The sunrise is often blamed
For the crushing of fairy tales
For returning the dooming chasm
Fearfully known as “reality”

When that grimy light appears
The queens and kings retreat to their storybooks
The magical creatures return to their hobbit holes

As the party goers exit their fantasies
The lights blind them to their bliss
All of a sudden, nothing real ceases to exist
They bump shoulders with dread as they head home

There are some for whom the sunset
Is bittersweet, like seeing an old flame
At a coffee shop with their new fairytale,
Gently admiring what is just out of grasp

It may be that early morning work shift,
Which they were forced to transfer to,
Forcing them to leave the party early
So they fall asleep to daylight’s lullaby

But when that devious alarm goes off
It’s time to return to the coffee shop
A different form of the sun, within reach
Is always there to greet half-opened eyes

As we sit, facing each other over steam
I only think of how I’ve waited for this moment

How the sunrise, for so long, was only painful
How even now, I’m not sure if the fairy tales
Have left me just yet

38 days

    The world is spinning at roughly 1000 miles per hour

38 days since I last wrote

    The world is still spinning at roughly 1000 miles per
hour

There are a few moments that change its course
But it’s been so many miles since the last meteor
As much as humanity would love to think
That our      
             Footsteps  on the wet sidewalk or our
             Promises spoken into the universe
Are a meteor worthy of slowing the world just a bit,
In another 38 days
     It will still be spinning clockwise
In another 38 days
I will have more      
                          Partially drafted poems and
                          Lyrics written while half asleep
But none of it was ever intended to be a meteor
None of these words were hopeful enough
To slow down or speed the world up
On another night, in another half dream
I may find this frightening enough to spiral
      Enough to feel as if the sky is raining down
        Enough to feel each mile slipping out of grasp
          Enough to tell that the world is moving clockwise

But in another 38 days

    The world will still be spinning at roughly 1000 miles per hour, and

I will have written 16 more lines

That’s more than there were 1000 miles ago

Black, pink, yellow, and purple
How much do you really love me?
Not the fairytale type of love
But the curled up on the couch type of love
The good morning whispers type of love
The sugar-is-sweet type of love
So are you

Black, pink, yellow, and purple
Would you paint your nails for me?
Everyone wears rings, and
Everyone removes them so easily

Black, pink, yellow, and purple
Would you paint if I was sick? Grossly sick? To the point
Where I have bubbles of boogers bursting beyond belief?
Would you paint if I couldn't sing? Or write?
If I had no way of showing you my love?
If I was no longer beautiful to only you?
What if the world loved me? What if I loved me?
Would you still paint?

Black, pink, yellow, and purple
Would you paint your nails for me?
I’ll let you choose whichever color you want
Blood red, ocean blue, plum purple
Can’t name a color you don’t look good in
Besides, it's not like it lasts that long

Black, pink, yellow, and purple
But what if it did?
What if when it wears off in two weeks
You painted them again?

I want to know you in the worst way
The face you make when you first wake up
Shocked by the alarm that goes off in the dark

Not the paper daisies spray-painted pink that you post

Your breath after a night of drinking
Your beaded forehead and sticky hair

Not the smooth skin I’ve used to weave my fantasies

I want to know you in the worst way
The uncontained, rageful vengeance you feel
When you’ve started the same sentence again

Not the voice of reason you’ve been lip-syncing with

The you that shouts unforgivables and cruelties
The you that begs for forgiveness for your cruelty

Not the stone that sits in the garden, forever the same

I want to know you in the worst way
The way someone used to love you
The one you tried your best with

Not the bridges you doused with gas out of “courtesy”

The you that dances alone in your room
By the spotlight of a cheap lamp you thrifted

Not the performer who’s comfortable on the daily stage

The you that floats like a paper daisy on the river

We spent nights like these
In a room with remnants of marijuana smoke
Our breaths with the remains of bitter spirits
I say bitter, but these nights went down smooth
Yet somehow I find the fear of my throat
Never burning again hard to swallow
We left behind a legacy of half told jokes
Complete with full smirks and slight digs
The aftertaste still ligers, as I lay in a room
With no marijuana smoke
My breath contains no spirits
Yet somehow my throat burns still
Those times have yet to become nostalgia
I remind myself, as the memories we’ve made
Are only a start to the ones we’ve yet to drink
But on nights like these
There are only remnants of
Marijuana smoke and bitter spirits and you

[-5 degrees]
I understand, I’m sorry you’re not feeling well

read 06:42

[-4 degrees]
This song made me think of you
Especially the one line
It’s always that one line
That part is my favorite

read 10:38

[-3 degrees]
No, that’s okay, I understand
School comes first, you come first
You should study
Raincheck for…maybe tomorrow?

read 12:56

[-2 degrees]
I remember you told me that your class ends
Right around 9, you only mentioned it once
A few degrees ago
Romantics tend to forget very little, we’re like elephants
Down to the smooth talking and the gray skin
It gets dark pretty early and it’s a bit icy on the sidewalks
I’d love to walk you home, if you’d let me

read 19:23

[-1 degrees]
I had a really great time tonight
I’d forgotten how it felt to smile surprisingly
My own laugh seemed a foreign entity to me
The whole night, I watched as your lips weaved
Wondrous tales of a life I hope to be apart of
If you’d let me
I know I’ve already left, but I don’t mind walking

read 23:15

[0 degrees]
If you want, you can come back
received 23:5-

I’d love to
Despite the cold from today and yesterday
You’ve always…it’s always been cold yesterday
Despite it still being cold enough to freeze water
To turn fingertips gray
Fingertips left reaching out
Into the cold
Despite the forget-me-nots that only I’ve grown
You’ve turned your doorstep into the sun
I’ll be right there

read 00:01

Your wine stained lips left a kiss
On my coffee cup
Your love stained lips left a kiss
On my coffee chest
I am quite tempted not to remove either

I sip on sweet liquor
(6)
Till all that I can see are your words on a page
(12)
They encapsulate me
(6 again)
In the way another life does to a dreamer
(12 again)
The way a stranger does
(6 never before)
To a heart break lover not yet broken enough
(12 once more)
I sip on sweet liquor
(Back to 1)
Till the abyss is but a clown to be laughed at
(12 smiles)
Maybe life is fleeting
(6 for a while)
If so, I’d quite like to spend its moment with you
(12 smiles again)
If all's well that ends well
(6 soon to end)
One last smile shared with you ought to be enough
(12 without a rhyme)
I sip on sweet liquor
(1 once more)
Till it drowns me in a pool of secret giggles
(12 smiles a last)
Immersed in amnesia
(6 glances past)
Maybe it's that joke of yours, I lost it somewhere
(12 a drought, dies of thirst)
Among these blurred pages
(6 smiles a first)

Tell me
Tell me things I’ve heard before
Tell me things I’ve never believed
Until I heard them from your lips
Your perfect lips
Tell me about the universe, my dear
Tell me about the stars and how to paint them
I will tell you about the atoms they are made of
And how there are so many more stars
Tell me about the mountains and how to climb them
I will tell you about the cliffs off of which I fell
Tell me about the music and how to play it
How to sing it
I will tell you about the flats and sharps
Until my voice becomes coarse
Tell me about the brick walls you admire so
I will tell you how to pull them apart
With bare hands
The same bare hands
That still have footprints on my back

Tell me about the ocean
And how I will drown in its waters
Tell me how the moon apologizes to the waves
For ever making them feel so powerful
Tell me how to steal the moonlight from the shore
And keep it in a jar to collect dust on a shelf
I wish I knew where I put that jar
Tell me about the coral reefs and the cuts they leave
I will stumble over blisters still
And drag myself across the shores with no moonlight
Tell me you don’t want me to have the blisters
Tel me, as I try to paint the stars for you
As I try to climb the mountain
Tell me about the sun
And how it never apologizes
For burning so bright
I will show you my scars

Tell me how to paint the stars
Tell me, my dear

She chooses her victims carefully, precisely
A serial murderer stalking her prey
She wears the skins of victims passed
While one might feel cursed by her presence,
Damning the hell she came from
As I often am through no fault but ours shared,
There is no “luck” of the draw
Those words were meant to be spoken
That tear was meant to fall
That goodbye was meant to last forever
There are no coincidences, she is rarely that lazy
Rarely
Except for when she is
When she is instead a joyous lover from the heavens
Leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead as she walks through the door
Oh how light are her footsteps against the broken glass that was once you
She never bleeds, not for any of the hearts she has shattered
Her presence, however miserable at worst and tormenting at best
Can be most addicting
There are no worse withdrawals than from what was

I will destroy you in the most beautiful way
Tear your heart out to give you as a present
You will be grateful
The blood in your mouth will taste sour
I will have convinced you it is honey
The emptiness you feel away from me
Like a black hole consuming any light it can
Will only be fixed by my sweet nothings
Sweet nothings, my dear
Sweet nothings
You are addicted to my touch, my being
There is nothing you can do but weep
Spill your sorrow into buckets
I will drink them, sour as honey
The person you want and the person I am
Will never be the same
I will have convinced you we are one
Sweet nothings, my dear
Sweet nothings

We tell children that they can do anything in the world
Set your mind to it, and the sky is yours
Yet, in the same breath, we're supposed to explain
That no matter how close you travel to the mountain
Either admiring from afar or standing at the base
You will never get to the top
No matter how hard you try, you will be left
Standing in the cold, admiring from a distance
Somehow, both are true

You wave
But don't invite me over to sit
You wave
But don't invite me over to talk
You wave
But don't invite me through the door
In fact
You close it in my face
Waving as you do
It was then I realized
You were never waving hello

There was math
With all the nonsensical numbers
There was reading
With all the hidden messages
There was science
With all the confusing rules
But love
Love was not something taught
As a subject in school
And yet, it still fit in with the others

Just as the waves will bend to the will
Of the moon
I'll fall to yours

The night is most comforting
When the chills and shivers
Are outweighed by the warmth of a welcoming ignorance
While the sea of stars, seemingly endless
May momentarily provide solace to a sailor lost at sea
Eventually the horizon returns
To remind the lost soul of its vacancy

There is a “For Rent” sign
As old as the neighborhood itself
Riddled with wilted flowers
Decorated by rustic bullets
While the vacancy screams for a tenet
Who may momentarily provide redemption,
Something, at least, to fill the space that has been empty for so long
It has forgotten what warmth once was,
There is no number to call
No realtor daring to step close
For if they do, they themselves are riddled with wilted flowers
Decorated by rustic bullets

While the moon illuminates a drunken smirk
And shines upon fortunate forgotten regrets
The sun steals its place soon enough in the morning
The horizon returns the gift of once thought lost
Chills and shivers
For while the sailor dreams of finding his land after so long
There is momentary comfort in the sea of stars
For he knows nothing else

It's time to turn out the lights
And let this city sleep
A raging heartbeat is exciting
But eventually needs to breathe
And relax

It's time to turn out the lights
And send everyone home
For every working time and party time
There is a quttin' time and closin' time
We look up at clocks for a reason

It's time to turn out the lights
And enjoy the night while we can
Either sleep through it or laugh it away
But the day will be back soon enough
She'll hit the light switch yet again

It's time to turn out the lights
And go easy on ourselves
A busy life is exciting
But we eventually need to breathe
And relax

An unstoppable force
Meets an immovable object
Instead if colliding head-on
And wrecking the world around them
The force slows in its tracks
The object uproots itself
They meet in the middle
To exist in a wonderful paradox
Because who cares what physics dictates is possible
It shouldn't matter anyways

I don't believe in you
Nothing personal, only policy
One developed a long time ago, and rooted deep
Like a ****, started off small
Not watered daily
But instead fed by the constant scorching heat of doubt
The stray falls of skepticism from the clouds
And the scattered whispers from weeds among us
They come in large amounts

You hold a strong title
And have been called many names
None of which I think are worth a breath
So instead they share only one
God
Love
Family
Friends
Purpose
Optimism
Hope
They are all as redundantly ridiculous and deserving of ridicule
As the next
A clown car in which one silly, silly entertainer emerges after another
Each one's existence almost goofy enough
Worthy enough
To provoke a mixture
Of a scoff and a giggle
Almost

However, if someone were to be here, where I am now
See what I see
Know what I know
Feel what I feel
I could understand, ever so slightly
Why they might choose to believe

“When life gives you lemons
Make lemonade”
Past that, no instructions
No passed down successful recipes
There’s nothing there
About how to go
From a sour fruit
To a delicious drink
In this cookbook that makes no sense,
With a mix of different languages
And scrambled pictures,
There’s everything else
Pages stuck together
Pages missing
Scribbled correction of improvised recipes
But no instructions
From anything successful
Only pictures of what should result

Very few go to the store
Planning to buy a lemon
Usually, it’s the “perfect” couple
Not yet in the scopes of life
Not yet a target
So in love with each other
They decide to take on the challenge
Of a lemon
Before they even buy it
They’ve got a peeler
A blender
A juicer
Room in their hearts
And high hopes
A recipe they’re sure to work
Not realizing that lemon in their eyes
Will still hurt

For the rest of the shoppers
That lemon isn’t wanted
It’s thrown at them
With the speed and intensity
Of a major league pitch
Breaking the catcher’s glove
Taped with a note that says
“Handle with care”
“Good luck”
But no recipe
This ignorant “couple”
Doesn’t know the first thing
About dealing with this…
This…
Accident
Mistake
Error
Slip up
Life wrecker
Unwanted
Unplanned
Lemon
So they do their best
To take what they’ve got
And see if just maybe
They can make that **** work
Realizing that’s all there is in the recipe
Stuck between
“Lemon” and “Lemonade”
Partly ripped
Scribbled in the margins
Thrown in there with the same intensity
Is simply
“Make that **** work”
Whatever bitter drink that comes out
Is forced to do the same
Add this
Add that
Sprinkle a little bit of
“What the hell is going on”
A dash of
“I never asked for any of this”
And sometimes just a smidge of
“This might be alright”
The flavor is constantly changing
Getting worse
Getting better
Then it tastes like tears
Salty at first, then bitter
Then it’s too sour
Then it’s too sweet
With that occasional
Flavor of orange juice
And all that’s asked is
“Where did I go wrong?”

But right before
It was all ruined
Before it was a mistake
It might’ve been good
Sweet
Savoy
Tingly in the way
That makes your upper lip curl
Just enough to tease
Just enough to make you constantly wonder
Maybe it was good
Maybe
Just once
You might’ve had
Lemonade
Sweet
Savory
Lemonade-----J.M.

Let my mind roam this world
Each nook of river and valley
And shall I grow bored
When all is explored
I'll hope for a spare galaxy

One poem
Amongst many
Lost in the storm on the sea
Just another drop
One message in a bottle
Amongst many
Washed up on a beach of the hopefully stranded
If it's found, then it's amazing
If not
Can't love to lose what you never had, right?

I have seen the stars
They’re above my backyard every night in the sky
All I need to do is look up
Bright lights millions of miles away
They’re just stars
I have never seen...these
These are not stars
These are moments upon memories
Written in the night sky for everyone to see
But only for the special and strange few to understand

That little one to the left
Is something given
Something taken
It is in the front seat of a beat-up used Ford
The interior torn like wolves to a pair of Toms shoes
It is the closed eyes saying
“Trust me, I’ll never give you a reason not to”
That bright sun of someone else’s galaxy
Powerful enough to melt an Oreo milkshake
The way your laughs melt my troubles
Yes, it’s corny
Our star
Beats down on our moments
On your gleaming hazel eyes
Holding answers to the questions I’ll never regret
On my beaming smile
For pure happiness truly radiates
An infectious tune coming from one set of speakers
Causing everyone’s heads to bop in gridlocked traffic
It is something given
Something taken

That little one to the right
Directly in our line of vision
A bullseye we both were fortunate enough to notice, saying
“You hit the jackpot”
It shines down on an empty football field
Pitch black in the midnight glow
Directly in its line of vision is two hopeless romantics
Not two broken hearts
Each half in need of super glue and a symmetrical partner
But two full packs of Gummi Bears
Each doing just fine on the shelves
Till they realized that the company of the other is more than welcomed
And that one can never have too many Gummi Bears
Others will raise the question
Does one really need to have two packs?
It’d be a lot cooler if you did

The beaming star directly in the center
Would be the perfect one to now create some metaphor
About a weeping willow and a joshua tree
Or perhaps something cornier, if possible
But before I can, fortunately, there to save me
Are your lips on mine
Two packages spill into one
The lines of possible poetry waiting to be written go blank
All I want to do is reciprocate
The giggle
The smirk
The downright laugh-out-loud
Your reasons will remain a secret
Gone with the midwestern night wind over the turf
Mine will stay hidden with me
Because honestly, how outright dorky would it be
If I were to say
That you, the brightest star never given the chance to shine in the night sky,
Tasted exactly like Oreo milkshakes
And Gummi Bears

They are not just stars-----J.M.

The power of three dictates
That it takes three times of repetition
For something to take effect
A speech is more powerful
When the title is repeated 3 times
A question hits deeper
When it’s asked three times
The punchline is always funnier
Repeated three times
Ha, Ha, Ha

1
I dialed the number
In tears
Crying hysterically
Instead of taking a walk
And getting fresh air
I shut the door to the confined 4 walls
Hoping that a stranger on the phone
Would have the answer
More than the birds and the sky ever would
I emptied my soul into a voicemail
Because a text wouldn’t do
I emptied my soul into a voicemail
Because the silent begging for help
Apparently wasn’t loud enough
I emptied my soul into a voicemail
Yet always clammed up
Once the therapy session started
Probably because it wasn’t me worried about my safety
Yet, every time an innocent pair of eyes asked
“You okay?”
I forced mine to reveal
“Of course. Just tired”

2
I didn’t even wait until the room
See, if I had waited
If I had said “Let me walk home first before calling”
Then, “coincidentally”
I might’ve been hit by a car
Or “accidentally” fallen
From a bit too high
I was, again, in tears
Begging on my feet
Because I’m not going to get on my knees
For someone who doesn’t want to answer
Begging on my feet
That still, they’d pick up
Despite the unread messages in a bottle
And my lost pleas among an empty sea
I needed them more than they wanted to listen
Begging on my feet
For the strength
To keep walking
Despite all roads taken home pointing towards collapse

3
I called
With a chuckle in my breath
And a smirk on my lips
Robin Williams smiled the most
I called
For ***** and giggles
Just to humor myself
To get high off of bitter memories
And wishful regrets
I called
Just to let you know
I’m still here
I know you’ve never answered
But if you get my voicemail
You can always hit me back
Even if it’s just to simply say
“Hey”-----J.M.

Bus stops
Train stations
Awkward social gatherings
As cringy as family reunions you’re forced to go to
Except nobody has the embarrassing stories
That you hate to love to hear
Gas stations
That broken down 7-11 on the corner block
That has always been there
Where each stranger is as...strange as the next
The lunch line at school
Where you pass by those same old, soulful eyes
That have watched you since the first day of school
With the wild hair and stubby little fingers
That have watched a thousand broken promises pass by
Airports!
Airports where you are given the privilege to witness
The curious-as-can-be toddlers
With limitless imaginations
Not a care in the world, despite mom and dad always fighting
They don’t care
They’re still roaming around in their own universe
Running in circles with their arms spread out
No, sorry
With their wings extended out
So close to flying, just like the planes outside
They’re the same metal cages
Except nobody has told them that they’re not supposed to fly
Yet
In the passionate air guitarists
The professional lip syncers in the bathroom mirror reflection
And the truly skilled piano rockstars
That don’t quite exist yet

In the hopeless poet
Filling up pages
Like the ****** addict
Pushes in the needle
Both unaware of their coming demise
For just as there are those who overdose
The poet will eventually run out of ink
They will both search frantically before dropping to their knees
And the only thing left to clean up
Will be the diseased needles and ripped pages of scribbled nonsense
Sorry for the shoutout
In the teenage boy
Struggling to face his depression
Because he’s told to “be a man!”
In the teenage girl
Struggling to face her depression
Because she’s told “it’s all in your head, you’re overreacting”
In the teenage them/they/theirs
Struggling to face their depression
Because they know who they are
It’s the rest of the world that’s confused
So they’re not allowed to be themselves
Alice in Wonderland made more sense
All three are struggling to tame the uncontrollable thoughts
Criticized by the close minded Twitter posts and careless comments
All three are struggling to fight the daily battle
To ignore
To break through their ceilings
And finally have a chance at reaching through to the heavens
Desperate to escape this hell
Designed by those surrounding the warriors
Except they’ve just punched a whole through the roof of their coffin
And the small space is now filled to the brim with dirt
Suffocated
By the uncontrollable thoughts
Like Harvey on Huston
Except these three aren’t “Huston Strong”
They aren’t going to emerge from the dirt
Warriors once more
I’m sorry that I wasn’t there

In all those
Who get goosebumps when listening to a song
That they can feel is from another lifetime,
And who know that their adjective “weird”
Isn’t an insult
It’s a brand of respect,
Your see it
The Lost Ones
Each singing a soundtrack to their life
That they desperately wish they wrote
Yeah, you-----J.M.