Who am I;
to say to you that what you believe could never be true. Would you look at all the facts that im showing to you, instead of walking away with that narrow minded view. Since youve got all the answers, tell me, Who am I to you

Who hears all of your stories, when you just need to complain
who picks up the pieces, when all you have is pain
I am there when you are lonely, but that doesnt seem to do.
why dont you just fucking tell me, who am I to you

Am I temporary or just for show
Are you stuck with me, but dont want to say so
Does it matter to you, if I stay or go
If I dont ask now, will I ever know

I wish it would rain
Right now
That's all I want
To be washed
By a heavenly shower
Dampening my hair
And gently running
Down my dusty arms
That have not seen rain
In what feels like a lifetime
Do I remember
What it is like?
I can't say for sure

coronating the fluttering sadism
glistening like rainbows shifting beneath
the body of a dead soldier.

we are all fighting
droves of egotistical flag-bearers
as if they are not blossoming from our tongues.

crimes of Calypso, clinging
to the orthodoxy of devotion while
my lungs are closing inward.

who is not to say
remnants of the atomic bonds of
vy canis majoris sparkle like supernovae
triumphantly falling forward as if
the deceased rifle-runner had anything
to whisper.

bending backwards to the icicles of the cubicle
entering my neck as a bullet enters her skull

I've been living in this STERILE world
card board, cut out lawns
one, two, three...
what the fuck am I supposed to do?
who the fuck am I supposed to be?

Everyday there's a fight inside my mind,
my mental state fights my body
and my body fights me
and they say "you're strong, just let it be."
but I'm dying inside just to keep what's left
the money is all here
but I feel like a theft
and I swear to God I am getting further from my soul everyday
cause the truth is I grew up fighting
and now nothing is that way

It's the spirit inside
for the tough times we endure
the spirit that carries us through
and keeps us secure

and no one woulda believed the fucked up I endured
cause I act like Martha Stewart
and so self assured

Martha I love you,
but fuck you.
This shit aint for me.
Martha I love you,
but I'm telling you
I just gotta be free.

how lonely sits
the city says
lamentations

guess this mouse has what you americans call post traumatic
stress disorder,
think of it more like
a path for the
eyes.

one where eyes are finally forced away
from the works of hands
by the knock knock
knocking on
heaven's door,
everybody's saying,
hodi hapa? something's
wrong if no one's answering; tonight.

my neighbor whose
name is eej (for
real) came to
the hut with
his friend.

i said do you
have siblings
he said
i did

oh

said i

you are living
my worst nightmare
one thing about an african

childhood, they say fatalism, you say you
would think about death too
and who knows

what you'd
look
like

tonight by the bagel van i said bunkle
i gotta problem
what's your problem said he
well i think i'm not wearing enough colors
no said he you're missing a bright splash in the orange red family

who knows what we all look like
inside the infinite space
of our souls

wonder if
blue means purity or
green means beauty
or red means strength
or love
or love

well
we all look
pretty much
the same asleep

hatred doesn't look
different in one
eye or another

but why does
it have to
be in the
eyes of
anyone

this mouse has
been asking
since
child
hood

why
why
why.

the cruelty

but
yet
still
and
for
ever

(you always did care for me yeah
you always did share with me yeah)

you always make me laugh, still

the book of jonah makes me
think of sea legs
and just everything,
you know all
the palm trees
huts, nonvoices
of our lives

the blessings rain down
an ocean sunsetting
on an Ocean sky.

siblings

be strong the
good kind of
dangerous

is
the



fire

Your voice is fascinating.
The choices are conversating.
I notice I'm hyperventilating.  
But not creating anything different.
From what I see it to be.

You see,
I've got many things running through my head.
What I could say, or say instead.
I apologize for the stuttering.
Because your eyes are fluttering.
And it's hard not to look.
For simply one look.
My knees are buckling.

I’ve met 37 girls named Sarah. My name. Sarah. Five letters, nothing special. It’s not beautiful like Lena. Not creative like Anastasia. No one has any trouble pronouncing it. Which I guess isn’t all that bad. Until they go into that story about that one Sarah who gives my name a bitter taste in their mouth. Spiting out the two syllable, five letter word that defines me, like they know something about me. “Oh Sarah, I knew a Sarah once.” Please don’t say my name like that, don’t elongate that first a, cut sharp the sound of the r, only to drop the h at the end. Five letters said as if there are only four.

For sixteen years now I've been haunted by your death,
you'd have been 27 today.
I was only 7 when it happened; when you drew your last breath,
your 'little shadow' lost something deep inside herself that day.
you were the only one who cared about me then,
alone and scared in the hospital; you were my only friend.
You helped me cope; taught me how to unleash my pen,
if I couldn't deal with it; you'd help me mend.
I thought you were fine; we'd just spoke on the phone,
making plans to go to the movies the next day.
Your voice never betrayed the 'secret' your face would have shown,
last words I heard are "I'll see you tommorrow Jenni, I promise." you say.
you never came; I knew something was off,
then that gut wrenching phone call...
my mother hung up and told me you'd died; her voice all quiet and soft.
I remember my head spinning,
I black out and fall.
It was several months after; that I found out what happened,
why you'd gone.
Your own demon won over as your depression deepened,
you hung yourself; leaving me here alone and undone.
Why did you have to go,
why must I stay all by myself?
As an adult I now understand; I know,
but it still eats me up inside; my broken innerself.
Sixteen years later; I still have that damn note you left me,
it's the only thing I've got left of you;
it reads:


"Tell Jenni I'm so sorry,
and that I love her.
Elizabeth"