I Think I'd Make A Good Principal is just one of the stories within these pages, but you'll also find a recess superhero, some suggestions on where to time travel, a tiny guy that can't sleep, a fussy grandpa that lives upstairs, a zombie mouse, and several other funny and imaginative poems sure to delight both kids and adults. (Complete with wonderful illustrations by artist David Lee)
It's something that wouldn't be typical,
But I think I'd make a good principal.
The first thing I'd cut would be funding for math,
Maybe not fully, but at least in half.
Next on the list would be killing off science
Proudly shaking my fist in defiance.
Social studies is sure to get axed,
And geography class prob'ly won't
I could write novels on the way you make me feel,
filling infinite pages with your essence would be a simple task.
I'd struggle only with the way to word perfection and the way your eyes gleam
as well as describing the ways your smile makes me weak.
You are so damn far away and I miss the sound of your voice
with the frequency of the tides hitting the shore.
But despite the tilt of the earth, time zones, interstates, and state borders
that keep me away from my home, I still feel close to you.
I could reach my arm across the bed and almost feel like you are here.
I wake up in the middle of the night,
expecting the body I have never even slept with to be here protecting me.
I know you are, just not physically.
You cannot be in my region of time and space
and I cannot be in yours.
None of these boundaries can keep me from you,
we both refuse to let them.
But every single moment I do something new or see something beautiful
I miss you.
My fingers curl against my palm and my hands ache,
I reach out for you.
I wake up once more and experience the biggest disappointment I could imagine.
You still cannot be here and I still cannot be there.
So for now, I'll hold you in my heart that keeps my blood circulating
and where you have purchased your retirement home.
I will let you reside in my heart and soul because you cared enough to tear
down the wall, brick by brick.
When we come together,
I will not waste another moment.
I will hold you tight and tell you I love you.
Even after I have found out the definition to your perfection,
I will sty and I will love you for a lifetime.
I know you will keep redefining it as you have redefined my life, soul, and heart.
I'll hold you soon enough.
But for now, know I love you
and that I will not return the keys to the space I occupy in your heart.
New beginnings, like pages
of a book. New chapters,
as in life as well also.
School days are almost through.
the sound of your voice
swing swings on my heartstrings
like a melody to eternity.
oh to hear that sound again
oh to be your muse...
it is my lovely lullaby
and you my dream come true.
having watched you inhale and exhale in detail,
you recount your daily news,
you share with me the troubles you've had,
the humorous too
though you always save the best for last
when our time has come to part,
before the distance overcame our souls
you share with me your heart
whispering "oh how i miss you so"
you are an like an exciting novel to me
of which i can not let go.
I'd take all the minutes my life still holds
to read your pages through.
I'm hiding here
in this space where
I keep brutally exposing myself
I'm not really My self
I wear masks
and there's certain things I can't say
because I'm afraid of who will read them
and what they might learn about me
And sometimes I feel that makes
all of this
I am torn between two
equally important desires
I need to be raw here
I need to be violently open
I need to feel free to express
whatever I am feeling
for no other reason than the simple fact that
I am feeling
But I am also afraid
of the reactions I might get
afraid I might hurt someone
afraid of someone I know
learning something about me
that I don't want them to know
afraid they'll use it to hurt me somehow
I need to be wide open
but can only do it behind the safety of a mask
and even that isn't good enough
I still constantly self-censor
I have pages and pages of writings that no one
has ever seen
will ever see
as I write this
I can't help but wonder at the reactions
I might get
from people I know
in real life
or people I know
in the wire
or people I've
and that wondering changes me
changes my feelings
makes me second-guess
what I'm going to say
The only way my art can ever be
is if no one ever reads it
But what good is Expression
I need to have
an audience of strangers
for each poem
that I will never have to see again
Or I should tag my poems on walls around town
in the middle of the night
like my little brother
(oh, gods, what if he reads this??!)
I'm leaving it in
If I were to write a story
of my life, I would fill
half the pages with you;
with your bright blue eyes,
the albums I borrowed,
that time we went to the zoo.
I would write a chapter
about New Year's Eve
all those years ago
and a chapter about the times
we played Pictionary.
You were my life for many years,
so if I were to write a story
of my life, you would be it.
But if you were to write
the story of yours,
I might be mentioned,
in a footnote.
Reluctant to Obey destiny’s call,
The voice from within me re-echoed
Loud as never to ignite mine passion
To in me trigger an avid obligation
Write on was the command
I looked around keenly to see
From whence came the urge
Before long I realized that
The scary charge was within
Write on without hesitation
Then I knew there was a task
Gigantic in nature waiting
I cogitated on how to initiate
And realized it was pragmatic
Write on the time is now
The command again came to me
The urgency of the task ahead,
Was in it undoubtedly spelled out
And now am left but with one thing
To start writing on as commanded
Write on for there is inspiration
Pages never can contain the fountain
Of knowledge lying latent in you
Dare to take the golden pen to
Your thoughts & imaginations pen down
And be so much amazed at the outcome
Which to many shall be a resource
I reached out for pen & paper
Pondered a while to receive inspiration
Affixing pen on paper I began to write
As I dare took the challenge insight abounded
My pen had became unstoppable
My ink flew unceasingly to document facts
I sort to halt and rest but no way
Passion to finish the task had consumed me
I wrote on what should become masterpiece
If I had ventured to stop the call
The volumes of wisdom would exist not
For eternity would have me swallowed up
Knowledge in me would have been wasted
If I never heed to the call to write on
The cemetery would have grown richer
With my joining those who refused to write on.
Im digging through the log
looking for where it started
at least the clean stuff that i didnt delete
im about 200 taps in
"load earlier messages"
is going to haunt me
i hope they have a sound track
sugar ray, perhaps
i need to lay my eyes on
the first thing you said to me
with that fancy new number of yours
ive been doing this for an hour
ive only gotten back to march
MID-MARCH mind you
but if i had to be honest
the suspense IS NOT killing me
with every tap
of that god forsaken roll-over
i get a different glimpse
of how we used to be
and how we are irrefutably now
there are times where you
dont even show up in my dreams
all i find
a black tank top
comfy black undies
a copy of atlas shrugged
and a signed cannibal corpse ticket
i dont put them in
my dream fanny pack
OR smell them
OR pass them out to strangers
i leave them there
i leave them there because
i know that your coming back for them
you left them under the street light
to let me know that you
are just popping in for a pint
just around the corner
though my first instinct
jealousy of course
might take shape
before i had the chance to
rub my eyes
and actually have a constructive thought
i have to admit
a creature as perfectly sculpted as yourself
walking clad in nothing more
than an original colored landing strip
into ANY public house
would get a better pour
than the next ten thousand
so i fold your clothes
stack them neatly
where you can find them
find a respectable framing shop in the area
that would still be open this late
frame that ticket
on black matte of course
and pick up your book
until my eyes are too heavy to wait
and my mouth too dry
to turn the pages
and i lay down
head atop a tank
toes inspecting the texture
of the sidewalk
until i awake
and as ardent as ever
"who is john galt?"
wall of thin glass
as fragile as skin fluorescent.
An exhibit to contemplate;
ponder and pick apart.
Take an ax,
spare my flesh.
Break in on a starless night
and liberate me
from haunting glares,
as if you've never seen a lost girl before.
"Look at her arms scared black and blue"
"And beneath those bandages is a heart never fully healed."
The whispers accumulate as they remove magnifying glasses from their pockets
and gaze upon streaks and stains
that never fully washed off.
What is it that they love to tear apart and analyze?
Maybe it's the lies.
Squint your eyes and read between every line;
you'll still never understand,
too many pages have been torn out;
Scribbles cover missing words like
I love you
I miss you
I hate you
these windows serve their purpose,
of creating a show from a fragile spectacle
about the girl who never seemed to feel enough
or at the wrong times, felt too much.
But even the strongest glass can crack,
and a pedestal won't hold her weight forever.
if the clouds ever begin to cry
umbrellas open up to catch their tears,
jackets repel their sorrows,
and bags protect black ink
from running down the pages.
now the clouds are crying,
harder than ever before;
no umbrella, jacket or bag
could stop these sorrowful tears
from soaking all that lays below.