i try really hard not to cry a lot.
and i try to stop myself from thinking about anymore sort of losses.
and i try really really hard not to realize the loss my dog is more hurtful than the loss of my late grandfather.
because,
there's a difference in-between spontaneity and fore-told doom regarding loss.
there's a difference between having someone on my bed every night,
and the loss of humanity that Alzheimer turns you into.
i don't know which one i'd rather choose,
another 6 years of knowing they aren't there anymore.
or another dead dog.

Don't let anyone
with bad eyebrows give you life
advice - it ends badly.

I don't mind seeing my ex with
someone else - I usually donate
unused things to the less fortunate.

I wonder how many
calories I burn jumping
to wrong conclusions.

What a lonely, peculiar, eccentric figure i must be. A girl, in a garden, crying at an iPad, in the dark.

Earlier, at school...

It was a clear spelling out, like steel cuts thru fruit.

As he spoke he looked down and away, his gorgeous face blank and indifferent, as if I were wasting his time or he was talking to a child needing an obvious truth taught quickly.

When he finally looked back at me, I saw no pity in his impersonal, hazel eyes.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I needed time to contemplate the universe's new laws.

Can a girl just suddenly die of heart-ache?? because I was sure my heart had stopped, locked and frozen.

Finally, I gasped in this impossible new air - the force of it made me hold the cold-iron stair railing - the game is rough.

He's so... male - all chase and careless passion - intelligent teaser, a skilled steersman of excited climates... Oh, you simply have no idea.

And now he was, gone, still there, but gone to me - as if he'd transformed into a hologram or had begun to orbit some other sun, he just...

"You made me feel special." I said.

I had lost my balance on this faithless and unequal world, where heaven so cruelly punishes desires.

"You made me feel I mattered, such a favor." I said, absentmindedly, as I turned, and went back up the three steps into school.

I don't think I looked back at him as the door closed. After all, he wasn't there any more.

I think he called my name, like a question...

I remember the lights going off in the brains of young poets.
Deep in the dank streets of New York or Columbia college.

When the blues and twos would come and round up
The beatniks snapping to the howl of a homosexual mind.

When the generational attitudes of those too old to know,
Control the ****** acts of “violence”, or
The deepening scars of our philosophies.

When the urbanization of historical prowess leads to
Gentrified gypsies of the diamond deserts and endless skyways

When the great in the country isn’t good enough
For the red hats and spray tanned millionaires.

When the stocks of corporate dragons burn down
The attempts of upstart knights and online kingdoms.

When the politicians of old become the scapegoats
For the ironically gerontocratic few.

When the female few who dared couldn’t find their lost primaries
Or control the lifeblood leaking out of the Strait of Hormuz.  

When the powerful and powerless fought in-between
The dejected and all too often ignored.

When the powered halogen lights flooded prison yards of
Wrongly convicted and murderously in need of help.

When the San Francisco clubs lit up with muzzle flash
And the dancers lay weeping in their blood.

When the schools became places to duck and cover
Or learn to trip a friend when running from a gun.

When parkland high became a manufacturing ground
For casings, tears, and candlelight vigils.

When the American dream came combo packaged
And supersized with obesity and unemployment.

When the education of the youth became about
The profit margin in a spreadsheet full of debt.

When the sun sets in the smoke filled horizons
And sleepless rest settles on the western front.

You know, I used to be happy all of the time.
What the heck happened? I used to go weeks
without crying, I used to love going to school.

In fairness, I liked real school - not the sad,
sterile, anti-social, virtual experience.

When I'm mad I get silly, then mean. I don't
always know why - angry is the answer, but
I don’t always get the subconscious analysis
behind it. That's a bad day - I'm truly sorry.

If I could step back, in those moments,
and think - clearly - I'm about the luckiest person.

I'm a hundred pounds of privilege
- if we rounding up - but pressurized,
stressed like a movie submarine in deep dive.

I think I miss people - like in an assembly
- before it starts - where a hundred conversations
clash like the random patter of rain. That’s one
of the sounds of joy.

The civilized brain is soaked in the opinions,
and shared experiences with others. These virtual,
interactive shadows on flat screens can't fill the void.

300 nights I’ve been here a-pacin’,
I’ve got clothes, all shiny and new!
This whole year, my time’s been a-wastin',
someday this endless virus will be through.

On the news, they say there’s a serum,
soon I’ll have to take one or two.
Crowded clubs, where music’s a-playin’,
I bet I can get into one or two.

There are boys, out there just for kissin',
and someday, I’ll kiss one or two.
I’ll find out, just what I’ve been missin',
I’ll bet I won’t get home 'til one or two.

There are guys, of nineteen or twenty,
and they know, just what to do.
Shiny toys, just waitin’ for choosin’,
maybe I’ll pick one... or two!
.
.
.
.
*ok, funny note. I post my poems on several websites and on Quora, several of my readers lobbied me to change the last line of this poem - to follow the "one or two" theme. So, in a way, the last line is "crowd sourced" - and I must say also much improved  =]
Thanks to those guys!