I say I'm okay
but I'm not
I'll have my good days
and I'll have my worst
but until the day
I go to bed without
a feeling of dread
or tears on the bed
pounding in my head
the inability to catch my breath
I'm not okay

I won't truly be okay
Until the day
I can say hello
without having to rehearse it
or wonder if I said it
too quiet
or too loud
if it even came out
and worrying if
the conversation will go past that

If the most I say
about how I'm feeling
is okay
and you had to ask in the first place
I'm probably not

If I'm more worried
if you're okay
than I'm probably not
because until I unlearn
how to pick everybody but myself up
I'm not

I say I'm okay
so you don't have to worry about me
but I'll still cling to all the care
and love you give to me
because I'm still unsure
if its all I get
so until the day
I don't feel the need
for reassurance that you care for me
I'm not okay

Until the day
I can no longer relate to this
I'm not okay
but I'm working on it

As the world defends itself from the anxiety of death,
a wind-caressed woman waits by the water,
and signals for silence, unceremoniously.
Waiting for the blood-banks to breed ideals --
which will, inevitably, be exported --
that will turn Natives into faceless, finger-painted  
neo-orphans of the broken nuclear home;
old souls, convinced to be the youth in revolt,
and to be the scrambled egg individuals of a melting ***, that disguises uniform for diversity.

Her lavender dress dribbles the spiraling air, as the copper dust swims by her ankles, knees, and thighs.
I do not remember when she told me that everything we do and say is a defense-mechanism,
distracting us from the fact that one day we will die and be as imaginative as the roles we give ourselves,
as the people we think blend into us,
and as the gods we use as an alternative to a morphine drip.

I stood by the bad river, knowing that all of my attempts at being more than what I was,
was my grasp at an out-of-reach eternity,
and a dream of a humanity that could be affected by one person.

I do not remember when she told me,
"All of our attempts at progressing,
is our way with dealing that we will someday die
and may not have been successful at living forever."

Send me an email, explaining why,
you don't want to have ***,
anymore,
easy all around,
easier that way,
we'll meet in bed,
nonetheless,
without awkward good nights,
no more a wind passing
the wondering why,
only passing onto sleep

sure a little
hand holding,
a forehead kiss plenty sufficient,
now that I know why,
we are no longer joined,
though we are still together

an email, no face to face chagrin,
worse yet, no screaming, pouting,
no sighs when you turn to face away,
I'll understand the reasoning

an email will suffice,
to end the doubt of
is it me or is it you?

why this was the only
recourse,
to full sponge away the stain
on our relationship

an email is just another kind
of *******,
right?

I wish to
Float
Into your bloodstream
For a bit
I'm wondering
If I'll Flow along with it

I'm so **** sick and disgusted of writing every poem about you.
            It brings me close to hatred, but that is an emotion I don't believe
                                      In.

She rolled the sixpence between her knuckles,
As she thought about everyone she'd ever loved.
Was it love?
It's easy to say no, in hindsight.
Theoretically, your love should grow, along with that person,
Each person being loved more than the last.
The next person is one step closer to perfection,
Because we love, and we learn.
We learn who was right, and who was wrong.
Like the sixpence, currency, it changes, it evolves with time,
It gets stamped with a mark, true to its origin,
Even after decades of changing hands, that mark is still visible.
One penny could travel the world, collecting fingerprints.
Or it could stay in one place, as a collectors item,
You could savour and cherish it, waiting, waiting for its original value to increase,
Or you could let it go, passing it on to someone else,
Letting someone love it better than you did,
There's a reason we change hands, why we're shared out as we are,
Money is *****,
Just like our hearts.

i fell in love with the stars
because i never thought they'd let me down
until one night it was cloudy
and not a single sky diamond could be found

so i became quite fond of the sun
and basked in its warm and comforting glow
until one day, the sky kept crying
and the heartless sun refused to show

so i decided to fancy the moon
thinking the moon would always come through
but every day it faded away leaving the night
the way it left me; empty and velvet and dark blue

so as you see, i'm used to being disappointed and alone
i feel abandoned each time i stop and reminisce
and quite honestly, chances are one day you'd leave me too
so that's why, kind gentleman, i decline your kiss