There's a dead tree connecting the earth to my heart,
And yet it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
One silver root, and four dark leaves.
A branch is at my neck,
whispering me secrets
Gently in my left ear.
My hand arches like a black widow,
Skillfully pulling the bow,
As if it’s spilling a web
Delicately crafting,
A soft musical tone.
There are vines strung elegantly from trunk to my teeth
And I'll play them for you.
The rain is the beat,
It's the same as your pulse.
My blood runs cherry with every note.

The magnificent Midwest.
Where ****-heads migrate only to make a living off of welfare checks and a lack of motivation.
Scattered across the land in clusters,
Making up towns of shattered trailers.
Even in the greyness of winter we beat ourselves to death against snowed in windows
Searching for the sun, just like moths to street lights,
or lips to flickering flames
Death is everywhere.

Oh Vanilla Chai,
You cleanse my soul.
I can feel your warmth as you travel your way to my heart.
I inhale your steam and exhale my love
Honey and a pinch of sugar
You're so sweet.
There's a fire beating in your eyes,
And when added to the coldness of mine,
It makes the winter worth living.
Oh Vanilla Chai,
You take my words away and leave your smile in my lungs.
I can't breathe,
But I'd choose you over breathing.
Vanilla Chai.

Peaches and cream
All just seem
A bit too sweet

At a run down BP
The man in front of me
With rotten teeth
Is purchasing
Marlboro reds, coffee
And a chance to win the lottery

Gets what he needs,
Then goes on with his deeds
Walks by me
Like a blind man
Who cannot see
Maybe he'll be the winner

Now I'm next in line
Cashier asks "how are you?"
I say fine
They don't care if that's a lie
All I buy
Are peaches
To feed my hunger
Peaches for dinner

I devour
Counting down the hours
Days until I eat again
Slowly becoming more sour
Losing all my power
I hide like a coward
Benith moldy skin
Rotten from within

Same as a peach,
I wither and decay
Who is to say
tomorrow is another day?

In the 4th grade I did a research project on endangered Asian elephants.
I observed her ivory face and elephants bones
And the way her heavy feet flattened the truth as she ran.
She was Amelia Earhart and was deathly afraid of heights but soared through the sky,
Off the swing and thumping onto the gravel.
She wore stripped yellow flats
And fought the boys on the school ground.
Her body all banged up with bruises and scrapes
Were achievements in her book.
Thump as they hit the gravel,
Thump as she walked away.
Her face plastered in foundation
From a cracking foundation
The house of cards she  built on the second heartbeat in her stomach fell softer than the thump thump of his tiny heart
She was an asain elephant afraid of a mouse.
She used to say cherry blossom in Japanese to prove that she was fluent
But I knew her father was american and that she was lying
Hiding his last name behind her mother's as if it brought her shame.
I helped her hide the body of her unnamed child.
Kamikaze pilot diving straight into the ground with a thump.
The planes came crashing down the day I found out and you flew back home
The pacific ocean was a bowl of curry and he was a grain of rice at the bottom
Her chopsticks avoided him with every bite
I watched as this denial gripped her sweaty palms.
Everything she ate came back up her throat.
Vomiting this truth out wasn't something she could endure
The news was a ghost pepper too scorching to swallow even the first time
So she picked the cherry blossom bud from herself and left him to wither before blooming.

Flatly lying
They closed your box,
And it was just another goodbye.
A paycheck, and enough sweat to fill your bloodless veins.
Flat photos tracing back to you
You were always trying capture the laughs
Of seven grandchildren
Once so bright
Now the flattest state of mind
Emptiness with no traces of life
But at least there is the raspberry garden
That keeps your memory alive.
A flat grave
Stolen for cancer
The flat scent of cigarettes in your diner,
Your eldest son is to blame
But even his money couldn't fix you,
Still it meant everything
To an Irish woman
With peppermint hands.
Flat and out of luck,
No four leaf clovers
Just ditch flowers and dirt
Resting on you.

Streets named after famous people that you've never even heard of
Strangers at your shoulder,
Their knee touching yours,
And they've either got too much
Or not enough to say.
One hand burrowed deep in my coat's pocket,
The other clenched strictly to my life
Baby tree with dead leaves,
And a ghost's sigh.

Greater than signs
really do grow into alligators
and feast on their prey.
Telling my Algebra II teacher this
won’t get me out of doing my assignment.
I swear,
they change every time she turns away.
I attempt to keep my eyes down
as I’m avoiding scaly beasts and impossible math problems
and instead fix my eyes on the clock.
It is even more complex than complex conjugates.
Every second is assigned to each minute
and I’m assigned to do problem number one on the board.
The seconds travel down the spiral staircase
taking two, maybe three steps at a time.
Take a step back and countdown from ten
But that doesn’t stop each second from dwindling down.
Sometimes years even jump the entire staircase.
Irrational numbers, decimals and pauses
in the beeps of the machine,
Long division, long sigh.
Then the scatter-plot line graph exponentially decreases
And goes flat.  
Feet tapping to unknown time signatures in the waiting room,
One tear making its way down my cheek.
Plus another.
seventy thoughts  per second
but you were going eighty
when your face subtracted the dotted line
from the interstate.
Now I bury the remainders.
I tried to count everything but was disappointed
to know that I can’t count even a fraction of anything.
Blame it on my dead calculator,
erase my incorrect, hard work
and start over.
“Will someone help her with problem number one?”
They sigh,
their annoyance multiplies.
This is why I got a C in Algebra II.

I am not a billboard.
I will not catch your eye
I am not made of plastic
And I am not lit with flickering lights.
No, I am not her
No, it's only me.
I hate to disappoint you,
But I'm not even half as bright.
She has a face that makes you want to die,
from delight.
Well I've got a face that makes you want to die,
from disgust.
Her eyes dance like the sun's beams,
And they will skip into your heart.
My eyes won't warm you,
They'll give you frostbite instead.
Her flames start to rise,
The fire grows wild.
Even I start to melt,
She is contagious.
She is out of control,
She is out of sight.
I am not her,
I am frozen just where I am.
She left you,
She will forget.
I will not leave you
I will never forget.

Gunshots and bombs exploding
My bones are soggy to the marrow
But it's something so peaceful as a summer storm
Yet it has sent me into war
Thunder and lightning,
My rain-soaked clothes
Something so violent as my heart splattering across the pavement
Pebbles piercing icy chills through my veins
Yet I love the way my heart pounds.
My blood showers down and the children dance in the scarlet puddles
As if it's some kind of game.
They must find amusement in bruising up the pavement
The way they stomp all over it
The pitter patter of their skipping feet
Only leave a muddy mess behind

November and May, opposites but
Somehow we're the same
Except that I am so desolate
When you're in full bloom
The wind still blows
It's just the temperatures that change.
In November, the birds don't want to stay
The leaves have already left
And the wax on the candle has estranged our strange skies
As we hide behind the last shiver of the impatient Thanksgiving flame
Still, May's meadowlarks are able to sleep at night
As their woven nests rest
In between the young buds
And May's thumb flicks the flame bright.
But if I can't sleep in the sound dejection of November
Then I don't think I'll make it till May.

My first time at Mission Beach
the salty scent of mist left me stunned-
aerosol could come close
to the ocean air and gentle heat,
but it can’t be bottled and sold.
Still, the waves toppled over in mass production
and pulled.
My clumsy big toe stumbled on the mouth
of a cracked olive-hued glass bottle.
No handwritten quill pen ink
or musty ivory pages with tears at the crease,
not even a desperate S.O.S. pleading to be read,
but its emptiness was all I needed to know.
The whiskey on your breath told me everything
as you toppled over.
You toppled over,
and I pulled.
Lips cracked and eyes flooding
your rosy cheeks
now bitter forget-me-nots,
I counted your ribs in the frame of your body that day,
the same way you once counted the freckles
stretched across my face.
Sun-kissed, basking in the sun,
you missed the boat and you’re trying to run
on empty bottles.

I'm in such a state of panic for what seems like no reason, to you.
But what if the story of your life was all at the tip of a quill pen.
The words are running out of ink too fast as they unravel on to the page like a tangled ball of thread coming undone and at any moment the weak thread could break.
Tangles take time to unravel.
That's the danger of rushing this but all of this waiting is making my heart weak as anxiety swallows my heart into a  seemingly bottomless chasm.
I have so much to say but my words seemed to have become knots in the thread. Still tied to you and as soon as you decide to fly away my malnourished veins will burst.
A part of me has been stolen and I'd file a case of identify theft but I never knew who I was to begin with so maybe I've always been nobody.
There's no ink left anyway.
I keep writing and no words are visible.
There are only light indentions of where words are supposed to be and if you tilt your head a little to the left you can almost see what I was trying to say.
But no amount of squinting or light on the page can make these words real because they are only glimmers of dying ideas.
The future is unwritten and I'm out of ink.
As pure and gentle as your flawless feathers seem I don't have the ink to write with.
This feather doesn't do me any good if our future isn't flowing from the quill.
I feed the fire with the pages of my life as if I'm a hoarder of pens with unlimited pages in this journal
But I only have just this one quill pen with no ink and I'm on the last page.
You'd be panicking too.

I like the way teeth are when they don't fit together
Overcrowded and coffee stained
I didn't want a string of pearls
Or an assembly line of bleached profits
Much to my dismay I was blessed with metal wires chaining my freedom down.
Two years and a mouth full of venom later they were stripped from my bones and left the enamel screaming. "Now, wear your retainer" mother says But the wiser me decides that my teeth were never meant to be straight just as my crooked mind is going straight to hell
And I like the way my best friend says my name with her tongue protruding her unaltered grin
How the 'S' sounds like a  sly snake stealing from the thrift store on the busiest corner in town
The way my heart stings as if I've been bitten
I am Medusa I try to convince myself
I cannot turn myself to stone
But there I freeze as the alarms ring

Nostalgia is an illness
with no antidote.
The older we get,
the sicker we get.
Sweetness
cures the symptoms
for awhile
but eventually we’ll overdose
on our own bitterness.

Snap goes the lead that has led me to believe that it isn't the pencil or the paper but my grip that is too forceful
Anger, not from the paper cut or from the broken pencil tip
But fury from the tips of my fingers that still aren't fast enough to compete
I never was quick enough on my feet anyway
I must keep my distance now
Even if that means I slow my pace
It doesn't matter since I'm always in last place
The thoughts however, race
And viciously they break into scribbles on the page
It will break again
I shouldn't have anticipated a different result
You are not at fault,
My sturdy oak.
They chopped you down and you had no choice but to fall
Into the the hands of the broken writer

It's impossible to ask
"Who is to blame?"
When the only fault
was meeting in the first place.

Is an illness with no antidote
The older we get the sicker we get
Sweetness can cure the symptoms for awhile
But eventually we all overdose on our own bitterness

The places I visit from the past
Are abandoned and left behind
I ponder to ask if they existed to begin with
Fragments of my life frozen in time

“Nostalgia” is a place I used to visit
Spray painted as an exit sign
On the other side of Saint John’s Avenue
Illuminated by flickering street light


That hollow shell of a building remains
The rest is burnt to the ground

I wonder what would have happened
If I stayed one more sleepless night
Would my body be buried in the ruble
Forever trapped inside

Nostalgia is a place I seldom visit
To look back, I hate to say I miss it
Life sometimes feels as a purgatory or a prison
Honestly, I cannot tell the difference.

I crave to write the way I used to write
With punctuality and natural rhyme
Maybe now I just don't have the time,
The passion, or right mind
These words, I can just no longer find
I don't see things the way I used to
It's like I'm going blind

No one knows it
I stalk the house of which
I once lived
Seems I can never get away from here...
New paint, strange
I miss the old grey
And today,
The sky is nothing but January rain
Melting the snowman in my front yard
Of my house of which
I once lived,
I was once that little kid
Once playful and innocent
Now I sit here, parked a little down the street
Smoking a cigarette with the window down
Watching a family I will never meet
January rain trickling into my veins
New year... Yet I feel the same
How I wish I was that kid.
Everything that is broken would be fixed
No point to reminisce
But here I am once again
Always where I end up
When I got nowhere else to go
The only place I truly know as home.

You talk about your feelings but never about mine
You do things you know I don't like but continue without a care, and control my life.
You're a hypocrite beyond belief
Easy for everyone else to see
So what's wrong with me?
I give you everything and receive nothing
You said you love me, but I think you're bluffing.
I say it back, while blushing.
No not from butterflies,
But because this is all a lie.
I'd cry, but I've realized,
My tears aren't worth the time.

Mondays seem to always be overcast
With late mornings, and spilled coffee
I come home to Sunday’s chores and a warm bath.
Soaking my sore muscle strains
The bubble bath looks more like thunderstorm
Soap clouds swirling
And drain mimicking the sounds of rain
To lay here for hours? Or go to sleep
Wishing I could slowly drift away
Water caressing my body, like silk sheets
It’s getting late
Finally I am at peace

And I'm keepin the ******* shoes
With worn soles and
Gold sparkly laces I stole
From different ******* shoes
I'm keepin these ones though
Laced up tight,
You know,
Just in case
I get into some sort of chase
Catch me if you can. Let's race.
I bet you can't keep up with my pace
Even though we moved much too fast
For this to ever last
3...2...1...
There goes the gun!
And I'm keeping the ******* shoes,
Laced tight as I run
I'm not the one.

You romanticize the past like the bad days were good
The times that haunt me are your glory days
As if there was a trophy for how much harm you could inflict
You say you’ve changed but are worse than ever
Trying to pretend your facades are clever
When your daughter asks “when is daddy coming home,” what do I tell her?
See, the difference between us
Isn’t a competition but rather a tragedy
There’s more to the equation than simply you + me
The empty home of what was a family
Scars, echos, and chipped teeth
The difference between us
Is that the distance between us
Has made me stronger
And you weak

The fruit basket hangs empty
In a brisk morning’s glow
Once was flourishing
With ripe apples, crimson sweet candies galore.
Delicious apples, lessening the bitterness of my soul
So spectacular, in the evening’s grandeur.
Candelabra and a crystalline chandelier
Sure to catch every sparkle and warm words spoke
Now
Silence embarks this place which was once a home
An apple slowly rots
Under a slumbering tree
But inside the apple, remain some seeds
They sprout to roots, stronger than rope
Much like the kitchen table, made of sturdy oak.
Branches swing the rope, as I slowly choke
What becomes of life after death
Is a question one may ponder to thyself
Look around and see
Death is apart of everything
You, me, this apple tree
Everything is temporary.

I look around, all I see are enemies,
Our whitewashed faces, from computer screens
I’m not talking race,
I’m talking we’re robots, machines
Too caught up in the chase of this rat race
Well I’m used to being in last place
Can we please restart?
I tripped on my shoelace
And can’t seem to find my heart
I can’t relate
Sorry I’m not that smart
We all move at a different pace
I need some space... please just wait
but at this rate it's already too late
I've fallen apart

Sitting next to the ashtray
But I still ash on the floor
I really just don't give a **** no more
(No more)
Please, I can't take no more
They say when it rains it pours
Well that's for sure
I pray, pain pain go away...
But it comes again everyday
Everything I ******* say
Is so ******* cliche
Just like every RIP on the grave
Nothing new to say
So I sit in silence,
Because my thoughts are too violent
Gotten real good at pushing people away
But who is to blame?
Anger burns in me like flames
Will this rain
Estinguish the pain?
When it rains it pours...
Pour me some more
Spill my blood on the floor
I can't take no more
(No more)
No, but I want more
Feeling dead,
A starving snake waiting to be fed
I hate the skin I'm in
so I tried to shed
But instead,
Just laid there and bled
Sheets on the bed
Stained red
Nothing else to be said

Last winter
My car became our home
After we got evicted

You were asleep in the passenger seat
Parked at the gas station
With no heat
Trying to find a way, to pay for some gas
All I could find
were pennies, a few nickles and a dime

Walked inside
Tried to put some change on pump 3,
Didn't have enough
So I cussed out the employee

Went back to the car, trying to breathe
Just wanting to leave
But stuck with the gas tank on E

Evicted, addicted,
This isn't the life I envisioned
I should have listened
Nothing to do now but stare at the
Ice on the window, glisten
Wishin, it didn't end up like this

Smoke my life away
Each cigarette in the ashtray
Just taking off another day
And I pray
For rain
But these fires still remain
Just another day
Until I reach my fate
A day much too late
Slowly I decay
So I'll smoke another,
If I may
I have no shame
Death is inevitable, anyway
I'll be just the same as these ashes
As in the grave

A black cat with full moon eyes
Lures a moth towards their glow
Then swallows it whole
Not sure which is more unlucky

Leaving, but never forever gone

Someday I will return

So until then, do not mourn.

I know you’re stubborn

But you’ll learn
that I am happy.

Love is an open door
Or whatever they say

So I'll go but leave the door unlocked

Just incase you knock.

All of this isn't just for talk
I wrote you a letter to remember me in chalk,
On the cracked sidewalk

But when it rains it pours,
Washing it away

Maybe enough to ease the burns
Or seize the pain

If my fire is extinguished,

Know that it is better than fading away.
I will go out in a blaze of glory.

I wasn’t meant to stay

our bodies are instruments
strung elegantly
in a delicate way
almost magnetically,
as if it were inevitable
Love reaches volumes
more than measurable
we are always capable
I know it seems questionable
but without this
how else do we connect?
that's how we learn respect
each unique in their imperfect way
if everyone was the same
beauty wouldn't exist
no instrument can play itself
But together the notes sing
we find harmony
in coexitence
existing together but all in one
finally feeling free of the burdens life brings
is accepting these things
that there are bigger things than just oneself
with words unspoken
but heard and you are awoken
by ways you never knew
you can learn how to dance
if give everything a chance
stop saying you can't
now is the time just as much as the future
time never really exists
This is all just humor
created by the producers for the consumers
we always feel like movers
and the moochers, moving in on us
we, the fewer

Movies are made of lights and shadows
contrasts between the two
sundresses are just as much for the sun
as for disappearing in the darkness

grab her wrist before she goes
she folds in impossible ways
into a letter
and the one addressed never replies to the sender
you write to her
with hopes of returning

she is the golden gate bridge
blames herself for acts she did not commit
they jump from her with lost souls
hopes of never returning

From a snowy apartment window she pulls the curtains
the show is over
you waited until the credits
and wonder why your name wasn't on the screen
but where were you during these scenes?

darkness is in so much
there's so much in darkness

Someday, perhaps
I will unfold
When the tide takes grasp
And you can no longer pull
Set aside all wrath
As salt water fills my skull
Leave your poison in the flask
Save my sweet soul
Without you I am not half
But I am whole

To quit drinking
Then ended up at the bar on a Friday evening
Trade tic for tac
Another game I play
I take my chances
Always craving something more
I love to create chaos because my life is never enough
It’s all for fun
What’s been done is done