I stand still. Legs give.
Hands shake.
Someone is leading me into a crowded hallway.

I just want to go home; I just want to feel at home.
Is it a person? The doors blur by.

Is it brown eyes? A laugh I hate? Pale skin? A voice I hallucinate?

Is it blue eyes? Trust? History? Half-awake truths? A lifetime guarantee?

Is it age? Wrinkles? A parochial comment? Gifts? Expectations?

Is it my childhood house? My current house?

Is it the mountains? The city?

Is it real? Tangible? Obtainable?

Is it comfort? Contentment?

Is it love? Lost? Gone?

Is it him? Her? Me?

Am I home; am I home?

Iridescent, black-iron fence
Clay dust
Hesitant spider's web, pulled by the wind
Charred oak
Rotted, frayed, abandoned mutt harness
Trepidant cool beneath the shade
Ivory paper glowing in
a sun's generous exposure
Retired stadium lights;
a boundary
Shards of stained glass
Vile, buzzing flies (can't they be hungry, too?)

Pale half-moon,
unforgiving hard earth
Serrations of grass
A thousand neon leaves
Inescapable chill
Pair of house wrens, tumbling to the dirt
hastening away before a greeting can be uttered
Cross-hatch benches; no spectators
Simple plucked clover
Asymmetrical gate
Impatient pen tapping
Barking dog
Pretty boy sitting alone:
are you as curious as I am?

I wander, fumbling my skin against anything that might give
When did this start to fade?

Why can I only find it on assignment?

I lose the senses I had as a child, to be replaced with this cursed apathy
I can't shake

The dog barks again
Can they feel it, too?

"45, good play."
"Alright guys, let's head back."
But the mineral clay persists in the grooves of my skin just as it does in the fibers of this page
Who can take that away?

Writing is immortalizing, so let me keep
this filth; let me absorb it, and maybe
it will find its way back
to where I've wanted to be
for so long

Life is hard and it’s rough, if you’re Christian that’s *****
I’ll be sentenced to hell ‘fore I pass Religious History
My actions are sins, so I’m forced to behave
Yeah, if my Dad heard this he’d roll over in his grave

My girl friends must be lovers, call in the saints
The teachers send home a list of complaints
“They were caught selling care and a recharged new vape”
Yeah, the stalls don’t lock so I couldn’t escape
And the graffiti is beautiful cause it can’t be erased

Rap by a girl must be a ****** crime
Guess I’ll have to call it Shakespearean rhyme
“Shut your mouth *****, you’re better off as a mime”
If there’s a wait for your opinion then I’ll burn down the line

Click on the ad for my astronomical sign
Hear about my future for a 1,000,000.99
Look for good music but oh wait, it’s AI
People on YouTube apologize and cry
“I didn’t groom minors, no, sorry, that’s a lie”

21 is still the legal age to drink
Kids at 18 in the army were thrown in the clink
3 years of difference between drunk and drowning,
Deep into misery the children will sink

The Government was built to work for me
But my food and water comes with a fee
You can't work until you're sixteen
Then how will the kids that are homeless eat?
History classes are taught to repeat

Growing up, you would fall in love with whoever sat to your left.
I sat beside the window, so I fell in love with the world, instead.

There was an old, wooden bed frame.

Sturdy, faded, and carved with spirals that chipped away through time. It was held by 4 posts. It steadied the slumber of generations of dreamers.

Old lovers that spent their nights curled within each other, waiting for the worst of a storm to pass. Their safety was incubated through the deafening waves of nature.

Young lovers who struggled against poverty and desperation, striving to make ends meet. They allowed themselves to give each other reassurance.

Children who were naive but happy, battling their bedtimes with restless kicking and giggling, despite their exhaustion. They grew, and soon there was only room for one at a time.

A teenage son drowning his thoughts in music, battling his demons as his youth was escaping. His fears grew too large to be contained in a bed frame.

A teenage daughter healing her past transgressions, collapsing into the bed and pleading for her past to stop chasing her. Her mind was focusing on understanding the future.

She tossed the old bed frame out, and was given an iron one to replace it.

The old, wooden bed frame squeaked when you sat on it. It was stained. It was worn down. There were scars on the wood. Nails stuck out from under the original baseboards.

There were scars on the wood.
There were scars on the wood, and the wood was scarred, and so was everyone who ever laid in it.

There was an old, wooden bed frame, that was bought brand new.

Now, there are scars in the wood.

Is curling up on the ground beautiful,
When carpet imprints on your face, leaving a portrait of people who have walked all over you

You tell me that your heartbreak is infinite.
You tell me that you're blinded by anger.
You tell me that your loss hurts the most.
You tell me that my beauty will never be forgotten because it was written; and so that story will live on forever.

You tell me that a line written on a page in bleeding ballpoint pen ink will outlast even the sharpest minds.
You tell me that matter dissappears when it's seemingly destroyed.
You tell me that a supernova is the death of a star, because that star will never live again.
You tell me that love exists once for everyone, and that it is always the same.
You tell me that love is one size fits all.

I'll tell you that your heartbreak will ease.
I'll tell you that anger disguises and is a liar.
I'll tell you that loss isn't quantifiable.
I'll tell you that my beauty was built to be forgotten; because I only live once.

I'll tell you that a line written in bleeding ballpoint pen ink will smudge and tear and dissolve, and that our minds can fail us.
I'll tell you that matter is everywhere and only ever transforms into something new.
I'll tell you that a supernova is a birth of different, beautiful energy being scattered endlessly.
I'll tell you that love is everywhere and all-encompassing, for everyone.
I'll tell you that love is one size fits all.

Perhaps, in the great scheme of things, even death is enough to elicit love in people who are shaken by grief.

If love is hurt and pain is pleasure,
then why is loving you not ecstasy?

My mind is like a palace, with a giant church bell hanging
Being knocked around and causing the most painful reverberations

i am so disappointed in myself that instead of fixing my mistakes
i am going to sit and wallow in them instead

have you ever felt the intimacy
of sitting alone in the dark
with nothing but rain and fear
as your only companions?

I hope that one day, I can look back on these moments and smile
without it being chased by tears
and "I was so foolish."
I just want life to come and go, not always be stuck thinking about
when it comes, and
how it goes, and
where it ends, and
"Was I happy?"
"Was it enough?"

Our oxygen is of
Failing expectant heartbeats
Like a dying wish

an endless stream, unbroken by the stillness of ice
no matter how cold the winter gets
or how empty it might feel
it's full of promise
to nurture the growth of spring

It might not have been made with gemstones
Or a company's mass production,
But it cost more than anything else
And it was lost in my careless compulsion

maybe every beating heart you pass on the street
is thinking of hearts either broken or stilled
by the movement of feet
all in the same direction, a moment never killed

If Earth is afraid
I don't want a bomb shelter
I want you with me

The fibers that held us together so gingerly
in the beginning
Of your bracelet that I adore
Are starting to fray
And I refuse to let it go
so easily
That was your promise to me, the twisting of Colors and words that elicited so much trust And safety
I won't fix it
This bracelet was your promise, and I refuse
To tamper with fate so carelessly
And make it hang loosely
upon my wrist

She doesn't know that
her paws seeking warmth
are ripping me up

Dripping quietly
Leaving trails; clean and crisp
Down the glass
Merging
Or racing
Or fizzling out
And dying
Eventually ending
Upon the next sunny day

Tiny specks of black, smudges of green.

Black line, cut, slash, through the middle.

Staring into your soul.

Judging you.

Doesn't know what you are, but knows what you've done. Knows your little sins. Those twin eyes, piercing you.
Mind.
Soul.
Body.
Knows you.
Doesn't want to know you, but has no choice.

Black, white, lithe body. Sitting there, tail curled around its paws, trying to get comfortable. Ears angled directly towards your breathing body, trying to expose you. Nose twitching, trying to figure you out. Green eyes, black tinted, trying to understand.

It knows you. You're always here, but it doesn't understand why. You've done bad things, and it doesn't understand why.

Why does it care when you leave?

You feed it, shelter it, clean it, pet it, and it doesn't understand these things, or want these things. It doesn't understand. So why should it care when you're gone? Or mad? Or sad, or disappointed. Or scared, or happy, or cold, or anything. It doesn't understand.

It doesn't understand why it loves you.

But it does.

This sinning creature, laying immobile and unconscious in front of it. It's bad. A bad creature. Why does it care for this bad, sinning creature? It shouldn't. It knows it's bad, and it knows it's bad to care.

But it does.

And unfortunately, always will. It doesn't want your company, it doesn't understand it. But when your company isn't there, it craves it.

It loves you.

And too bad for it, it always will.

Unconditionally, forever.

Beans.

Yup. The kind in a can.

Beans. They go surprisingly well with ham.

Beans. You gotta love 'em.

Beans... Now, if only I had an oven.

Beans? Yeah, you heard me right.

Beans. Heaven's only true delight.

Beans. The nearest can is at that yonder Dollar Store.

Beans. I just don't have the needed $3.74.

Beans. I don't even have a way to get there...

Beans. Now I'm in my life's greatest despair...

The morning is cold
My steps reverberate on the frozen ground
My breath billows as I gasp
As I run my body starts to warm
I keep going even though my body tells me to stop
But eventually it's too much
I slow down, spent after running so fast
The snow starts falling harder than before
My mind wanders as I glance at the trees
My throat is raw and I can barely breathe
As I come to a stop, my body gets colder
I stand still even though my body tells me to move
But eventually I start again
The trees are bare in the dead of winter
My steps are softer and not as frantic
My breathing finally at a calmer rate
As I look around I notice the sky
I look up even though I should be paying attention to where I'm going
But I'm amazed by what I see
The sky is broken by thin twigs
My eyes can't look at any single one
My steps falter and I come to a stop again
As I close my mouth from hanging open
I think about everything I've seen in my life
But I can't stop myself
I sit cross-legged on the frozen ground
I gaze at the star covered sky in awe
The endless black sky seems to have ends
The branches break the beauty into pieces
They sway and change with each new season
I find myself sitting in a patch of flowers
I realize I'm not cold any more
I glance around and take in the forest
My safe place
My sanctuary
It isn't cold and alone like I was
It's beautiful and blooming
I stand up and shake my head
And start running again

It's like coffee in a way
You're the reason I get up everyday
With your deep heat and bold flavor
I could drink you in forever

Strawberry jam; it's so sweet and crisp
Pour it in the batter; give it a whisk
Now take the pan and pour it in
And let the baking begin!

You wait a while; 15 minutes or so
And take it out; remember how it was batter 15 minutes ago?
Well now it's sweet and hot in the pan,
Thanks to the addition of some strawberry jam!