I'm over here, just look at me
acknowledge I exist
don't blindy shove your knife right in
and give a little twist
See I'm a real person too
with feelings just like yours
not a soul in search of pity
a human being not a cause
Listen to the words I say
don't presume to understand
just be sure you're going to follow through
before you offer me your hand
I've been let down way too many times
disappointed by the best
so now I stand upon the edge
and face the final test

You never cared,
I was only your game,
Seems like you've won,
Was this your master plan
Tearing my world apart?!
You heartless *******,
I wish I never met you,
***** the good memories
They all lead to this disaster,
You've made me weak far too long,
No longer will I love you!
I can't continue to watch as my world falls apart,
Even if it's already begun,
and nearly impossible to stop,
I'll try,
I always try,
But so often do I fail,
I still try to put on my brave face and pretend it's all okay,
But isn't obvious how I'm dying inside?
My heart is now old and weary,
Useless for loving,
Impossible for being loved,
Are you proud?!
You ruined my life,
and if I am never happy again the only person I'll blame,
Is YOU.

Unacknowledge recognition.
How could I be pushed to succeed-
by something so oxymoronic and invisible?

The spontaneous outbursts of appreciate,
do they make it worth while?

I strive to show them-
my best,
I strive to be their best-
I go unnoticed,
still in silence.

I race faster toward my goal,
chants of praise thunder in my head,
still not good enough,
but I feel better now.

Where am I to run to,
when I no longer-
have the beauty of gratitude-
spoken or unspoken,
to fuel my broken heart?

Down from the icy Sawtooth crags
and through the winter-laden landscape,
the wind eventually dips to the canyon
and creek we loved so well as children.
Continuing on, it threads through the
hollows above the creek, sculpted even
today by stooped cottonwood trees.

Twisting above granite outcroppings
and lava boulders, the wind courses
through the giant arteries of this canyon,
passing among quaking aspen, river willow,
and gnarled cottonwood, shorn rudely
by now of every dryly-veined leaf.

At ancient volcanic escarpments the
wind bears south, scraping hard along
canyon walls. Upward it moves, out of
the canyon, slowing and sallying about
the hillocks, the gullies, the poplars
until it finally comes to stir ever more
gently, warmer even, my dear brother,
around your gray marbled headstone.

Primeval of days, this very same wind
blows for eternity upon eternity, polishing
and purifying even the roughest of
the earth's elements and impediments.
This said, at this hill's crest where you rest,
there is no need of further refinement. Feel
how the northern wind quiets for you,
as if it knows over whose stone it passes.

--

Winds blow across a dry, barren land,
Bringing a darkness, a cover like sand.
Grit in my mouth, grit in my shoe,
There is no sky, there is no blue.


The grit forbids the opening of eyes.
They hurt and water when it is tried.
I am constantly hit from all sides,
There’s no place to run, no place to hide.

Forward I trudge through this nightmare,
My lungs fighting for an ounce of air.
How did I get here, how’d I get caught?
If I stop now it will all be for naught.

I must fight on though it hurts me so,
“Be strong, be strong just take it slow.”
My heart beats fast from this constant beating,
My mind is weary, my muscles aching.

Voices of death invade my mind,
“Giving up” is the name of this kind.
Swirling shadows grab at my soul,
I push them off, I must be bold.

Onward, yes onward I must go,
Through this trial, this fire, this heavy load.
Each step, each foot in front of the other,
Always moving so as not to be smothered.

I stumble, I fall, but I will get up.
Try as he may I will not drink from his cup.
Though I am lashed and bitten by the wind,
I have made up my mind I’m not giving in.

There is One I cry to, who is called the Rock,
The wind, though it whips, can never him mock.
A solid stone on which I can stand
When the wind blows across a dry, barren land.

between the faces of the scars and stains, i see myself
hiding in order not to be seen by my own mistakes,
or the ones we’ve ever made.

between the stains, between the scars
you’ve left behind :
yourself.

Something about the smell of rain soaked pavement
Just after the storm settles
Just after the winds whip
My wet hair into my eyes

Something about the gentle slide of tires
Occasionally losing their grip
Because I get lost in the heavy thud of sky
Begging to break in through the roof
And I step a little harder on the gas pedal

The way the earth smells
Just after the storm passes
The way the palm trees regain their height
Despite the hurricane of your sighs
The way the water always finds its way back to itself
The same water that is on my lips will eventually be there again

And it makes me almost believe
That I might actually be able to come clean someday
That forgiveness is the rain pulling the dirt away
Knowing that once it leaves we’ll be ***** again

I tell you this as I drive with the sunroof open
And the windows down
My hand is out the window palm up and cupped
You remind me how stupid I am

So I let the flood in
And we both get wet
And while the rain runs down my face
I secretly cry

And just as suddenly as it started
It stops
I wipe my face and step out

There is something about the smell
Of rain soaked pavement
Just after the storm passes