The United States has not had a bearded President since 1893.

It's always those ******* holding things up

sudden silence washed over the small space as destructive as a tidal wave
invisible until suddenly reaching the beach of onlookers to crash down on them with devastating force

no one wanted to look
or acknowledge the man with the hard eyes and steel colored hair who had hobbled awkwardly into their presence

his cane gripped tightly in one arthritic hand
knuckles rounded with swelling as though he were an unfinished sketch
disjointed collection of misplaced orbs holding together stick like limbs

though someone did dare to mutter some small comment under their breath in relation to the state of the world today

but it was small and quickly lost in the noise of grinding gears as the bus strained onwards

the fear that came was a strange tangible thing
a sound of everyone holding their breath
waiting, but not at once to turn and look as this old man grew into a monster in their minds

how they wished too
but would not dare to speak out against him for fear of being persecuted by his words

to be labeled
branded Jew lover

he spat and cursed as the bus labored to a stop
gnarled fingers gripping the seat in front of mine

offering a hand only to be greeted with that look of sheer contempt
as though touching my flesh might somehow contaminate his views with mine

silently watching as he struggled from the bus muttering obscenities
feeling only pity for his narrow minded way of life as our eyes met but once as we passed one another

ignoring the sudden outburst of angry noise from those around me
I pulled out my pen

It's 3 am
again
I hate that word... again
it feels so certain
so absolute

that I might never sleep... again
see?
that's why I hate it
and the way the walls feel too close together
as though they could be listening

slowly compressing the doorway to the bedroom
so that it would be impossible to pass through

that I might never climb between the soft warmth of those covers
again...

thick carpet is curling up between my toes
tickling the tired soles of my feet as I pace

again

passing through the hallway towards the kitchen
lurking shadows of appliances of which the tasks seem to escape me
the gleam of lights on their many polished surfaces

strolling through the living room
open window letting in the night breeze to kiss against the skin I have not covered

again

I cross paths with the coffee table
narrowly avoiding its sleek edges that interject into my nightly obstacle course so stealthily

pausing in the single bathroom to admire
if only briefly
reflected light across her shoulders
curve of her back
down towards her waist and toes

the color of eyes in darkness
the shape of her face and nose

how sweet
how dark, mysterious
quiet, brooding
thoughtful that girl seems to be

depending on the time of night
light from the moon across her face

we meet again

again..

I feel like a stranger
I'm no longer me
They took over my life
I don't like what I see

Monsters in my head
Cuts on my wrist
Sleepless nights
I won't longer exist

Make it all stop
My end is coming near
This is goodbye
I'm so sorry my dear

Sometimes...

I don't like you very much

That is all

The last picture I have of you in my mind was with blood on your lips
the way you smiled and told me not to be afraid
even though you were the one dying

How my hands felt too small as I tried to catch the life that was running out of you and put it back
but it just kept slipping through my fingers

My last memory of you was holding my hand as we walked together
not that we were in love
just because you were my friend and I liked knowing you were always right there

Telling stories about ghosts that dwelled in the halls of our school as we sat in detention together
for a fight we never started

When you rescued me
but all the teacher saw was you
with blood on your fist
and me
right there beside you

When you came to school with bruises
but still smiled

You fell at the park you would say and laugh
a laugh that made your eyes sparkle
like you read about in romantic books

But I knew

You never fell

You were the grace in my awkward silence of a life
you flew when I crawled, smiled when I could only look on in awe and wonder how
how the park was never the reason you came carrying your own pain as much as mine

Could still say you loved the man badly playing the part of a father
though really he was just a man that lived with your mother

When he was the reason you lied to our teacher
that you had fought with your brother
the reason you had come to me with an eye so black it was nearly shut

I never told you I knew you were an only child

I watched in awe of how you could love so intensly and completely that nothing ever touched your heart
not even when it broke your skin

I watched your life burn like a bonfire
beautiful and intense
you were the passion in everything

I was a candle flame beside your light
flickering with fear and doubt
but your spirit never dimmed
and your warmth gave me hope

Be strong you said
be brave and never afraid
like you always knew

Knew that the most passionate and brightest fires burn the fastest
like the kindness, love and acceptance we try so hard to learn in our candle flame lives
you always knew

Your fire loved everything
from the sunlight to the bruises
the rainy days
school yard fights
and my tears on your face

The harsh color of the blood on your lips
never could hold anything to the light of your flame

Don't be afraid said the bonfire to the candle
some day we all go out

I watched you silently from my place amid the masses
As you sat alone on stage

Around you stood the empty chairs
Still awaiting instruments and bodies
But you didn’t seem to notice

Slowly drawing the bow across the strings
While fingers danced seemingly unaided

I sketched you then in my mind so that I might always remember the way your brow was furrowed
Hair astray in the fashion most expected by a being that has not slept in as many days as artists of unheard merit are apt to do

I traced the joints of your fingers curled around the dark wooden handle almost, but never touching the off white fabric that stretched between one point and the other

In my mind I found I could only liken you and your appearance to that of others I had only read of
All fictional of course

Here a wayward detective long since run down but never out sank his sorrows in a bottle while his mind fractured but still brilliant carried on

But then there were so many others that also came to mind, each tugging at the corners of my imagination with passionate desperation
Attempting in the only way they knew to be the sole capture of my attention

In this corner I found a journalist well traveled as he was versed, with the quality beseeching that of a gentleman hidden under two days worth of growth

But perhaps your likeness might be more suited to the air of a more scientific mind, secret genius cultivating cures for every kind of illness while still trapped in the depths of madness

I sat and watched as you played unnoticed for what seemed to me just a moment but was far more then that as my mind turned over the possibility of all the people you could have been

But when asked softly why didn’t I rise from my unnoticed place and put to rest my chaotic thoughts by moving close to speak to you if only for a moment

I resisted

What could I say to let them understand the path my mind had run
How I was unwilling to leave my seat, held there by this slight fear

That if I dared to find my voice, to rise and cross the space between the seats… to draw close enough that you might see me
All that I had imagined you to be would be crushed or somehow dulled by the harsh light of reality

You might not be a gentleman, suave and smooth with charm or reflect even a bit the madness of a scientist whose sanity has long since gone…
You might be so far from the truth that I’d never write this poem

So I sat silently in my place amid the masses

Watching you draw your bow across the strings while your fingers danced unaided