Scratch that.

I am vacant as a whole.
Emptied and used up,
bits of me carved out
and scattered all around in meaningless disarray.
I feel like I'm grasping at the edges,
to hold it all together in fear that
it'll all
cave
in.

That I'll prove to be a black hole
and wreak nothing but havoc.

But isn't that what I'm already doing?
Holding the edges together while
blindly pulling in whatever feels like it
just might fill the void...

When all I really want is all that's been
scattered to be replaced.
I don't want to just fill
emptiness.
I want to be whole.

Hands clinging to rocks against the mountain side,
strands of hair falling to my face.
Almost to the top, just one more step.
"Pull up your socks!" Everyone below yells, nagging me to do so.
I ignore, focusing to make my way to the peak.
"Pull up your socks!" The repeat, daggering at my toes.
I am anything but a child of theirs.
I continue on.
"Pull up your socks!" They scream again, my eyes rolling.
I arrive to the top.

click
A poem by someone in Chicago
click
A poem by a girl in love with her best friend
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A story by a young man trying to find out himself
click
A poem by someone whose cat is in front of the screen
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A piece by a rusty old man in need of attention
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A piece of soul
click
Posted for the world's criticism
click
A shred of heart
click
Bared with anonimity
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Thoughts from the mind
click*
of a fellow poet

in a casual masquerade
      we found ourselves
      the two of us, crowded and alone
      being the only ones exposed

we danced to music
      the both of us didn't care for
      we didn't mind, either, the windows
      half open or half closed

forgetting our footing
      dancing then broken by laughter
      i fell into your eyes, at first led my toes
      how we flowed, you flowed

how a boundary, our ceiling
      had fallen once more like shattered pieces
      of a mirror image no one really knows
      still it grows, and we're all alone

I’m with you in Sisters,
Where our aspirations are only as big as the mountains around us,
I’m with you in Sisters,
Where the only people that matter are right here with us,
I’m with you in Sisters,
Where a harvest moon smiles back at us in the night,
I’m with you in Sisters,
Your dreams of being a painter have come back to you,
And there is no need for artificial bliss,
I’m with you in Sisters,
The sounds of the basketball can be heard with the mirth of a generation,
I’m with you in Sisters,
There are no steps left to take onto the train that leads only to
A future without me,
I’m with you in sisters,
And we can hear the snow before it comes,
And the lamas grazing in the woods with their friends,
I’m with you in Sisters,
We clean the stalls with urgency,
For what awaits inside is better than real life,
I’m with you in sisters,
The smell of spring is here, and the birds won’t stop for us,
And the mountains smile back at the youth left behind us,
I’m with you in Sisters,
Where you can’t forget me so the camera isn’t necessary,
And the scent dancing faintly at the edge of our noses is bread baking in the house,
I’m with you in Sisters,
I wish we grew up here together, would I be different?
Would you?
I’m with you in Sisters,
Where I can’t get the Bridgetown out of my head,
So nothing seems real,
I’m with you in Sisters,
It’s June, and I’ve bought a cabin in the field where we forgot ourselves,
And you all come have a *** of coffee and we go on adventures together,
Where we don’t need swords or magic,
I’m with you in Sisters,
Where the machinations of men can’t affect the splendor of the seasons,
We will never frown again,
We will never sleep again,
We will never fight again,
I’m with you in Sisters,
We are kids forever, and there is nothing to forget because every day is perfect in a different way.

My door frame is easy to break

it bends in half,

if you blow on it

and there’s left over gum

in the cracks

from all of the ***** mouths

of people who tried

to blow my house in

(it’s probably because so many have gone

that allows for so many to come)



If the walls have any color,

please let me know



When you get inside you’ll see the floor

covered in thumbtacks

that have fallen

from the memories that were once pinned

to my walls

but have since blown away

by the same breaths that had blown in my door

(I wish I had the heart

to pin them

back up)



If the walls have any color,

please let me know



If you manage your way into my kitchen

you’ll find

tea bags

and charred kettles

that I used to burn my words

when my mouth got too hot

(I always mess things up when I speak)



If the walls have any color,

please let me know



Please excuse the honey

smeared to my furniture

it was used to make guests stick

who were anxious to leave

from the moment they arrived

(I think the scent of insecurity

wrapped in lavender oil

sickened them)

When fuming,

after the guests turn away

I gag myself

into my pink toilet bowel

to allow the memories,

that have rotted in my gut,

to roll out on to

my

tea stained tongue

So please use the bathroom upstairs



If the walls have any color,

please let me know



I do not live there anymore

I had to run away again,

to get away from these rooms

that once cradled my innocence

(the frame has grown weak from carrying such burdens)



If the walls have any color,

please let me know



you’ll find me underneath the floor boards