“come home”
love speaks quietly, frantically
sipping from the cup of ignorance, i stray further
i wish to dwell a bit longer; i’m not ready to go yet
the sun dips below the horizon, but the flowers here are luminescent
i am enamored with their innocence, their roots so firmly planted in the past
i remember so vividly, they were so much more beautiful then

before was so beautiful

the wind picks up, and love calls to me
“come home, come home, come home”
but i am so young here, so young and open
i am not ready to close my doors
i want to stay longer, don’t make me go just yet
please, just a few moments more
but love pulled me away

love comes in many forms,
and it drew me into its arms and taught me on that day
that true love is sacrifice, and telling truth
even when truth is agony

love knows that knowledge is pain,
but acknowledging pain is the only gateway to release -
suffering is the path that leads to the flowers once again

“he’s gone”
(there is no metaphor
or number of tears
that could resurrect
his shriveled garden –
lord knows i’ve tried)

the present is not beautiful -
the present is disappointing

the flowers died for me that day
and i became uprooted
straying, asking questions that no one can answer

what if?
what if?
what if?

days, weeks, months pass
and love conquers all,
walking alongside me, guiding me through the suffering
my straying has become a direction
i can feel roots sprouting, giving me life once more

i can live again; he and pain are not synonymous
i can see the flowers growing again, just on the other side of this hill

love speaks quietly, with overflowing joy
“come home again, come home, come home”
but i no longer fear these words, not anymore
i’m almost there – it’s so close, i can taste it

i’m slowly beginning to learn –
after can be beautiful, too

we live
in such a twisted world
(but you are so straight
so narrow)
on the winding path
of indecision
(you are my guiding light)
i am left so dazed and confused
(but you take my hand and
insist upon one more step forward
just
one more)
in a twisted world
i am a twisted girl
( but i swear i love you
with all of my twisted heart)

Who am I?

I am a wolf in sheep’s clothing
grazing with feigned innocence
amongst the herd.

Who am I?

I am an individual.
I am.  
Don’t tell me otherwise.
My costume is coming unraveled.

Who am I?
The weight
of the wool
(that has fallen over so many
a sheep’s eyes)
of culture
of society
rests heavily upon
my back.

How many layers
of Kardashian scandal
must I tear through
to be
myself?

Who am I?

I just don’t know anymore.

Who are you?

you're sitting alone on the subway
you look nice in those glasses
(i've always had a thing for glasses)
and the best look of intensity upon your face
like you're solving the world's mysteries
by staring at the scribbles of ink
upon that page

you're reading jane eyre
i never cared for the novel myself
but the watching you read it
makes me wish
that it were my favorite book
in the whole wide world

so i could sit by you
and note enthusiastically your
reading of it

so we could discuss for hours on in
the themes allusions metaphors similes
the underlying plots and concepts
that we've picked up from
our tenth time reading it
(but we'll read it again,
just in case we missed something)

so we could fall madly, hopelessly
in love with one another
and find new books to read
and new things to discuss
at three in the morning
when not even the insomniacs
can keep their eyes open any longer
but we're wide awake
lost in inky bliss
and the warmth of my gaze upon yours

what?
oh, hello there.
i like your glasses.
what are you reading?

i crave
something
beautiful

i want to
take
a gigantic
bite
out of
life

but with
you around
i'll be lucky
to even
get
the
scraps

the song
my heart sings
is one
of
sorrowful
joy
of
joyous
pain
of
painful
beauty

it beats
in time
with the
flow
of my tears
and the
snorts
of my laugh

i desire
nothing more
than
to learn
the lyrics
written
under my skin
in the marrow
of my bones
imprinted in the
creases
of my soul

maybe one day

here lies
our love
curdled
at the
bottom
of an
empty
coffee mug

(maybe one day
i'll get the nerve
to wash it out)

the parabola
of your umbrella
as you offer it to the girl
becoming
increasingly
damp
in the rain

the ellipse
of your lips
against
hers

the circle
of your ring
around her
pretty little finger

the hyperbola
of your backs
arched away from
each other
as you sleep
soundly
in your bed

(if only she were me)

the grey blur
beneath my tires
sends a thrill down
my spine
as i tread down
this road of
familiar sights
to the land
of new
experiences

i put a
million
yellow dashes
behind me

so long
farewell
good
riddance