Quiet down my dear heart
And let your silence call him into your chambers

The waking will shake you
But it won't **** you
And soon you'll be so taken with reality
That falling asleep will be a torturous task

How horrible and happy life is all together
How privileged you are to remember both together
A little bit of patience, barely spanning a meter
To sustain a tiny candle light in the heart of winter
Be still little heart
The summer is almost here
Then the reaping will start
Just as the dew reappears...

Scars and scabs
Come leaking out in drips and drabs
After events that occurred  
And events that shouldn't have
Sand on soles go walking into shoes
And embed themselves there within
Shards of glass buried deep under the skin
Wiggle their way to the surface again
And when life warms to the call of the sun
We pack it all back, for morning has come
Old things get beat down until purple and plum
For newer less blue things to be squeezed under thumb
I worry about my mind and its multitude of storage rooms
Filled with undealt with boxes and musky fumes
Now stuffed to capacity
Those come leaking out too
They tare through the surfaces that have long since been plastered  
And sawed down and painted and polished afterwards
Now my body, heavy and ***** with these returning things
Sheds them part by part in painful rebirth
And after I've been made naked of these morsels in my mind
I'll pack new boxes in my empty  storage rooms from time to time
For a peaceful heart is a dozen a dime
But none is as interesting and messy as mine

All of our flowers are matching
Where graceful mistakes don't happen
Swirl in the dresses we're wrapped in
Why aren't all the pretty girls happy?

So you know who you are
It doesn't mean you have your **** together
Just because you carry an umbrella doesnt mean you know the weather
You're not the designer just because you bought the sweater
Smothering an animal doesn't automatically make it leather
Besides, there are other things that die under pressure
So whatever
Just because you read a book once doesn't make you the author
You're not a sail boat just because you can float in water
Not fitting in doesn't mean you're from mars
Just like e-cigarette smoke doesn't turn it into cigars
Having a map doesn't mean you know where you are
They said you're bright
You're not a star
You don't have your **** together
You just know who you are

I've been missing for days
Caught in a fold
That crease in your cheek
Has swallowed me whole

My heart is a messy place
I don't clean up often
My emotions lay about like worn jeans and pile up at every corner
Murky tears that were long bemoaned
Lay inside my pillowcases long after they have dried
And make heavy a light thing where my thoughts reside
Shadowy folks have  unmade beds  
Though long beparted
And declared dead
Many things that was once fresh
Have now grown brown reached their Autumn
They still roam the halls and vents
Like after tastes of mint long after the in scents have burnt
Every possible surface is stained with faces
Shelves are stacked and layered and stuffed
And though I rummage for space
There is never enough
Not for an ant
Or a hand
Or a new thing
Just room enough for me
And this big old mess of memories

While I put anger aside
And try my best to be kind
Say something nice whether true or fake
But though the world would be fine
On just love and sunshine
Sometimes all you can do is hate

Put me in the shade in the middle of the day
Because I don't like the way the light hits my face
But in a light breeze when things aren't so hot
And there are clouds overhead in little white spots
Thats when I feel like I'm living the most
Because life is mostly sunny with a hint of the cold

My poetry is ice cold
And offer me no sympathy
Lines have no comfort between them
On top or underneath them
If words could conceal my hearts disease
Then paper would be rough and bumpy and creased
Forgive me those who put their souls on sheets
Forget what I've written like flaky Autumn leaves
That become nothing after they brown and fall from trees
Gather up my words and spread them in the wind
But, I fear that my sonnets mean nothing to the ears in which they're caught
Like paper doves, they sink in water
Mine, though they rhyme, holds no less passion than torture
For those who feel different, don't let this thought bore you
For feelings that linger will soon pass
Trains that stop, will again move fast
And like these things that never lasts
That is poetry to me, so this is my last

i’m not compatible
With any codes or formats of the human animal
i’m an identity cannibal
With hungry dementors creeping out my finger holds
i’ll sink my teeth in any other being until i become actual
That’s simply transnational
i’m fictional until proven factual
But what can i truly be called?
i sometimes wonder if i’m an extraterrestrial
Or i could be a disease
You probably wouldn’t even notice
That next to you and inside me too i’m not part of your species
But believe me
If i could be a human i probably would be
Instead of living in the facade of my human personality
Maybe i could be a demigod
A diverging half person while merging with a centaur
Maybe as a child, while meek and mild i was left on the step of a synagogue
And monks and priests prayed over me and summoned up my human parts
Or maybe i’m a deception
And during birth i fell to earth and grew up into a desk job
But late at night when out of sight i transform into an autobot
Tare off my human skin and do some tricks in the parking lot

Or maybe i’m just a person
Who doesn’t really fit into any kind of person list and
Just maybe my ways are little bit reversed and
Maybe next week i’ll send this verse in
Bold letters into the universe and
Just maybe it will send me a tombstone and a hearse and
i’ll just die to the self outside of myself
And become an actual person

Stuck in the vortex
Of thinking you know everything
But knowing nothing
Guess we're all Hipsters?

Let the spiders eat me away
i'm not finding life any less constricting that the webs they lay
Life is too short anyway
whats the point in adding more hope to the already bent tray
I won't find joy in pretending to be okay
I won't find myself counted with the pretenders who pray
that one day they'll wake up and be what they say
Instead i'll thread the waters of life's turbulent bay
with the thought that everything will end at the end of the day
i'm more that happy to live and die this way

So i threw it back up on them
All the expectations, accusations, imaginations, insinuations, detestations, frustrations that they forced down my neck
When I finally opened my mouth
I painted them with it

I killed a finche, I don't know why
But perhaps a finche was meant to die
Although his wings were grown to fly
Maybe wings don't always touch the sky

He's viciously attractive
So I religiously ignore his backwards way of seeing things
And fall into his arms day after night
As if the floor itself inclined to the left and I could do nothing but slip closer and closer to his place
Where he'd always be waiting for me
With a warm arm open and a cigar between his lips

There is a world between happiness and sadness
And I've traveled across many times
And found that you can't build your house in between the two
All you can do is travel from back and forth.

Today is a day like any other could be
And tomorrow will be the same as today should be
If I was rich in the grand scheme of this
It couldn't make a day any more than it is
With just a penny to my name
A day is a day all the same
If I prayed for rain
And it actually came
Wouldn't cause a day to be any more bliss
Though a bit wet, with the cold and the mist
If the sun were to shine
As it often does at times
The day would still be just that
When you left it behind
So a day is a day
I figured that to be right
I've got far more to say
About the ever changing night...

I wish I was a burning ball of gas ripping through the air,
so that you could look at me while I was up there,
and not be aware,
and not even care,
that you're the reason I left my body,
and shed my skin and other parts of it,
to become something so bare and rare and perfect and orange,
that you forgot to breathe when you came across it,
and you'd stand there with your chin up,
lip parted at the sky above,
wondering how God could've created with love,
but never explained its beauty to no one,
and I'd rip and twirl and burst and whirl,
before your eyes like shimmering pearl,
and you'd never know that I was just a girl,
who left herself to brighten your world.

Death overcame him
How could it not?
Death is, after all, the final say
Of all the things that could have been said
Of all the people that could have said them
Death spoke last
And I couldn't argue with it
Because there was nothing left to say

I've got eyes
That makes me human
But I can't see very well through them
So I'm blind
The blurry kind
These eyes of mine
Are awfully ruined
Like an owl
My sight is fowl
In the morning when the sun rays burn right through them
The darkest shades
Would no less save
These white jelly ***** attached to my eye stems
But worst of all
Without discrediting any other travesty
Is that  these big eyes
Be they regular sized
Can't seem to see that you are bad for me
Though family-like folks
With impeccable eye yolks
Could see for days
Your shiny scales
Me as thick
And blind as a brick
Couldn't see a flick of your evil ways
To me you're kind
From the outer to inner sides
And with these eyes
I can no less find
A wrinkle in your peachy colored float and flutter cocoa butter mind
Although your cheats
And cheating like things
Are clear and clean
And as close as my cheeks
I conclude
Be it bitter and shrewd
That none is as blind as she who will not see...

Big City Lights
Could blind my eyes
(And carried me willingly into the stomach of the Metropolis
Welcomed me with the brightest of smiles
Unpinned me from the paper that gave me my name
ONE WITHOUT AN IDENTITY IS THE PROPERTY OF THE CITY
IF ONE DOES NOT HAVE A NAME, ONE WILL BE ISSUED TO YOU
Slave town, grave town, town of the takers
Town of the humans whose humanity has been graded
Gray city smoke has invaded my throat
And blacked out my words and thoughts and hopes
ONE WITHOUT DREAMS IS THE PROPERTY OF THE CITY
IF ONE DOES NOT HAVE A DESTINY, ONE WILL BE ISSUED TO YOU)
Big City Buildings
With the highest of windows
From which  the confetti flutters down
Upon you arrival

I am a victim of my own design
creating tragedies in my own mind

When you don't understand my pain
you don't understand my pride
My heart beats all the same
Whether you're far or near my side

My loneliness is dark green
And crawls up in spirals around me
Is feels of wetness and moss and other fermented things
And drips back down in puddles at my feet
Its damp and cold and sharp and real
Thats my loneliness
But how does your loneliness feel?

Our hands couldn't touch because they were too similar
So we decided to put our backs together instead
And faced opposite sides of the world
So that our lips would never utter the same words ever again

You're a windy person
fall into my windows and disturb my curtains
Stir my paper
Lift them with your windy arms
Make my hair a mess
And blow sand through the mesh of my dress
Carry with you flower petals
Moisture
And scents
Oh windy person
Move someone as still and motionless as me

The years are running cold
Like sand through your finger holes
Like cents in your old jacket getting lost in the pocket folds
Stilling hemmed to the edge of a jaded crown
To get praise from a faded crowd
Trading being right for the right to be loud
Tell me where are all your glories now
Just a clown with an open mouth
In a house where the lights are out

In stillness, I read a few lines per second
to sweet relief and wisdom beckon
it's the painful habit of the poet I reckon
to let out a breath at the end of each session

We've been here before
And its never been "amazing"
A word reserved for new beginnings
Not the same old same things
So familiar and worn
That its browning and aging
As if left out on the lawn
Because its not worth saving

To afford "amazing" would be amazing
But amazing is not a necessity
Other needs are more pressing
So it fades from our vocabulary
To make room for whats usable
Like things that aren't accessories
And like the boxes in the garage
It fades from our memories

rich body
poor body
under the sand one day will be your body
after days of standing in the store sobbing
about the price of milk and soap and coffee
a heap of flowers with a tomb stone in the middle
your name and date in polshed granite scribbles
For what is a grave
But a man and his perceptions
a body with hands cracked of services rendered
forget long lines at shopping mall centers
because under the sand none of that will be remembered
then days of your thoughts will be ages away
and the grass and thorns will weather your grave
so rich man, poor man, master or slave
from deep into the future or way back in the day
opinions are futile and will fade with your name
so don't be too proud of the inventions of your mind
For when you leave they will soon follow behind
though the world will be there for us humans to criticize
Eventually every word will be buried inside

I'm not brilliant
I'm just OK
I'm not rainbows
I'm just rain

we spent some time in the wind
and then drifted off to other things
we allowed the air to shift us apart
so we could land wherever we belonged
I was happy to know the person I knew
so I didn't hold on to the parts the wind took
it had better plots when it blew us away
and never intended for us to stay

i'm sorry i continued to laugh
While Your insides were being ripped
out onto the floor
That day You hated me for
i grew up and hated me more

Now that I've lost sleep
And the opacity of the world is decreasing rapidly
I'll slip into a state of luma-scale
And with graceless hurdles
Create a senseless hullabaloo
Behind the paper screens of reality
As just a silhouette
In mockery
In between Somber strokes
Inside the lips of joy
This is where poetry lives

could you climb inside my skin and become a part of my insides?
could you leave parts of yourself bEHIND YOU WHEn YU DO?
IF OUR STArs ALIGN WILL THEY STRIP DOWN AND COMBINE?

Whenever you're hurt
I become the aggressor
When you feel angered
I become the reason the world is bad
And when you're happy
I become the sun that escapes through the clouds

I was never a person to you
I was always just a means to get you through...

Rest your eyes
and let go of tonight
I'll still be loving you in the morning

Candles that burn
In the frame of a moonlit window
Runs dry and bitter
And burns out too soon
And the man that needs to see
Turns butterscotch and candy
And like a little kitten
Crawls under the blankets
For in dark rooms
Far from any mother's womb
Lives a dark race
In mind or in place
That scares muscular men from sight and space
Better then,
Candy man,
Who turns into cream and flakes
To close your eyes and sleep the dark away

I cried until I forgot I was crying over you
By then I was just crying because it was the only thing I knew how to do

You said let's not make it personal
And immediately after your bank into me and became a part of my arsenal
To make sure that when you didn't call back it would make me miserable

It took hours to stop the bleeding
And years after
The wound was still healing

The moon steals my attention
It's a thief in the night
Has there ever been a name for thief who steals delight?

Don't let your eyes fall on my legs as if hey are a canvas on which you can paint your imaginations
You are not an artist that can dictate my position in the painting you thought up when disregarding my humanity
I breath and move and affect the ground  underneath me
And even more amazingly, I think thoughts that shake the pages they touch
Don't hollow me out because I resemble the manicanes that stare through thick glass windows and mirror something that towers far above what they are there to resemble
I can't be dressed up and down as my eyes glaze over
I have the absolute and final opinion in the moving and shaking of my independently owned body
Only lifeless diamonds screams look at me
But a moving breathing woman doesn't need to be stared and holla'd at to understand what she is
Why should I be told what is expected of me or be given a manual to how tightly my possessions should be squeezed together?
I am the deciding force behind the direction my hips sway
And you should beg to even be considered by the mind that thought up these thoughts

Another love song sang into the wind
Another rainbow with no beginning
Another sad poem about these things
Another me strolling into town
No more lost than found
Or falling asleep in the lounge
As cotton filled as just another couch
I never expected anything more
From both life or the cornerstore
I never thought of both any differnt
Than plain old common repletion and persistence
Life is but life
Like traffic after four at night
Just another thing to get through

I feel empty
Parts of me are drifting in the ocean
I can't swim
And get sea sick too easily
I just sit on this rock
in the middle of the ocean
Watching myself float into the deep blue
Taking off my hat and waving them off
Hoping that they return with more life than I could've given them

I liked us better
When we didn't speak
When our hate was silent
And I could hate in peace
Now words sprout from your lips
Like mold and dicease
Call it my fault for asking
How have you been?

I would embrace myself, but arms are far and few
And though the brisk air of solitude is thick enough to be considered company
I still look out the wondow to see if anyone else is coming
Surely there is a reason for my solidarity, that crept up on me like an armed robber in the dead of night
When one is alone you find yourself is what I've been told
But all I've found was myself crying in the frame of this window for a face to greet and hand to hold

Your love is like being deprived of the pain that has built the character for which you love me
And I'm afraid if it continues I'll disappear and you'll no longer want me