The adaptive abilities of the human body
allowed the crescents of my feet to feel warm
underneath the black and white comforter
that was chilled with the post-rain cool of
the night that seeped through the frosted
window. However, no matter the previous
warmth, a single rustle of the sheets or
tossing of my toes left them feeling
more like miniature icicles dangling from
the ceiling of a crystallized cave than
appendages tacked onto my foot.
So I was left to lie down, facing away
from the unimportant reality tv on the
practically fluorescent screen, and wait
for a newfound sense of comfort underneath
the cold, ironically named blanket that
encased my corpse. It was difficult at first,
for I yearned for the sense of safety I
unknowingly felt once the reflex kicked in,
for a warmth only possible with time.
I reminisced, but still remained hopeful
for the heat that was to come.

*February 6, 2014 11:07:38 PM

I.
I speed down Jamboree,
away from you,
almost without feelings.
The only thing I am really drowning in is
guilt.
It pulls me under the surface,
Leaves me gasping for breath that I can’t seem to grasp.

II.
I have validations, but they don’t excuse this behavior
that won’t just hurt me, but others, too.
I can imagine her face when she finds out,
a mixture of hate and disbelief.
Maybe a double-date to Disneyland is
not such a good idea anymore.

III.
Cheater.

IV.
I had the option to go home but you tempted me.
Stolen kisses like whispers in the night,
forgotten fast without a trace,
except your smell, your taste.
That smell that should choke me, but is inviting.
That taste that should be foul, but is sweet.
You’re familiar.

V.
There’s a history between us.
It’s hidden amongst the ruins of our secret romance,
kept within our tight-knit group of comrades
and left a mystery to anyone outside it,
including our “other halves”.
No matter their title,
they don’t know,
and they won’t.

VI.
I know you.
I know the number of wrinkled shirts on your
backseat that reek of gasoline from the go-karts.
I know the way your ankle cracks when you wake up
from an accidental nap on your charcoal couch
during a “Two and a Half Men” re-run.
I know the nightmares of funerals and too many
baked goods for a son and mother in grieving.
I know too much,
and that terrifies me.

VII.
You’re like an addictive toxin.
You’re bad for me,
yet I find you in the worst and most unlikely places
and embrace your killing qualities,
breathing in your broken promises and
injecting myself with your reminiscences.
I thought I could quit
cold turkey
yet here I am in your cold Accord
wearing your work sweatshirt
and wondering where I tell him I am
since he knows what time we closed.


*December 3, 2013

The subtle rumble of skateboards on cracks
matched with the continuous strides of students
rushing to class
nonchalantly strolling
taking their time
or feeling trapped by it

The slight breeze slides my hair over
as it caresses my skin and brushes my face
tickles my cheeks
reveals my laugh lines
leaves me smiling like an idiot
because of a light wind

The sun warms my skin and everything else
making the day brighter than the chilly morning
the temperature rises
it’s too hot for this sweater
oversized maroon and wooly
paired with dark blue jeans at that

But then the weather mirrors that of the morning
and it’s cold enough so I appreciate my outfit’s warmth
I sip a pumpkin spice latte
sitting under the big tree in the lawn
watching the people
and wondering about their lives

There is a beauty of heat unseen throughout the year
the brightness and warmth brought by the hot sun
but then there’s the colors
changing with the seasons
and there’s beauty here too
if you look close enough

*October 3. 2013 4:13:47 PM

Our absolute strongest body part here,
My body’s weapon against the wild
Or the carnivorous utensil. Hear
The sound of someone’s lone crying child,
Our true reason. These pioneers make us
**** with teeth, **** with the strength of diamonds.
The sound of tearing flesh brings no disgust;
Because, for our village, we need violence.
We are a forgotten tribe, struggling.
Yet, they come looking for us, civilize
Our people, pacify our suffering
And encase our lives with their ignorant lies.
So, we are left with only one defense,
**** them and eat them, then feast with the rest.

*November 25, 2013

I feel like I’m drowning
Suffocating under the immense pressure
Of water in my lungs
Yet I can’t get to the surface
I can’t break the ice
I can’t inhale
When I do
Liquid floods my mouth, my throat
Until nothing is left
No air, emotion, laughter
Just stillness, awaiting the end

Then, reality crawls back like the chill
You get in the middle of the night
After you’ve kicked off your blankets and
The only thing keeping you warm
Is yourself
But I’m not really drowning
Not in water at least

Your lack of ambition
Our difference in goals
Your unfinished education
Our disagreements on food
Your focus on construction
Our focus on going out
Your lack of focus on algebra
Our lack of focus on saving
All of these things
Are pulling me down
Under the ice, under the water
Until it’s hard to breathe
And every time I log into my account
A little more water trickles in

*October 21, 2013

Time and necessity
puppeteered its temperature to better suit
our appetite,
left it to linger in our peripheral vision
as if it was no longer a true masterpiece of  
the wild.

It blazed through forests,
pioneered and conquered,
destroyed.
Then, no longer mighty
and no longer feared,
was put into a box
to be mastered by a mother
lighting the neon colored wax candles
on a child’s blue birthday cake
or a woman
adorned with stockings slightly torn
and makeup slightly smudged
lighting a cigarette on a street corner
while waiting for the 8 o’clock bus.

Instead of burning,
it melted.
Instead of demolishing,
it decorated.
Instead of blazing,
it burnt out.

*October 10, 2013

Even from across the room
Violet crescent moons age her youthful face
Black makeup smudged under her eyelashes
And hair in a messy bun but still slightly curled
The only remnants of the night before
Evidence of a snoozed alarm and
Lack of sleep

Exhausted
Both mentally and physically
She tries desperately to grasp full consciousness
As she begins her work

Earbuds submerged in her ears
Leaving the world around her behind
Engulfing her into a world of art
Both visual and musical
Where sonnets become songs
And bars of notes start to form beauty

Eraser shavings everywhere
Either on the paper or pushed aside
Her hands move swiftly to the beat
For once just let me lose myself
And she does
In her art

She glances back and forth between papers
One a model and one her masterpiece
Not fully formed
Precision is key
Perfection
Ruler to ensure exactness
Eraser to rid of mistakes

She draws one line perfectly straight
And leans back
She contemplates and shakes her head
Then omits it
Goes back again to draw another
A twin to the first

The process is endless
Striving for impossible perfection
When true imperfect goodness is there

Underneath the frustration and complexity
Is simple and utter beauty
What is perfection
When you can have art?

*December 2013