Take me up to Maine, up to Nanny and Grandpa's house.  Take me out to their dock at the bottom of their sloping back yard with its perfectly manicured glass, down the aluminum walkway that's too steep for Grandpa to walk down anymore at high tide.  Take me to the dark-stained, thickly varnished wooden planks that we fished off of at dawn and went boating from at lunch and here we dangled our toes in the salty ocean before dinner.  Take me there to die.
                But not yet.
Wait till the summer, when monarch butterflies alight upon the hollow railings that you always tell me not to hang off of.  Wait till the end of June, when the heat of summer is such that garden snakes sun themselves on the rocks that lazy waves sidle up to in the gentlest of breezes.
                And when we get there, wait for me to be ready.
Let me undress and show you the bones that will, by then, stick out from me at every angle.  Let me show you the lines that you thought were from the cats in the fading light of a Thursday sunset (because Thursday is my night) and let me show you that you were wrong about me.
                  Tie a heave chain 'round my waist.  I promise that I will be thin so it doesn't take much length, and you'll want to cinch it tight like the belt you say I wear wrong so it doesn't slip off.  Weigh me down with the skillets that are never clean enough.  Padlock to the metal links the books that were my escape till you took them; I won't care now if they get ruined.
                 There we will stand, eye to eye, as orange sunlight contrasts with the elegant starlight as the night is revealed to us.
I will set my glasses down far away from the water's edge lest they fall off and be lost forever in the tangles of seaweed swaying softly beneath our feet.  Then, for the last time, pick me up.  You will see, then, how I've faded to nothing against your ever-critical gaze.  For the last time throw me off the dock and for the first time I do not struggle to stay dry.
                   The night I made this jump thirty-seven times on a dare and a whim, the arctic water never ceased to sting as bare skin met briny sea.  On this one occasion, this one last occasion, I will feel instead the welcoming warmth of summer that is my last season, taking me in with a comforting finality.
Collect my clothes; in a heap too untidy for you to look at will be a grimy green t-shirt and dusty old shorts.  Take my glasses too, and go home.
I'll be fine.

Close your eyes, tilt your
head back. You won't remember
That your life's off track

I
have this
friend,

she will
tell you
nothing
but
the
truth
(which
is too
truthful,
most of the time)

she is
the
type
to know
the code to
the printer,
and will
print off
75
pages
just
because
she can

she is
the
type
who can
make up a
story to
get out
of
anything,
and she
will,
too

and scarily
enough,
I feel
safe
when I'm
around her

and I
find myself
wishing
sometimes
I was
more like
her

and
when she
is not
around,
I'm wondering
who she
is
tantalizing
now

it's probably
some old
*****
who is
just as
uninterested
as she is,
but
he wears
expensive
glasses
and a
fancy necktie
and
this fills
her
void

and yet,
somewhere
in my mind
I know
my friend
will
not
get away
with living
her whole
life
this
way

someday it ends
and
then
what

This is not a poem.
This is a rant.

I will put on my rage face,
And paint the town red,
And "just go crazy, man"
With the company of myself
In the comfort of my own home
Because I can tear my shirt,
Or draw a knife
Or shout shakespear off a balcony
And I openly scream at the shadows
Who answer politely with silence
I can behave badly
And if I am my only witness
I can sleep at night
Without the peace and solitude that comes from iron bars
And padded cells
I can fight with myself and indulge in the guilty pleasures
That make me feel sullied and stupid
I can argue with a hundred dream girls
And when I sleep,
They are still there in my dreams
There is no loss or losing
I can spend three hundred dollars
Monthly on alcohol
If it saves me three thousand
Monthly on sanity
I can look in the mirror and see a hundred different faces
Each more honest to its emotion than the last
I can bite my tongue to spite my face and
Laugh that it was my reflection that drove me to do so,
You never know what that ******* will say
When i am not looking
I dont spend the night on the town
Because I no longer need to surround myself with people.
I no longer need to go out to buy a hat
That suits me and makes me look interesting or meaningful
When I sit alone at the bar
I have no one to impress except myself
And myself already knows I am unimpressive.
There is no one to disappoint
And while this seems like a sad tale,
The truth is that it is the free-est I've ever felt.
In the sanctity of a space that is mine
Surrounded only by people I disagree with
My reflections
And shadows
And to be able to write this while wearing underpants.
Bukowski was right
God is dead

it is said with a full heart,
mom
    mama
        my m o m
ma
i tried to make you something
but i cannot.
because you made me.
and the weight of that
b
  r
e a
k
    s
my art.
you carried me
  you see me
you hear me

you carry me still

in my darkest hour
you are there
in my fear
in my terror
you are there
and i know
      you know
i know
   you see
     and i know
        that nothing gets past your eyes
or your heart

mom
i know
    the burden of love
beautiful and terrible
[lois and levance]
     forever just below the surface
your guiding lights

i know
    the stabs of terror and regret
reflected and seen
   in your beautiful brown eyes
for us
   for yourself

my mama
   i would weather the storms
for you if i could
   i would carry your weight
and breathe life for you

all these things you do for me
my guiding light
    my way home.

bone is bone is bone
is bone.
my hands are forever too tiny,
my hips forever too big,
and you forever the girl
who’s always wanted to leave.
when we first met you talked of
hating the palm trees seventy degrees
traffic clogged grit and smog,
graffiti covered rat sewers
mansions dotting all the hills
and everything else i’ve ever loved.
i reminded myself that some people
need more than a place with
hundreds of stars on the sidewalk
but hardly any in the sky.
when i think of superpowers
i imagine being strong enough
to carry manhattan to you on my
shoulders and all your rain clouds
in my arms.
if you ever turned fragile i would
arrange a fortress out of skyscrapers
big enough to cover all the hills,
and with tiny hands i’d point
to the clouds and make them fill
the sky outside your window;
white as bone, as bone,
as bone.

If I told you that you mean
something to me
could you open up your mind
and see yourself more clearly
don't you understand
you don't need to be royalty
you're just as great
as a new song from Demi
so let's stop pretending
that we're not who we want to be
let's start looking in the mirror
and liking who we see.
So let's stop lying to ourselves
we're just as good
as everyone else
don't let anyone bring you down
let's just paddle ahead on this ocean of emotion
and let's stay happy and not frown.
So don't let them tell you,
that you're not great
let's not be consumed
by our own hate
for the person we see,
let's decide our fate,
so don't let it bring you down
or you'll get cut
by the mirror shards on the ground,
but you're still here,
you're still around,
you're important.
So don't cry when I can't be found,
just look inside you
and hear the sound
of these words
inside you're heart
you're meaningful, important,
and if you feel sad just go back to the start,
and read this over and over again, until you understand.
I won't stop writing until you're smiling,
and only then this poem will end.