Planes leave jet streams
That trail in different ways
Fading haze
and pastel puffs
In neon gradients
Blending into each other
Birds fly over
Black like ink on watercolor
And the air is cool and crispy
Chilly and brisk
As my smoke tangles in whispy twists

"you are a character"
that's what he said to me before we fell in love

as I put old beach glass from Anamarie Island against his eyelashes
two infant pieces in front of each eye
and you've got glasses that can see into the past.
a yellow, buttery vision,
soft
blurred
simple
just like I always dreamed the world to be.

on a plane to thailand,
he told me
"thats why I'd like to travel someday--
because of you"
we were pretzels, trying to find a position to sleep
intertwined and drooling,
stared at.

and after brushing sand off of our relatively dry bodies
licking our salty lips with hungry tongues
he told me
"everything about you is special"
and we spent Christmas in the sea
watching as the sun got swallowed by the
relentless tide, feeling the current
push and push us closer
but our heads resist

I remember swearing to myself not to sink into his
arms and feel alright there
but every brush of his hand against
my leg, under the surface of the sea
dissolved my barricades
like a popsicle in July.

and now
I am afraid of the comfort
feeling like
it is pulling the character.

When I put my headphones on
Everything just seems to melt away

Then a slow upwelling of assorted instruments
Violin, cello, piano
I hum along

Then words; many of them, sometimes strangely arranged
Waiting to be interpreted
I sing

The song is always one that resonates within me
It has deeper meaning
I ponder

A drum beat unlike any other
Changing time and rhythm
I play along on my desk

I've never felt or experienced more
Than when I'm lost in my music

Sad is a penny word.
A “too vague and distantly grey” word.
It’s edges don't shine.
They are cracked and dusted over
in silk space dust.
Depressed is a dollar word.
“Milk and honey on our throats” word.
It sizzles people's lips
everytime it dances in their mouths.
Everyone is depressed.
While they sit beside their open glass
windows and write tasteless poetry about
Depressed and how they feel it.
How it courses through and through their
juvenile veins.
Everyone is depressed.
But I think maybe I am just sad.
Sad like pain and tears that don’t fall.
Maybe I am Depressed.

She said she was an untamed storm,
—a lost soul in an unending whirlwind.
Or maybe a mess.
Broken. Shattered. Falling.

She said she was a curse,
—a throb that would never let go.
Or maybe a sting.
A bite. A wound. A burn.

You tremble, you fear that
I’ll give up because
you are a chaos, and eventually
I can see that in you.

But then in a flick of my lips, I always knew.

Though my bones will crumble in pain,
I’ll embrace that storm in you.

Though my soul will bleed and cry,
I’ll kiss that curse goodbye.

Warm. Sweet. Gentle.
I always see you beautiful after the storm;
Tranquil after the pain.
And more than perfect
in my arms.

(triolet)

I've been awake since half past two;
    if only I could sleep
instead of brooding as I do,
"I've been awake since half past two."
If only I could be like you
    and snore in slumber deep.
I've been awake since half past two!
    If only I could sleep!