Ice* cold
Like my soul
     Growing older than old
  Melting away
         As the days get hotter
Why bother with the same things
      When everything changes
          And I can't escape the heat
   Of my heart as it finally feels
                   *Defeat

(i'm 42% sure
i don't exist.)

intensely greased
plastic hair
secondhand green day
coldplay in the rain

i love the sound
that waxed paper
deli sheets make
and i could choke
on a glassed reflection
of celery salts and windex.

(i'm 42% sure
i don't exist
because when i look into
my eyes i see someone else)

i'm not catholic
and do not
understand who
st. peter is

but i wonder if he won't let
us into heaven because we're
failures or if we're failures
because he won't let us into heaven

(i'm 42% sure
i don't exist
and questioning how
bad hell can really be.)

too quiet for a saturday
i wrote the word
decaf so many times i
forgot how to spell it

decaf
decaf
decaf
decaf

(does decaf
have two f's?
because i don't have
two f's to give anymore
i mean i would but
i can't even find
vowels much less
extra consonants)

when i was a child
i always counted in
mississippis
now that i'm older i
find myself counting in
cappuccinos

i dreamed my
legs were bleeding
and i remembered
that they're not

i want so badly
just to sleep in
a bag of crystallized
ginger and swim
in a mixing bowl of
tasteless tea.

(i can't tell what's
real anymore
but i'm 42%
sure that i am not.)

every night you've
been stopping by my
room and asking if i want
to walk the dog with you.

and i
say no

because i know
what you want

and i am not
giving it to you.

the truth is not
pulled out of me
and lies are just
another thing to try.

the sun hasn't
even gone down yet
and i'm already
just a failure

(i should say
still)

THIS IS NOT
UP FOR
DISCUSSION
I HAVE BURNED
OUR BRIDGES AND
NOW IT'S YOUR
JOB TO SILENTLY
WATCH THEM SMOKE

you're not helping
my mental disarray
because you are
unaware of its existence.

she's out
in the living room
again
ranting and raving
at him about
all her problems

(they say men
marry girls just
like their mothers and
i'm beginning to see it
something about that
obnoxious extroversion)

yes
i just called
extroverts
obnoxious
or maybe i just
called you obnoxious
because you are
a textbook extrovert

(they say girls
grow up to
be just like
their mothers
so i'm sure that
i'm obnoxious too)

now you're back
i can see you and
the dog walking up
the driveway
and now it's time
to trim my thoughts
at the seams and the
corners where they start
unraveling and you start
tugging at the threads

snip snip
stop it.

a poem wrote me
almost before I knew.
my hand my mind my pen
just a muse
for sentiment that oozes
like sap from a tree
after Winter harsh and cold
has just released the grip
of icy fingers
melting into Spring.
a poem wrote me
while hungry earth
beneath my feet
waited for the sugar
nourishing seeds
growing the flowers
to prove that life goes on.
my life goes on
because a poem writes me
still.

Sing to me a song of fear,
for all the lovers you've held so dear.
You'll listen and watch their fallen tears
and call their names, not knowing they're near.

Sing to me a song of shame,
for all the blissful sins you've named;
wallow in burdens and sorrow and pain
and crimson from which you've carelessly stained.

Sing to me a song of night,
for all the times you've tried to hide
from the truth and reality of all your lies
as you see them now; your angels all die.

Sing to me a song of love,
as you walk away, unscathed from above.
You fly, now free, now white as a dove.
But you smile, and know

you've had enough.