You’re his
And he’s hers
You can complain in song or in verse
It doesn’t change anything
You’ll remain his
And you’ll keep hoping he’s not hers anymore
You want to know why
It’s because he didn’t ask
He didn’t even need to try
He didn’t come to you
You gave yourself
Forgetting selfish feelings
And pride for him
Now you’re repenting
Or you’re pretending to
You cannot be feeling remorse
For what your heart –
Or maybe it’s your brain –
Decides
It’s not your fault,
That’s what you keep thinking
And really you should
There is no reason for you to take the blame
For what?
Falling in infatuation? –
Love is too big a word
And you know it
And she’s still there
A big blotch of jealousy
On your idyllic picture
A stain in your happiness
You have to live with her
Even better, you have to accept
That even when – if – she gets out
Of that picture
You can’t do anything
You don’t want to be that girl, do you?
Pride is slowly creeping back up
“I’m not taking anyone’s sloppy seconds!”
“I’m better than this.”
And maybe somewhere in there
Is a little concern for others
“I can’t do that to her.”
“What will people think?”
Oh, there we have it
You don’t want to be known
As that girl
You know her,
Of course you do
You might’ve laughed at her
You might’ve pitied her
And now you want to avoid becoming her
Following like a dog an inexistent trail
But you know that trail isn’t there, right?
You’re better than that, right?
Is that what you tell yourself
Lying alone in bed at night
In the violent imprisonment
You suffer?
You’re not better that that, dear
What do you see in his looks and his smiles?
What do you hear in his words and in his laugh?
You see it, right?
That invisible thread that ties you together?
Of course you do
He’s perfect for you
you have so much in common
I’d urge you to forget him
But you feel special
You think he actually likes you
He doesn’t
He’s playing
He’s a guy, just like the others
I hear you
“No he’s sensitive”
“No he’s my friend”
Friend?
I don’t think so
You are not friends
You’re that girl he sometimes talks to
Especially when he needs something
You’re kind of weird
But always willing to help
And it’d be sad
If you were only that way with him
But it’s okay, I guess because
You’re always like that
That’s one good thing
About this destructive relationship
I’m happy you’re not changing
I’m happy you’re the same girl
The same person
But I wish you weren’t so smitten
I wish you didn’t care so much

There's not much
You can really
Do about it.
        It's
Something
       You eventually
Let go.

And when you
       Do.
All the
   Little
    Moments.
Really don't
     Seem
That
        Small.

Lunch time couldn’t come soon enough.

I had 15min to get to her place.

Two trains, SOHO to Williamsburg,

the city to Brooklyn.

Que locura!

She would wait for me in her aqua blue bathrobe,

the one with the holes in the back.

We were animals, racing to see who would *** first.

Afterwards I would quickly devour a plate of cold tostones and scrambled eggs.

My trip back to work was full of paranoia.

Felt like all eyes were on me

and that I had poured on a bottle of *** scented cologne.

Que locura!

Time Machine

  Sweet sunshine spreads across your bed as you breath, breathe scented with Playdoh and black raspberries from the front yard. I watch your chest rise, fall, rise, fall.
“There’s my boy. Time to get up. Rise and Shine.”
That grin, before you even open your big blue eyes, those windows to your soul, those orbs that reflect my own face back to me.
the softness of your young skin, freckled from long summer days.
Here we are content in this solitary moment.
I have a desire to dive head first into a black hole to stop time.
Growing up means girlfriends, heartache, peer pressure...*** ( frankly I am not ready to have that conversation)
Growing up means getting closer to the time when you won’t really need me anymore. It means understanding that the world  out there has teeth...
Then you will get your driver’s license, freewill.
I want to dive head first into that black hole to stop time so maybe we can hold onto this moment forever.

At bedtime last night you confessed you are scared of the those dark pockets in your room.
“What are YOU afraid of, Mom?”
I think I said fire, spiders. it was a lie.
I couldn’t bare to tell you about the funeral today.  You would ask the question that doesn’t have an answer:  Why was he driving so fast, Mom? And I would have to admit that I don’t have the answers this time.
Telling you would be like telling the moth about the flame, crushing your own dreams before you could even imagine them. I can’t tell you what it was like to watch his friends huddled in a circle, holding each other up to keep from throwing themselves into the grave beside him.
Past the circle, stood the body of his mother. Only her body. Her mind wasn’t there, It couldn’t have been. Because I am a mom. I have you, my boy and I know.I know that ****** created a vacuum for her hopelessness. Otherwise she would be ripping out her hair, screaming, clawing, jumping in the casket with the body, trying to forget that his lifeless image is now scorched into her brain for eternity.
That brain works like a time machine, gears turning, visiting the day at the ocean when he flew his first kite, seeing him in the photo next to his first bike, his first missing tooth, his first school dance, his first crush, his first basketball game,  his first car...   Memories upon memories turning brown like old photographs.  Her time machine now searches for the memory of his last dinner at home, his last words on the phone, his last basketball game, his last breath....
My boy, I hope I never need that time machine. But that black hole will not keep you here with me in this moment, young and innocent. That biggest fear you asked about last night.... is losing you forever, my boy.
Stay alive. Erase all other words of wisdom ever parted from my lips. I don’t really care if you use the word “ain’t”. I will cover my ears. Leave your jammies on the floor, forget to wash your face, leave your bike in the rain, play baseball instead of walking the dog, lie about finishing that essay, come home past curfew because it took awhile to gather the courage to kiss her. I won’t be mad. You will be in this world and I can look into your bright eyes again tomorrow...without that **** time machine.

You don't want me,
but you don't want me with anyone else.
You only want me there when it's convenient for you, when everyone else has left.
I don't get it.
Do I need to be lonely and miserable for you to be happy?




a.h

with your brown hair
and green eyes
your third eye blind
and double speak

here's to you

with your blond hair
and blue, blue eyes
your convincing songs
and good kissing

here's to all of you

all of you who know what you do
and say

and to all of you who don't
but still do a good job of misleading anyway

In an effort to make this brief
                        (because self-pitying satire is the
                         least pitiable of all writings):

On the sidewalks, I hear collegiates laughing.
In my most intimate memories
                        (you know the ones),
        I hear bones rattling.
I have a trained ear, and the symphony of the human race
        sounds like cash registers and death bells tolling.
It's so hard to find quiet, or even anything calm,
        like your breathing.