My fingers tap out a rhythm
On the steering wheel of my car.
The stereos are blaring country
Tunes of liquor, love, and loss.
As I drive the streets of A-town,
Which I know like the back of my hand,
I wonder why the sky is blue
And why I can't remember you.
I tried my best not to forget
The sound of your voice and tone
But along the way in the last few years
All but your name have drifted away.
Try as I might, I can't recall
The sound or shape of you,
Try as I might, I've lost hold
Of my last ties to you.
Losing you the first time
Was a dagger in my heart,
Losing you, the memory,
Is drowning in the sea.
And this is what I ponder
As I wander through my life.
It's no wonder that they've dubbed me
The melancholy poet who lives in 7b.

Surrounded by people
Who've known me all my life
And yet not labeled "my family",
I can't help but feel alone.
Though we laugh and cavort
In companionable glee
The fact that they don't know
The unmasked me
Saddens my hermit-yet-lonely heart.
I can sit alone in a full room
And feel the same as if it were empty
For the level of empathy,
Understanding, and knowing
Never changes, never grows.
It stays at zero zero point zero.
Like the monotone screech
Of a lifeless heart on the monitor
Never fluctuating up or down,
I sit here unknown, unconnected,
Alone.

90° angles becoming 45° becoming 10°.
Hands at 12 o'clock sliding down to 6.
Silence

How long have I been like this?
How much longer do I have?

10 feet of concrete
Is topped with sandstone tiles
And covered with a cheap rug.

2 string-worn tennis rackets
Lie side by side pressed into the rug
By my knees.

Soon. He'll be back soon,
And then you can stand up.

"** le. Ng zo det ki he luoi."
Words in my native tongue release me.

4 legs of the stool
Slam into the floor
As I drop it from above my head.

5 minutes later I've peeled
The wires of the rackets
From the grooves
In the skin of my knees.

2 days later
I can finally walk normally again.

But this was only
*Punishment #372.

The flashback burns
My retinas
Until even with my eyes open
All I see is the grusome scene
I thought I'd left far behind me.
The panic sets in,
And my leg begins to bounce
Up and down
Under the table
As I try to hide the sudden onset
Of heart-stopping panic.
I should have known though
That no matter how infinitesimal
The change in my moods,
You are the most sensitive barometer.
Your eyes glance at me
And I know if I don't look up,
The piercing stare full of concern
Will bore a hole in my skull.
So I glance up into eyes
I never asked for,
Never deserved,
Never knew I needed in my life.
Your eyes hold no questions but one,
"Are you ok?"
Your eyes hold no promises but one,
"I'm not going anywhere."
I don't say a word,
Yet you know,
And so
I'm enveloped in a bear hug.
My heart slows its manic staccato beat.
My breath resumes its almost even rythm.
And I feel the broken pieces of me
Begin to fuse themselves together again.
When you release me,
The warmth lingers in my bones
As an injection of time-delayed
Antibiotics to ward off
The aftereffects of the flashback.
And for the first time in a long time,
I know I'm loved.
And Love is the greatest balm of all.
With Love
Every wound will heal,
Every pain will disappear,
Every scar will fade away,
Every bitterness will become sweet.
Love conquers all.

I pulled an all-nighter.
For an insomniac
That doesn't seem like
Such a great thing,
But there's a difference.
Staying up all night
Because I can't fall asleep
Is immensely different
From staying up
Because I'm trying not to sleep.
And you know that as an insomniac
I love sleep
Because it's so fleeting
Like whispers of wind
Slipping through my fingers--
Practically impossible to grasp!
And despite this...

I pulled an all-nighter
*Because I was waiting for you.

Darkness shrouds
The four corners
Of my tiny room
And I don't move
To flick on the lights
Because I like
Sitting in the dark.

A body lies broken
On the freeway ramp curb.
A man once stood there
Asking for help
With his cardboard cutout
Plea for societal mercy.
Then a car sped too fast,  
Swerving to make the green light
It was never going to catch
In this dimension or any other.

Just a moment was all it took.

Did you know he was a soldier
Who was haunted at night
By the enclosed confines of his house
Because it too closely resembled
The urban landscape he fought in,
Faced death in, lost friends in,
Got caught in until the web of his mind
Couldn't ever forget it
Especially when he tried to sleep at night?

Did you know he came back
And tried to fit in to the community
He had been born and raised in
But found that the stares and glances
Of wonder and horror laced
With misunderstanding and pity
He didn't need but couldn't escape
Were too much for him to bear
Because though he could
Look the enemy in the eye
It hurt too much to see
His own father couldn't meet his,
And a community takes its cues
On how to treat its people
From those closest to them,
So, soon no one would look him in the eye?

Did you know all that when you passed
Where he stood every day on the curb
Asking for your pity and spare change,
Having become the uttermost disgrace
In his own eyes,
Because don't you know
He used to be somebody?

Did you know that today,
When you made a split second
Choice to speed up the turn,
He'll be buried in the National Cemetery
With an honor guard
And a three rifle volley salute,
But the chairs will be empty
And no one will speak kind words for him,
Because he's already been forgotten?

How else could you run over him,
And drive off with not a glance back??

My conclusion: you're a ******!

I once stood on a cliff
Ready to let it all go.
The waves crashing below me
Threw coarse icy salt into my face.
Two steps from the edge,
Ready to fly into the cold darkness.
Sudden warmth covers my shoulder.
i should have known.
You always come for me.
Just before i can take the plunge
Your hand pauses my train of thought,
Causes me to take a step back.

What would i do without You?
You take away the cold
That threatens to completely freeze my heart.

What would i do without You?
You're the only One who knows
Just how much i want to be saved.

What would i do without You?
I don't even want to know,
Because I don't want to imagine
A life that has no You.

I once stood on a cliff
Enjoying the sunrise
With You by my side,
Hand in my hand.

My fingertips pause
Over worn out keys
On a board that's seen
Better days, but that was years ago
When the muses were fresh,
The utterance adequate,
The language clear and precise,
The sonnets and haikus flowing
Easily from thought to tongue to finger to page.
Things have changed greatly since then.

My fingertips pause
Over worn out keys
Because some things
Are too hard to voice.
Some pains go so deep in my soul
That not even I know they exist.
Some memories so old
Of a childhood first snow
Or teenage habitual mistake
Or adolescent innocent fantasy
Have faded to a sepia-tone
Not able to be conveyed on paper.
Some experiences too personal
That sharing would ruin them forever
Because no one else could fully appreciate
What it means
To me
In my life,
Both past and future.

So silence descends
As my fingertips pause
Over worn out keys
On a board that's seen
Better days.

For how do I type out a poem
When keys have gone missing,
Like some of the pieces of my soul?

The world outside bustles
As everyone rustles
Through their busy lives.
She sits outwardly still and calm
But waiting for some balm
To come soothe her tired soul.

Soothe the sting and burn
Of having to relearn
How to live and go on.
Soothe the fear and pain
Of having to refrain
From saying what she wants to really say.

If only they knew
If only they saw
The little child
That hides within.

If only they heard
If only they sensed
The trembling babe
That cries at night.

But a grown woman
Has perfected the art
Of painting on masks.
The lines, the colors,
So perfectly drawn on
To hide the imperfect reality.

So the world bustles
With everyones' rustles
Of living their own lives.
And she...
She waits, paralyzed.

Raise your glass.

This is for the man
Who taught me how to ride a bike
When I was five years old,
Who taught me how to lay a brick
Wall with my own two hands,
Who taught me how to love
My heritage and my roots
While embracing change and newness.

Raise your glass.

This is for the woman
Who carried me for nine months
Whilst giving me my love of steak,
Who read stories of imaginable fantasy
And sang crackling fireside songs
To lull me into slumber,
Who taught me to Love
Even when she herself had forgotten how.

Raise your glass.

This is for the women
Who know me better than anyone else
For they have grown with me
In ways only siblings can,
Who taught me to fight for myself
And simultaneously be merciful
For I am not a perfect person,
Who gave me all the love I need
And then some simply because
They wanted to.

Raise your glass.

This is for who we were.
This is for who we are.
This is for who we will be.

Raise your glass.

Some blood is thinner than water.
Some ties more easily severed.
Yet we live because they existed
If even but for a single moment
And for that,
We give tribute.

Drink.

Shards
Of paper hearts
Floating away
On winter
Blizzard breezes.

Shards
Of dreamless hopes
Floating away
On glacial
Running rivers.

Shards
Of my life
Slipping through
Trembling
Bleeding hands.

Shards
Becoming
Infinitesimally small
Grains of sand,
Ground up,
Spit out
Until I am nothing.

it's all these feelings
welling up inside me
that make it impossible
to sleep at night.
it's all these memories
of what you did to me
that make it impossible
to cry for you.
it's all this confusion--
am i supposed to or not--
that's making it impossible
to let you go.

i wish it wasn't like this.

22 years old.
but sometimes i feel
the childishness rising within
to the surface
and all i can do is
be a child again.

i scrape my knee:
it's bruised and bleeding.
i cut my finger:
it stings and hurts.
i'm scared of the dark:
I sleep with my Sock Monkey.

Children don't have insomnia.
22 year old's do.
i do.

it's like that song.
"i'm waiting in the dark/ thought that you'd be here by now."
no one's here. you're not here.
i'm alone.

A phone call from someone who loves me
and i love him.
never a call from you though.
never a card, an email, a note
that says you're ok.

and i think to myself
all those years
all those months
all those weeks
all those days
all those hours
all those minutes
all those seconds
all those moments
all those slaps
all those kicks
all those lectures
all those screams
all those punches
all those kisses
all those "i love you"s

i think to myself
i don't want any of it back.
you took all that from me
and i don't want it back.
i don't want you back.

i don't want the pain
i don't want the abuse
i don't want the beatings
i don't want the worthless feeling
i don't want the constant failure
i don't want the loneliness

i want to be happy.
i want:
moving on.
moving past.
forgiving and forgetting.
letting go.
i want to sleep.

i wish i was strong
resilient and fearless.
i wish i was okay.

and i wish you were here.

but i have to stop wishing for those fantasies.
i have to stop dreaming fairytale endings for this story.
i have to stop trying to rewrite unwritten history.
i have to let what is be.

so watch me closely. listen to the sound of my voice.
hear the strength and the surety.
let it fill you with its honesty and truth.

i am walking away from this.

i am not turning my back on you.
but i am walking away.
this is not the life i want.
this is not the life i choose.
if you want me i'll be there.
but you'll never get me like you used to.
i'll never give you all of myself again.
the trust is gone.
and i can't bring it back.
i'm tired of the lies
so i'm walking away.

i never dreamed of this day
i never expected its coming.
i never thought anything like this could happen
i never imagined i'd be saying
Mom, goodbye.

To you I thought
That I would always say,  
"When you're ready,
I'll be here waiting."

Today though,
I don't think I can.

And I'm not sorry
For my inability.

Someone asked me the other day
If I knew you.
A million replies shot through my head,
But the one that came out of my mouth
Was, "No, not anymore."
At first I thought this was a straight up lie,
But as I started to turn away
And move on to something else,
I realized it wasn't.

I don't know you anymore.
I can't remember what your face looks like.
That might have something to do with
The fact that I try to avoid
All photos of you.
Actually, I avoid anything
That might send a memory of you
Flashing across my eyelids.
I'm wary of sleeping again
Because I don't want to dream of you.
I've stopped listening to country music
Because the emotions it evokes from me
Remind me of the times I was with you.
I've stopped playing my guitar and violin
Because I was happiest
Playing them for you.
I've stopped living because without you,
It's just not good enough.
You told me that you'd never leave,
That no matter what our relationship
Eventually looked like
You'd always be my family.
But you did leave,
And I don't have a family.
I've been wallowing in
That for months now.
Bemoaning my loss.
Not exactly grieving,
For to grieve involves
Facing certain things and
Deciding to let them go and move on.
No,
I have been wallowing in a hole of self-pity.
And it's rather disgusting.
Covered with the mud and
**** that is my life.
No wonder people don't want
Long-term relationships with me.
I'm broken and not worth their time
Or energy or life.

I've got to face the music now.
I've got to decide to stand up,
Wash myself off, and leave
This somewhat
Comfortable-only-because-it's-familiar hole.
And I think that I've somewhat
Begun to do that.
I mean, how else could I have said
"No, not anymore"
And meant it.
It's a good thing
I don't know you anymore.
You were part of my past.
But you were also someone
Who kept me in that hole.
And even though
A part of my heart loved you,
I don't want that hole to be my life.

So I'm standing up for myself now.
I'm washing myself off.
And this time, I'm doing the walking away.
From now on, when someone asks me
if I know you,
I think I'll continue to reply,

*"No, not anymore."

I can see it if I close my eyes.
I can hear and smell and feel it too.
The scent of strong-brewed coffee,
As you so love,
Wafting up from tightly clenched matching mugs
As the hardback Adirondack chairs
Gently support our not-quite-awake frames
Seated on the eastern porch
In front of the green meadow
Hemmed with forest in the distance
As that darkest hue
Of midnight blackish-blue
Begins to lighten ever so slightly
Before the onslaught
Of the brilliant fiery sunbeams.

*A new day has dawned.

You never compromised.

Why should I?

You never gave up your dreams.

Why should I?

You never sacrificed.

Why should I?

You never...

Why would I?

**Because I love...

What does a poet do
When words fail them?
When the vernacular
They so heavily relied on
To convey every navy blue,
Indigo, violet hue of the midnight sky,
Dies on the tip of their tongue?
When the morphemes
That gave life to the phantoms
And pantomimes in their heart
Come out as Neanderthalic grunts?
What does a poet do?
When the discourse once so comfortable
Becomes stilted, halting, and forced
Because their brain has blanked
On their particular patois?
When not even the thesaurus or lexicon
Or revered Oxford English Dictionary
Can provide the adequate locution
So as to appease the poet's need
To be
Understood,
Acknowledged,
Fathomed,
Decoded,
Interpreted,
Heard.
Because that's all we want.
And that's the impossible
When we have writer's block.

It goes down like
The ice-cold tendrils of hell's deepest level
Are clawing at the slick walls
Of my tight throat.
A stone the weight of a mammoth
Settles in the pit of my stomach.
And the edges of my vision
Darken until it's just a pinprick.
Hands trembling.
Heart hammering.
Legs unsteady and ready
To collapse and fail me.
It's coming and I can't stop it.
I can never stop it.
All I can do is endure.

How many more things
Must I longsuffer?
How many more times
Can my heart break
Before the putting back together
Is worth far less than
The staying broken?
I don't know how much more
I have in me to just breathe again.
This pain, this migraine,
Is just the symptom of
Something more
Unbearable.

I strip down and look in the mirror.
I see your mark everywhere.
The scars you put on my body
And the scars you put on my soul.
The scars I made with my own hands.
All these scars that carved a hole
In me, unfillable abyss.

Then my eyes trace familiar lines
From the crows feet at my cheeks
And I can't help but stare
At the genetic inheritance
You left to me.
These angled ****** planes and
Auburn highlighted hair
Are all I have left of you.
My last mementos.

The longer I stand with my scars in the mirror,
The more the pain becomes real.
The more times I trace the last of you in my face,
The smaller the imprint of your touch on me becomes.

The double-edged sword of reality:
You hurt me,
You raised me,
You hated me,
But I think you also loved me.

Confusion first swirls
Then quickly fades.
For none of that matters now does it?

All I know is you're gone
And that's now what's real.
And I miss you
And that too is a fact.

Today is my birthday,
And unsurprisingly
I haven't yet heard from my family.
I texted my twin
Late last night and early this morning,
But my texts have gone unanswered.
I miss her.
I miss all of them.
I was a fool of a child,
Writing all those stories
In which I'd leave them
And start over somewhere
Completely new
With people who didn't know my past
Or care.
All I wanted as a kid
Was to have a different family,
But now all I want is mine back.
It all went so very wrong,
And I don't know if I can fix it.
I don't know if it's even fixable.
I doubt that it is.
So all I'm left with are the memories.
It hurts, you know, to be left.
I think I always knew it would,
So I dreamed of doing the leaving,
But I loved them
And some part of me couldn't leave.
So I stayed
Until they had one by one left me.
I know it wasn't easy for them to stay.
Just because we're family
Doesn't mean that we're required
To stay in each other's lives.
But I chose to stay,
And it hurts
That they didn't choose the same.
I guess I should do what they have done:
Form a new family
With the people I want to be around
And who want to be around me.
But all I want is them.

I want to feel their arms wrap around me
In a great big hug.
I want to share
In their triumphs and successes;
I want to cry with them
In their failures and sorrows.
I want to laugh with them
The bellyaching, deep-chested guffaw.
I want to fall asleep
Knowing they are near.
I want to reach out and hold their hand,
And look down to see the skin
So similar in tone.
I want to eat a meal with them.
I want to hear the sound
Of our voices melded in harmony
Sing together.
But most of all,
I want to enfold them in my arms
And say, "I love you with all my heart."
And have them say it back or "Me too."
I want to know
They are safe and happy and healthy.
I want to soothe their fears and anxieties
With a hot cup of tea
And a good laugh or cry.
But most of all,
I want to look into their eyes,
To say nothing,
Just to gaze again at the depths there.
I want to stand with them
Through everything they face,
Shoulder their burdens,
Put a smile in their eyes.
But most of all,
I want us to say,
I love you.
I love you too.
I love you four.
I love you infinity.
I love you more.
I want them to know love--
Unconditional, freely-given,
Unyielding and unwavering love.
And I want them to see
They're my family,
And that I will love them.
*Always.

I wait with bated breath
For a depth
Of understanding
That never follows.

How can another ken
And lend
An empathetic hand
To my set of misery?

They know not being waken
By being shaken
To the core of their soul
With memories harrowing and haunting.

They know peace
Whilst all I know is destruction.

And yet here I stand
For a hand
To reach out and touch me
On my cheek, my shoulder, my heart.

I wait with impatience
In silence.
I wait.
But I do not make it known:

I crave the human touch.

Entropy--
The gradual decline into disorder.
Deterioration--
The process of becoming progressively worse.
Decline--
The gradual and continuous loss of strength, numbers, quality, or value.

Recover--
Return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.
Ameliorate--
Make something bad or unsatisfactory better.
Wellbeing--
The state of being comfortable, healthy, or happy.

Alright, I'll confess it.
I would change everything about you.
Your bangs should sweep left to right,
Not right to left like you have them now.
Your cocky half smile quirks too much
So I think you should tone it down.
The way you shrug one shoulder then the other
In some comedic fix of antipathy
Should be more pronounced and firm.
I'd like it better if the shoes you wore
Weren't the same pair day after tired day.
Oh, and I think you're better looking
If you'd try to wear any makeup at all.
Really. Anything would help at this point.
I would change everything about you.
The way you talk, the way you walk,
Your affability towards people,
Your desire to learn and know the world.
I would strip you of everything you are
And have and know and love
And make you into someone new,
Someone different, someone...whole.
Because with all these not so bad qualities
I see in you through your wary eyes,
Are a host of demons lurking
In the black parts of your soul.
And I would rid you of them
For they haunt you and scare you
And turn you into someone I don't know.
If it means all the things I love and cherish,
All the quirks and smirks that make me smile
Must die in bloodshed as well,
Then so be it.
I would change everything about you.
If it meant that the things that drive you mad,
That tear you away from my side
In a fit of chaotic turbulence,
That make you cry uncontrollably in the dead of night,
Would all be expelled from your being,
Then I would gladly give up
The person I love
In exchange for someone else.
For I would rather you be someone totally different
And still holding my hand,
Than to see you drift further and further away
Into the darkness of your mind.

What words are there
That can adequately describe
The reasons why I hide
Behind
A mask of congeniality
And blissful frivolity
With just a dash of innocent naivety
Due to my blatant apathy
Towards
Everything?

I'm a turtle withdrawn in my shell.
And I like it here!

There.
I think those words are adequately perfect!

For awhile now i’ve been trying to find some sense of solace
or some place of serenity in a haven that only i know of.
I’ve filled countless pages with the ideas and notions
that would shape and build those walls of my haven
to keep all the things that would render me broken
and hurt away from my world and sliver of sunshine.
It’s gone now. That haven i claimed.
pushed aside like an unwanted fly,
someone else claimed my haven.
My haven of words, of language, of prose and poetry.
The only escape i knew i not only loved but was good at.
The only thing i ever felt a sense of pride in doing.
The only place i ever felt i belonged. My haven.
it’s gone.
she took it. just like she’s taken so many other things from me.
my strength, my joy, my self-worth, my childhood, my soul.
without my haven, i’m an armadillo continuously rolled up
so as not to feel the sticks and stones raining down on me.
the armor thickens and the bones stiffen in place.
It’s not so easy for me to be gentle now.
It’s not so easy for me to unroll my armor.
All i know now is this life without the walls of my haven.
no sense of joy in words, in language, in prose or poetry.
outside the sunshine, outside the haven, there is only numbness…

She had mousey brown hair
Always in a bun.
Her hazel eyes turned grey at times,
And she got pink in the sun.
She stood taller than I;
Though I desperately tried
To grow that extra four inches
Alas my genetics determined
It would not be so.
Her hands were not distinguished
But rather soft yet common.
(I grew very well acquainted with those knuckles.)
Her body once lithe before childbirth
Became a homely pear.
Not much, you may say, to look at.
But there were days, I'll tell you,
When she was more beautiful
Than the red harvest moon.
The days on which she smiled.
Those are the days I search for
In my memory.
For that is all I have left of her, you see.
Just this artfully lacking description
Based upon fading photographic memories.
Nothing tangible.
Just this imaginable
Portrait of my mother.

I miss who she used to be.

You didn't even recognize
Your own ******* daughter.

After
Seven years of absence.
Seven years of change.
Seven years of silence.
Seven years of growing up without you.

And you write a ******* email
To reiterate how good life is
Now that you've abandoned your family
To pursue the life you felt
We kept you from?
Never asking how your daughter is.
Never asking if the child she held in her arms
Was your grandbaby, your ******* flesh and blood.
Never asking a single question
That would focus any shred of attention
On anyone but you.

What. The. Hell?

Sometimes the universe is gracious
And answers our theoretical questions.
Mine had been "What would you say to me?
What would you think of the woman I've become?"

Now I know the answer because
Your dead soulless eyes and selfish letter
Say everything for you:

"Frankly, I don't give a ****."

Well, guess what,
Woman-I-will-no-longer-call-Mom,

I don't give a **** about you either.
You're dead to me--just a ghost.
And we all know the truth about ghosts:
They aren't real.

"I lost her to mental illness."
It just doesn't produce
Quite the same sympathy as
"I lost her to cancer." Or
"I lost her to a car accident."

People look at you strangely
As if you don't understand
What it means to be alive,
That you don't know a person
Is alive and well if they're breathing
And talking and living.
They try to correct you and say
That you're just not in contact
With her anymore,
Not that you've actually lost her.

People think mental illness:
"Can't be that bad, right?"
"At least she's still alive."
"You could still talk to her,
If you wanted."
They think being sad about it,
Being broken hearted over it,
Being depressed because of it,
Is just exaggerated hysterics.

But I lost her to mental illness.
I lost her to mental illness!

It IS that bad!
It means she is gone from me
As much as if she physically died!
I CAN'T talk to her
Even though I do want to!

There is no going back
To the way it used to be.
Every day of the rest of my life
Will be missing a key person
Whom I can never get back.

She abandoned me,
Chose to walk out of my life.

But it was the mental illness
That stole any hope I had
Of seeing her walk back in.
It was the mental illness
That orphaned me.
It was the mental illness
That "killed" my mom.

So please don't trivialize my loss.
Don't depreciate my pain.
It's just as valid and just as real.

I lost her to mental illness.

The time has come.
I must now say farewell.
But don't be glum!
You will see me again.

I'm going to make my name known
Across the ocean in a foreign land.
I'm going to experience the world
So as to soak up the wisdom of others.
And they will know me--

My name will ring like a battlecry.
My stories will entertain the passerby.
They will chant for me "Encore! Encore! Brava!"
They will throw themselves into the midst of the hoopla.
And when I've exhausted their reserves of attention,
I'll head home and be done with pretention.

For in all the traveling I'll do,
No one will know me like you.

And no matter how good
The fame makes me feel,
They will only know
My name as a battlecry,
My stories for the passerby,
How they chant "Brava",
And throw themselves into the hoopla.

But you will know
My favorite color is grey.
My hair is naturally straight.
My jam band is Train.
And most of all...
My real name.

Wait, why am I leaving?
To travel and meet Sting?
Why would I waste my days
Scouring the world for fame
When happiness is being known
By the One who loves you the most?

I think I'll retract my farewell,
That I might stay and with You dwell.

There's a soundtrack stuck in my head.
A whispering, quiet melody.
Flutes and violins take center stage
As cellos and clarinets round out the sound.
The soft plucking of a harp shades and fills in
With the gentle support of a French horn.
And so the basses and the tubas grow louder
As the melody swells
Like a leaf blown higher on the wind.
As it begins to crescendo,
I can feel it in my fingertips--
The emotion of it all.

There's a symphony in your smile,
An orchestral accompaniment
To the twinkle in your eye.
Your laughter is the thumping of the timpani;
Your chuckle the plucking of an upright bass.
Your soft conversing is a harmonic woodwind;
Your finely crafted wit, a lively piccolo.
And your hands gently taking mine,
Cradling them and never wanting to let go,
Is the soft caress of a singing violin.

And when you say, "I love you",
I realize it was you all along.
You are the music in my head,
The soundtrack to my life.
And like we used to do in bygone days,
I would play this music cassette
Over and over and over again
Until the film is faded and cracked,
And there is no more cassette that can be played.
Then I would sit and close my eyes,
And recall it in my memory,
For the music of the heart never fades.

Just like your "I love you's"
And my "I know's".

I wonder a lot.
Even in the middle
Of a busy day at work,
My pondering cogs start to turn.
What do I think about?
Honestly, mostly you.

I wonder if you would
Recognize me if you saw
Me on the street.

I wonder if you would
Be proud of the woman
I'm molding myself into.

I wonder if you're sad
About the fact that you'll
Most likely never meet
Your grandchildren.

I wonder if you even care.

And then in the midst
Of that train of thought
Pops this:
I wonder why I'm wondering.

I could be wondering
Why baby elephants
Like to push their heads
Into mudbanks.
Or why warm water
Freezes more quickly than cold.

I could be wondering
Why the sound of minor chords
Evokes a deeply
Haunting feeling.
Or why white is the absence of all color,
While black is the presence of all color.

I could be wondering
About politics, religion, myths,
Relationships, love, life,
Me.

Instead
I'm sitting here
Thinking about you.

Which is infinitely depressing
When I know
You don't even give a **** 'bout me.

I saw this video
Of a T-Rex chasing a Jeep
Through a parking lot
And I laughed.
No. I threw my head back and guffawed.
Because it was so ******* funny.
And my first thought was
"She'd love to see this video!"
But before I could finish that thought,
I began to cry
Tears I didn't know still existed in my eyes;
Because I instantly remembered
You're not here anymore
To laugh with me about
T-Rexes chasing Jeeps
Through abandoned parking lots.
And that isn't ******* funny
To me.

Why is it that when I set out to write a poem
I end up writing a Scandinavian saga?
Why can't I write poetry that's short?

*Like this.

It was 27 minutes past 1 o'clock in the morning.
I stood staring down at her
Curled up form on the couch.
No one knew.
I reached out to smooth back her hair
But my hand passed right through.
Fingers curling into fists,
I step back in a cloud of mist
And waited for answers to be given.
But there are no answers in death.
I stare at her unable to comprehend
How she could just lie there
When I was standing here.
So I started to scream, to yell, and to shout.
I banged on the wall and slammed all the doors.
Nothing.
No one knew.
I raced up the stairs to where the others slept.
They stirred not an inch as I reached out to pinch
Their snoring, ignoring selves.
Heavy footsteps fell as I trod back downstairs
To the room in which she slept.
The clock now read 1:28.
How could this be?
How could she sleep?
I was right here!
But then again, I was right there too,
Dead on the couch.

I caught a glimpse of coal black hair
And my footsteps faltered a moment,
Though before I could stumble both
Over my feet onto the sidewalk
And down the rabbit hole of memories,
I remembered it couldn't be you
But was just some dark tressed visage
Who cares naught for my haunted soul.

How many times have we wondered
What's waiting for us
Right around the next corner?
How many stories have we imagined
Scene after scene after tired scene,
Wishing for what will never be?

Yet still with this unknown comes a journey--
One we cannot but desire to take.
The good, the bad, and the ugly lie ahead.
But for now, whatever awaits round the bend
Will just have to wait.

These leaves are so green.
These lights so warm.
Let's take a slower step
As we move forward round this corner.
Let's enjoy this.
And wish nothing else would come
To break our fragile hearts again
In this long never ending journey.

I run down unlit streets
Like the hounds of hell are at my feet
And I can barely keep
Going my own heartbeat.

It's the witching hour
And I've got a taste most sour
Like brimstone and fire
Because the night holds only the dire.

This is my end and my defeat.
This is my fall and my surrender.
And once I give in...
This is my home and my familiar:
The moonless sky my soul's twin,
For in darkness and shadows we live.

The clarity of life is gone.
Left to our own dark devices.
We are the haunted, the ******.
Those forced to exist without sleep.

She tells me it takes time,
but what is time?
The passing of moments
that turn into hours
that make up the days
that stretch into weeks
that fill up the months
that linger as years?

It takes time to heal.
I cut my arm once.
It was on purpose.
Deep enough to need stitches
but I didn’t see a doctor.
Instead I watched time pass.
Time was red blood flowing
Into slowly clotting drying blood
Into stiff inflexible scab
Into peeling, pusing dead skin
Into pink jagged itchy new skin
Into scar, also known as memory.

It takes time to forgive.
My fingers run over that scar
and time stands still
as it rushes through my brain:
Time is in my mind’s eye
Four-year old me slipping on glasses
for the first time,
Seven-year old me slipping on glasses
after they were slapped off and shattered, again,
Twelve-year old me slipping on glasses
after they were slapped off and shattered, again,
Sixteen-year old me slipping on glasses
after they were slapped off and shattered, again,
Twenty-one-year old me slipping on glasses
after they were shattered for the last time;
I blink at the clock
and see a life-time has passed in thirty seconds.

It takes time.
And some days it feels like
it was all such a very long time ago.
And some days my heart seizes
like it did at the moment it happened.
It takes time; but what is time?

The wall bears a breach
In its otherwise impeccable face.
A breach of small measures,
But a breach nonetheless.
The breach became a door
That welcomed the outside world
To entry and discovery
Of all the treasures
Hidden away behind
The sky-high walls.

But the door became worn
With misuse and abuse,
And the breach that had been welcomed
Became a source of ire and disgust.
Now every entrant eyed with mistrust;
How can the inhabitant show care for those
Who show her city no care of their own?  

The golden rule her standard,
Yet her soul grows tired of mistreatment.
No one else lives by that standard,
Rather choosing to live selfishly
According what's best for their self.
Should she not take instruction
From all who surround her
And do the very same:
Put her city's needs above every other being.

A steeled jaw is the only sign of her choice.
That and:

The walls take on their own life,
Magicked to always protect.
They slowly work to remove the door
And fill the breach;
A perfect impenetrable stone face once more.

Sometimes it happens like
Butter on toast,
Smooth, creamy, and delicious.

Most of the time, it's stilted
And halting.
Like hobbling through a parking lot
On crutches with a full leg cast.

Sometimes it comes from
The haunted recesses
Of the traumatized human mind.

Other times a frog
Or butterfly
Or other passing fanciful inspiration
Invokes the need for

Rhyme,
Meter,
Syllables,
Phonemes,
Morphemes,
Words,
Language,
Prose,
And poetry.

We write to describe the world around us
But much more, the universe within us.

Our words give life and tangibility
To the impalpable things,
And they take away some of the fear
And pain and grief and unconscionability
Of the corporeal things.

And in the weaving
And shaping
And forming
And rhyming
And jotting
And sketching
And rapping
And moulding
And writing
We find emancipation and satisfaction.
And thus...scrumpdillyumptiousness!

You appear when I least expect
And send my head careening.
All the old fears and inadequacies
Stick to the bile rising in my throat.
And I can't speak
To save myself.

Once again
You smirk at my silence.

You win.

You searched for me
But could not find me.
You turned over every stone
And every boulder
In vain attempt to locate me.
But I was not there.
You hiked every mountain,
Swam across lakes and oceans;
But I was not there.
You spent your last dime
On a flight to the ends of the earth,
Trying to bring me home.
But you couldn't bring home
The one you couldn't find.
I was always two steps ahead,
Hiding where I knew you'd eventually look,
But long gone before you actually got there.
You searched for me
But couldn't find me.
And still I ran.
Until I looked behind my shadow
And realized you were not there.
You had given me up to my flight.
Head drawn in weary exhaustion,
You went home,
Sat down as the sun rose—
A new day.
And I waited for you to get up and follow me,
But you were still and quiet
And now immovable.
"Listen," you whispered.
"Do you hear the whippoorwill's call?
"Can you feel the sun's warmth?
"Just sit a moment here, will you?"
Two steps ahead I had been...
Until I sat with you as the sun rose.
And I looked at your face turned toward the light,
How your eyes were closed
And your mouth drawn up at the corners
In the slightest of smiles.
And then your hand was covering mine—
Fingers interlocking.
And I was done running.

You searched for me
But found me when you stopped looking.