i’m still stuck in a bad place
but sunlight crests across the skyline
in my mind
tendrils of hope stretch across my sky
the day presented itself in a new way
i think i’ll be okay

It became more and more
obvious
There was a storm inside her

growing ever stronger

and she sought
to terminate it
before it was too late

It's arguably more difficult to
terminate such storms
when you're fifteen
and still living with your parents

so she decided not to
share her struggle
with them
and reached inside her
for the eye of the storm
with a steel wire she'd kept in
a bottle of hand sanitizer for a day
and a night

Yes, the first raindrops painted the
white of the bathtub

they were crimson
and salty

like her tears

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

If there comes a time
that you might lose me
Find me in my poetry

but that handle was made for his hand
hand - handle
handle - hand

the fingers would close
around it to never let go
It had to have flesh around it
at all times
But the blade...
the blade was still naked. He couldn't let
the blade naked
It wasn't fair

"So that's why you stabbed your
mommy then?" the psychiatrist asked him.

"Yes," he said.

"The knife is more important
to you than mommy?"

"The knife listens. Mommy doesn't."

When she said, Don't talk to me,
She lost some of her voice.
Then I heard, Don't look for me,
She gave no other choice.
Don't touch, I have no feelings,
You make my skin crawl,
Don't expect a pick up,
If you pick up to call.

But I still smell her everywhere:
The shampoo used on her hair;
The bedsheets where we lay bare;
The fragrance of her festive tree;
Her aromatic herbal teas;
The lilies she could grow in sand,
Are sensational in my memory glands.

u know hes a bad person right
                                                                            He isn't when he's with me
u know hes talking to other people right
                                                                      He doesn't when he's with me
y r u w him anyway
                                                                                       Because he loves me
u know thats not true right
                                                                                                               I know
so y
                                                         Because it feels nicer than being alone

What matters most
Holds no value
On this earth
Genuineness
Tenderness
Connection
Loving words
Let go of material things
They've got no true meaning
In the end
We all serve our "purpose"
In worldly terms,
It shouldn't
Consume our souls,
Will we ever
Truly know it-
To love
To smile
To laugh
To feel
To cry
To hold
To know
Organically
That we held on to something real
While we were here

the instant, the instance, is that your body?

the clear cleansing storefront windows
ask for clarification.

is that your body, presently?
is that your body presentably?

just in that secular instant, again, over,
the body’s inquisition clarifies, asking,
requesting in a babel of foreign languages,

repeat after me!

each window pane that follows repeats the query,
the themes in each, tiny variations,
the variables of rhythm, timbre, harmony,
engine timing minute minutiae alterations,
in that passing milli-instant,
each a separate instance for each separate pane.

in every instance.   in every language.

the accusations tonality oscillates in wavelength pitch.
quest nonetheless similar,
     is that your body?

all the replies are mirrored reciprocal.
that was my past.
this my present.
the next, a future vision.

the here, the now, all of it, each a flashcard.

the insistence!

when your body falls finally upon
the sidewalks concrete filthy city Persian tapestry,
the shameful answer tastes always the same.

always the same.