Waves from the beach match my waves for my drink
The waitress comes over and asks what’s my order
I said I can’t choose “I’m feeling like there’s clouds above me,
It’s been a rough few days and these double hotel rooms are bland and lonely.”
“Not a problem, sir.  I know just what to get to make you feel *****.
She comes back with a Hawaiian margarita.
It came with an umbrella which I set aside while saying thank you, Senorita.
I guzzled down the drink to reach the tequila faster,
But the wind picks up and it looks like a disaster.
I ask for one more, with the umbrella.
This fairy godmother returns with another margarita.
The buzz has transformed me like I’m Cinderella.
I leave a 20 at the table and walk towards the beach, ignoring the families with kids who all they do is screech.
Clutching both umbrellas, I walk to the shore
One of God’s many gifts for us to explore.
I never noticed how nice he made the decore.
Tequila is the only alcohol that’s an upper, or so I’ve been told.
But I enter the water even though it was cold
What happened next though was a story previously told,
My umbrellas caught air like Mary Poppins,
As I floated along the coast listening to Phil Collins.
The speakers down below blast the drum section from that one song,
And I stayed up there for I don’t know how long,
But when I descended,
My pain was suspended and my emotions were splendid.
So next time, when your mind feels cloudy and your thoughts are rowdy
Ask for a drink with an umbrella
You’ll soon find yourself smiling, cheesing more than mozzarella.

I...am a turtle
And turtles, much like people, must eat.
Though I live a long time, I am not immortal.
I move through life slowly, but the hare I did beat.

My body doesn’t require much.
My metabolism is not quick.
But relying on leaves just feels like a crutch.
I see these fat children, so happy and thick.
Whatever they must be consuming keeps their bodies blooming.

I watch as they come and go, from the building with the big yellow M,
And think to myself, how might I get in.
I’m not quick enough for this dangerous breed.

Many of my cousins have gone extinct because of their greed.
And just like that, a gift from Master Oogway himself,
I’ve found my own hidden elf on the shelf.

A crispy golden nugget accidentally dropped on the ground,
Beckoning me to go towards this crowded compound.

I avoid each car, making sure to keep hidden.
But the crispy treat continues to move as if I was forbidden.

But like Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden,
I continued to follow, keeping hope in my heart that I may bite it and swallow.

But to my dismay, it continues to roll,
The establishment was built on an incline of gravel.

I chase it as best as a turtle can,
But a fat little **** cuts me off in his van.
After he passes, the golden nugget still rolls.
Until it falls into a drain, forever lost in a hole.

If you were to ask me what would be my personal doomsday
I would tell you this story,
About the nugget that got away

I’ve been through this before.
First with that last *****,
Now it’s just become my personal lore.

How many times do you need to dump me just to understand,
That the reason you keep coming back is because of the grassland.
It seems greener over there,
But mine has flowers that you can’t find elsewhere.

You say that when you dump me, that it’s just a reaction.
I’m supposed to stay and show my compassion.
I admit that I hurt you from the start,
But the back and forth has me bleeding from my heart.
If life’s a play then I guess the ******* is my part.

You want to be at peace,
While also saying I’m your missing piece.
Maybe all it takes is some elbow grease.

We lost the box to the puzzle,
And sometimes it feels like I have to wear a muzzle.
I say dumb **** while at the same time being articulate.

I’m a conundrum.
****** in the head because of where I’ve come from.
I love you and you say you love me too.
When in this lifetime will I believe that it’s true?

I don’t want this to end,
You’re my best friend.
We always make amends, but that’s the issue.
Amending too many times means there were too many crimes.
I’m a perpetrator in need of a tissue.

Tears on my keyboard,
Type out thoughts that can’t be ignored.
I want to start over so your vision of me can be restored.
But I tried too hard and there’s smoke coming from the motherboard.

I need a technician.
Or perhaps a magician.
To pull a thousandth chance with you out of a hat,
So I can prove to you you’re not a doormat.
Every time we chit-chat I fall flat.
And in every relationship, this is where I end up at.
Why’s it always like that?

Making mistakes, being inconsistent.
No wonder you’ve grown to be so distant.
But I think it’s mutual that we acknowledge our love’s existence.
I need assistance to stop my persistence.

You want me out of your life at 10 am,
But also want to get pancakes at 9 pm.
You’re right that I’m not responsible.
But I feel that problem is resolvable.
I think you’re phenomenal.
The drive you have is exceptional,
When you put your mind to it you’re unstoppable.

I guess what I’m trying to say is,
I’m sorry that the nightmares of what I’ve done keep you nocturnal,
But ending this relationship is only optional.
It’s up to you to decide if it’s optimal.

I thought expressing how I’m feeling would be freeing.
I told them they were a fraud.
All-knowing, but clueless about ‘being’.
A narcissistic deity with no right to call itself God.

An entity so powerful it can create a universe in six days,
But it created a boy who every time he starts something, cannot commit.
A boy so riddled with self-loathing that every day was a haze.

I  told it,
“I’m afraid.”
That night I laid in bed thinking of more ways to describe the blades I felt piercing my heart.  The jaded and absent almighty father who may as well have abandoned me and left me with the maid.

This is why I stopped being religious in the seventh grade.

And this was a desperate plea.
I can’t get to sleep.
The weight of the world is the weight of my sheets.
Try to get up, but everything’s spinning.
I asked God,
“Is this just the beginning?”





“read.”

That’s all that it said.
Ghosted by God like it had a hot girl at a bar’s passive nonchalance.
And it fills me with dread.  Like I was just diagnosed with lung cancer.

But I told God, “What I’m most afraid of is losing hwr.”
I meant to say her,
a textual slur,
but at least that plea will live on,
Despite no answer.

Now, this is a story all about how
My life got flipped, turned upside down
And I'd like to take a minute
Just sit right there
I'll tell you how I became the most non-human trafficked animal for my keratin hair.

In the west Philippines, born and raised
In the burrows of hollow trees is where I spent most of my days,
Chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all young
Eatin' some bugs with my elongated tongue.

When a couple of guys who were up to no good
Started poachin' everythin' in my neighborhood.
My homie got hunted, but my mom made it through
She said 'You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in the zoo.'

I whistled for a conservationist and when they came near
Their license plate said “IUCN” and they had brothers in the rear.
If anything I could say they should drive me too,
So I hopped in the back - 'Yo, homes to the zoo.'

I
       pulled      
                       up to a building about seven or eight
And I yelled to my savior 'Yo homes, smell ya late'
I looked at my kingdom,
Where the poachers couldn’t get to,
As I sat in my enclosure as the Pangolin of the zoo.

She said we were forever.
I should have been more clever
Wishing she was with my friend
I should have seen the end
Anger fills me, turns into rage
But what I found upon the next page,
Was one who truly cares
We’ve become a great pair
I made the wrong choice at first
Followed a *****, had a misplaced thirst
But what it led to
Was you.

Seven years old
I’m playing outside
A girl I’ve been next door to for two years
Wears a cape like mine
Red
Red like the blood that screams
As it desperately tries to force its way to my brain
A metal slide I used to have
Holds my cape prisoner
Struggling dreams of if it would look like I was flying
If only it flew up and caught the wind
Instead of sink down and grasp my neck
Her mouth is open
Tears in her eyes
I can’t hear her screams
Over the helpless gasping of mine
As vision begins to fade a silver flash escapes the backdoor
My grandma darts down the stairs
Eyelids descend like time in an hourglass
My body rises to the heavens
I think this is it

            
                
                           “Grandma?”

Trees in the yard grow alongside me.
I’ve scaled their trunks
And swung from their branches.
Fallen through their leaves,
Scraping my arms and knees on the way down.

I grow a little older,
The trees a little taller.
One oak is getting too big,
It grows in the driveway
And needs to be cut down.
One less tree.

Another gets removed to make way for a pool.
The tree lasted for decades before my parents moved there,
The pool lasted a summer.
A summer of splashing in constantly cold water.
A circular pool acting as police tape for this ****** scene.
One less tree.

One in the front yard
Poses a threat to the house’s foundation.
Its trunk is cut down,
And it’s stump ripped out of the ground.
I grew up when I ran out of branches to climb.
One less tree.

The last tree gets struck by lightning.
It falls over and hits the garage.
It’s body seared, and it’s sap oozes like blood
A wood chipper comes and disposes of it’s remains.
A dead patch of grass, like a chalk outline of its corpse.
One less tree.

Two trees remain.
One is used to hold the dog’s leash while she roams outside.
The other provides shelter
For the squirrels and birds who were evicted.
I wonder,
Which one will go next?

I wake up whenever the big bright thing comes back, you call it a sun but I don’t know that fact.  I don’t have a specific schedule, my mud hut is pretty basic but arguably influential.  I don’t start my mornings with green eggs and ham, a freshly caught rabbit shall be breakfast for the fam.  

Most of my day consists of finding food, whatever’s around, no particular mood.  Everything I’ve learned I teach to my child, this uncivilized world can get pretty wild.  After playing with junior I look for more food, I see a fellow ‘magnon “What’s up, my dude?”  We forage for nuts and we forage for berries, leaves will do, but, you know, it varies.  

When the cold goes away we’ll begin to farm, we’ll change the land what’s the harm?  It’s almost dinner what could I make?  There’s a lot of fish down in that lake.  I crouch near the water and aim my harpoon, I sense a tasty supper sometime soon.  Compared to the average human my senses are keen, lucky for you It’s 2016.  

I’m stuck in the food chain, you shouldn’t complain.  I had to outrun a bear today, I ran uphill and shouted, “HOORAY!”  The hill had a spider, it couldn’t be wider.  It bites my ankle, making me rankled.  I’m growing pretty tired, possibly due to the bite I acquired.  

My head gets heavy and my thoughts start to fade, I try to focus on the idea I last made.  I look at the tiny dots in the night, contemplating my place and where I fit right.  My species so young, our world so mysterious, what you have yet to learn should make you delirious.  

I curl up on the floor and close my eyes, the story of my life forever fossilized.  My tribe members bury me but I’m not the first, an underground sea of dead bodies is all that remains in the land we traversed.

“The problem with sanity is that I CAN’T lose my mind, it’s inescapable.”  
Sanity is a spiral.  An ever-tightening coil, that goes around and around.  

One may find themselves at the beginning, their head perfectly clear.  
But as time goes by, moments of absurdity start to appear, like mosquitos at the start of Spring.  It feeds off you.  Picks at you, like a scab ready to burst.  

Until you finally reach the center and the spiral is so tight it crushes your psyche.  
But the thing about spirals is that they never end, there’s always more.  

You may never fully break,
But you can always turn around and find the beginning once more.  
And just remember,
“Your now is not your forever”
Even if the spiral may feel that way.

Emptiness is not depressing.
In fact, It is the complete loss of everything.
Emptiness doesn’t even feel numb,

You sit in the same clothes you had on three days ago,
Underwear and all
And watch reruns of That 70s Show.
Hoping it may bring forth some slight semblance of nostalgic joy.
A youthful remembrance of what feelings were,
When you still had them.

But you pour another white russian
And stare at the screen until the only thing left that isn’t empty

Is your eyes from the light.

during my fifteen-minute break at work,
I saw a sleeping bag in the dugout of a baseball field.
it’s almost autumn now.
too cold for whomever this belongs to.

I leave a post-it note
asking what his name is.
my break is over so I go back to work.

the next day, I check for a response
and it’s in the garbage.
I take it out and put it back with the sleeping bag
I can wait.

the day after that I check,
it says “Doug”.
I grab a notebook and introduce myself,
“hi Doug, I’m Tanner. can I get you anything?”

the next day, “anything would help.”
“I’ll bring some back warmers you can use at night
in your sleeping bag.  they’re like regular hand warmers but bigger.”
later that night, after my shift,
i do

this goes on for a while.
I’ll ask him if he needs food,
I’ll bring granola bars.
I’ll ask if he needs light,
I’ll bring a battery-powered lantern.

I ask him what he’ll do when the snow comes
I get a simple response, “I have somwhere to go.”
his spelling isn’t that great.
I ask, “where?”
no response the next day.

I think about him now.
figured I’d ask him how he got to be homeless.
he said he came to town when his father got sick,
said he lost his job for leaving.
eventually, he ran out of money.

I leave a twenty in the notebook.
the next day it reads, “thank you.”
a little bit into winter I still saw his bag
and we still exchanged notes, never once seeing each other.

one day in the middle of winter, I notice his bag is gone.
the notebook isn’t so I hide it under the dugout bench.
winter passes, I still haven’t seen him.

it’s finally spring, still no sign of him.
summer comes along, nothing
little league baseball is starting
the kids found the notebook
and ripped out every single page we ever shared,
shredding each one into tiny illegible pieces
thrown away in the trash can.

I’ll never see Doug again.

Thoughts race like lyrical melodies.
Repeating themselves like a chorus.
He can’t take the incessant chattering.
The yes, no, please make it stop of it all.

It’s too much to handle.
Handle, like he’s riding a bike with the handles disconnected.
A wall in front of him, no way to steer.
No way to brake.
Can’t get it to stop.

Here comes the verse again,
“You will hurt those you love.
You will hurt those you love
You will hurt those you love
You have hurt those you had loved.”

The verse came in,
“Attention-deficit with hyperactivity, anxious, obsessive-compulsive,
Insomniac, bipolar, with substance dependency.
A basket case with narcissistic traits, but the self-esteem that makes him drown while everyone else floats."

Stated in the order of chronological diagnosis.
Each a bookend to a chapter of his life.
Collecting disorders like pokemon cards.
Being the worst there ever was.

A night of heavy drink
You beckon me
Makes me think
About the choices I’ve made

The people I’ve chosen
But those people, they fade
Just when it ends, you blow in

Here you are,
Bare on my bed
Once so afar
Now spread

In town, February 29th
5:20 am
Us, intertwined
I gaze at you like a gem

Fast forward twenty years
I see a house with pictures of you and children in frames
A house made alive by their cheers
And to think, it all started with a young flame

White walls make up my cube
Clear liquid flows through my tube
White pills forced down my throat
Makes me numb, makes me float

White walls turn to blank canvases
Stared at by motionless carcasses
Men in white coats herd them like sheep
To their rooms where they’re forced to sleep

No rest for the weary
Though the pills they shoved make me dreary
The white walls turn to beautiful paintings
My perceptions are my only escape

Dreams of life before my break
Faded hallucinations keep me awake
Splattered on the white walls
An innocent child plays with a ball
An African landscape where a lion crawls
An angel falls
My family calls

The lights stay on
A constant dawn
No rest for the weary

Xanax in my drawer.
Correctly prescribed, yet unwanted.
Waits for me in a childproof container.

The moon, through my window panes, illuminates my room.
Aside from the most geometric corners of blackness.
My anxiety pains through my dreams.
Prompting me to stay awake.

The moonlight bounces off my nightstand drawer's brass handle.
Where the Xanax rests.
Where I could rest.

No pleasure in falling asleep.
When the only way possible is to stumble into it.
High and depraved.

One pill doesn't work, only two.
And I'm off to the moon.
Finally asleep, but not in control.
There's a reason we haven't gone back.