I like this place.
so many people
trying to deal with pain
and anger
and talking about
their joys
and so much of it
under the surface
because the profanity
filter is on by default.

They told me
to think more
positive thoughts
so I described the
movement from
a perfectly good day
to a severe depressive
low was as exhilarating
as being on an
out of control tire swing
attached to a tree that
was half dead
and they told me I needed
to take it more seriously
or leave.

I saw a flower
wilting beautifully
in a bed of
uncertainty
and I wondered if it
was afraid to face the sun
because it perhaps forgot
sunscreen
and in its attempts
at self preservation
it starved itself of what
it needed
--the sunshine.

He drew a graph
on the roll of paper
attached to the wall
that served as a grocery
list
and I didn't need a graph to
tell me to buy milk
and I asked him why
and one of his friends said
from the other room
"he does recreational calculus"
and in that moment I
seethed with rage
and I didn't know enough
calculus to figure out if the
graph was accurate
but being *******
and indignant
is easier than
differential equations.

You've got a big heart
and you'll find someone
with a heart just as
big as yours
and who cares to the same
degree
that you do.
I'm one of those
who loves way too much
and it worked out for me alright
(after countless heartbreaks)
but the point here is that
someone out there will be
totally accepting of you
and will love talking to you
and will hang onto your every word
as poetry
and they will see the beautiful love
you have to offer
and I know it ***** right now
and it seems like you're spinning your wheels
in the mud
but I believe in you.

I believe that the beauty
I see in you will
envelop you and
and that big heart of yours
and you will find a home
in which that heart shall
just be.

Sitting here at
10:09 on a Monday
sipping peppermint
tea
and all I can think of
is how much longer
my poems would
be if I wrote them
in a drunken rage
and I say longer
and not better
because drunk words
are sober thoughts
and all I write
is what I'm thinking
at the moment
and call it
Poetry

I told a friend
that my gallbladder
had stopped working
and he said
May Allah bless you
with good health
and I thanked him
but can't stop thinking
about the time God
wiped out humanity
for not listening
to Him
and I hope that I've
been listening well
enough
to at least
survive the surgery

If you have something to say,
say it with conviction
believe in the words coming
from your mouth
because once they're out
they don't go back in
and no mouth to mouth
will resuscitate
a bridge that's in flames
and as long as you
meant every last word
every last volley
shot over the walls
built from years of
friendship
then no blame can be sent
your way
but do not be alarmed
when they come back around,
a little crispy around the edges
all shrieking like demons
faces black and sooty
and eyes red from the smoke
that rose from the fires
that only tears could put out
and they've got a hot coal
in their hand that they
don't feel and they
want to see you burn.

All that makes our demons
scary is who they're
throwing fire at.

"I've got a good one
working
my dear,"
I said a bit louder
than a whisper,
"I can feel it rolling around
in there."
"A poem?" She asked
and it was beautiful
and it was perfect
and then the poem was
gone.
and I couldn't find the words
so I looked around the library
to see what words would
spark
and the sign on the copier
bellowed
NO PENNIES!!!!!
which is fun for a title
and a sign on the wall
wanted to introduce me
to Muslims on the 26th
but at the end of it all
I was surrounded by endless words
while at a loss
for my own.

There's too much
noise sometimes
and all I can think
about is my friends
rambling in corners
scrawling Confucius
across Facebook walls
trying only to be heard
and taken seriously
through the wisdom
of people long dead
in lieu of facing the
instant rejection of
developing a unique
personality in a sea
of cynical personas
where it's better to
have never loved
than to admit that
you are human.