer
but it stinks of shit and dead bodies
like our prepackaged liberty
Because to start a revolution means living it
and what better way,
to cripple a reckless pace
that finishes first in hunger,
starting fist fights with other people's lives
and forgets even sooner,
with that lipstickless pout
her cat Léon
a "charmant" 2 bedroom apartment
and a once envied reputation
now deservedly sullied
and only getting worse.
Friends tell you she's got
at a sidewalk café
table wobbling on the cobblestones
carafe, glasses of wine
while she argues about everything
with old friends
and the stubborn ghosts
of those dead or gone.
You can still taste her mouth
a hint remains in your wet
almost spongy inner cheek flesh
probe it with your tongue -
late afternoon sun.
Her face ever immaculate
yet always foundation-free
a lesbian's wettest dream
no make-up grazes staining
anybody's Yves Delorne pillowcases.
When you fucked
you could often hear
next door doing the same
will she still whimper
when you make love
and get up to pour herself a glass
immediately after finishing?
When you step out together
later that afternoon
will you feel as though you
deliberately opened a door
into a dogeared postcard
or Truffaut film?
You know she's deceitful
runs to her own schedule
and clearly always had an expiry date
in mind for you two,
one she always kept
to herself -
"Those questions aren't
for asking, on verra..."
The cat has a tendency to yowl
at inappropriate moments
you wish she had a dog instead
or maybe just a goldfish
(there's enough dogshit
on the streets already).
Her apartment will still
smell of stale cigarette smoke
and the geraniums in the window box
and she has asked that you stay
for the full two weeks
(sentimental, unable to resist
taking old lovers back in).
Will she beg you not to leave
burn your passport
in the stained enamel kitchen sink
while you take a shower?
Or will she quietly close the door
behind you as you go -
suitcase in hand
your eyes turned
- - - -
i just want some sort of sign from you
that you want me to still love you
in two years.
i will sit here and wait for you to come home to me,
i will wait two long fucking years.
if you wanted me to.
i swear i would;
if you could only swear that you would forgive me
for the hearts that i will have broken while you were away
and i would kiss you
mind and your
for being so understanding
my hair has stopped falling out
and it feels thicker
i want to shave it all off in the bathroom
(with the same razor i used to drag across this wrist)
and put it in a wooden box, and send it to you.
it would just be yours to keep
(sometimes, when i am feeling insane
i take a box cutter at work
and cut my fingertips, just a little bit.
or i take the blood that naturally flows from between my legs
and smear it on the walls of the shower
and on my legs and arms
i lay down under the stream of water
in the same shower where you once made love to me
i let it cover me
and i cry
i cry out for you)
and then maybe months later, i would buy a plane ticket to see you
and it would make you so angry
(because you told me to leave you alone.
you told me to leave you alone
and then you kissed me
and you told me you loved me.
you just don't want to talk to me anymore.
i'm trying so hard to figure out where your words and your actions match up.)
you would of course just send me home
and the plane might crash down
and in death i would be happy
that you might finally care about me
i wish i could explain to you,
how much i love you.
and how fucked up i am without you here.
and how strong i am without you.
but how weak i feel
and how i want to scream until you hear my voice, miles and miles away
and i cough up blood
and lose my voice
you hear it
and you get in your car,
and you drive into the sunset
and you see the city skyline
just a few minutes from my house
but don't even bother to call
you sit on the side of the road
staring at the cars driving by
concentrating on this decision
then, turn around and drive the two hours back home
didn't even bother to tell me you were here
and i can't even think about our home
the bed we slept in together
because in that little town
in that little room
you were the only thing that made any fucking sense,
and i am a mess now
and so is this p
This morning I left my winter coat hanging on the wall
and got out my Spring jacket,
put that on and left.
The doors of the train burst open
and as I stepped out I looked up
and saw the buildings like cliffs in the sky
hanging over me.
I looked out and saw
the sun fell in triangles and rectangles
on the walls and corners,
and they’re like dry rock pools, rough sand.
And I felt like I was in Mexico or Uruguay in the early 80s.
If there had just been moustachioed men,
girls in white jeans,
someone with a camera that clicks,
the sound of footsteps down an alleyway
as you notice the sky going dark.
Going home the trains packed and I’m right up against the doors.
Through the window and the fog I see the floating lights.
And every time we come to a station I have to curl back my arm
to press the button so people can get out.
And the evening city air comes in.
Setting, it provides the mood for any occasion.
the view of our city, an atrium of sorts that grows our inhibitions to a height of expression.
Bonding loose sand and and suppressed emotions into a compressed conglomerate of realization.
It brings the out the worst in a person but conversation converts fear into hope and we all tremble at the thunder of a persons first realization of their full potential.
it's not that i hate this city and want to divorce myself from everyone i know here.
it's not that i won't miss the little things about being here that make it
too easy to stay,
it's just that i think it's wrong for someone to never leave the place they bettered themself
for more than a week
it's just that i don't want to die anymore and i'm learning how to be
it's about taking risks, and not letting the potential for failure prevent me
from making my dreams come true.
it's about believing in the crazy things that seem impossible and ridiculous
to other people when you tell them about your plans
it's about being simultaneously terrified and relieved that you get
a second chance at life
it's about giving everything up for four months to be immersed
in a completely different world
it's about knowing that it's not always going to be sunshine and rainbows,
but not letting that stop you.
it's about not being able to take another long hot summer here
because being numb has gotten old and too-familiar.
it's about missing someone more than you can ever explain.
it's about having a long-distance friendship but not letting that
keep you apart.
it's about choosing life,
it's about getting out of my comfort zone
it's about being
it's about having people say, "well what about after? what are you going to do after this?"
and being okay
with not knowing.
On wet days the gutter fills with regrets
We are left to walk alongside
as they gush down dank city streets
The water collects debris
but abandons it quickly
With no time to process any situation
the matter is only to rot and block
Finally the drain may be reached
but it is a short relief
as it will drain all feeling
pulling it out and polluting the coast
I wish there were a storm.
I real big one.
The type people remember and write down in books.
One that shakes the walls and shatters windows with loud and constant thunder,
With blinding lightning that causes power outages throughout the city.
A storm with pounding rain and wailing winds that set off sirens.
I need the chaos to take a physical form.
I don't want anyone to get hurt, I just want to be distracted.
Distracted from the thundering thoughts inside my head,
Distracted from the flashing images that short circuit and drain my brain.
Distracted from all the tears that soak my bed and the wailing sighs that take my breath.
See I'd much rather see a storm outside,
Than feel one inside.
hear the thunder atop the city towers
some say if you wait under them long enough
you could get lucky one day
and catch a drop of nectar
or some miniscule crumb of ambrosia
yes, some say that.
see the mighty river of red wine flow through the heart of our city
under a tunnel of bulletproof glass it waits
it waits like the bell in the city closest to my heart
waits like that bell needs a good ringing
one day somebody will
and the whole thing will shatter into a million little pieces
"the illusion is a necessary one
the hearts of young men need a revolution to attend"
it's allegedly a moral machine
but i guess i'm too young to tell.