I sat in the middle of
the cold stone floor
and I imagined I was
somewhere
more tranquil

a place that I
could be
h a p p y
and a place
that I could finally
                                    smile

a peaceful place
free from the pressures
my mind brings me
free from                                life
and
from love and pain
and hurting
a place

that was so perfect
I had to come back
to Earth
because I am flawed
entirely
and I do not belong
in such an absolute place

I am not
                *w
                    o
                      r
                        t
                          h
                            y

If I was gay..
would it really that bad?
I mean,
I'd adopt a few kids, maybe even save their lives.
I'd show the world that I'm not evil, actually, I'm pretty nice..
I volunteer sometimes too.
But, that's not the point,
is it?

Kids are so afraid to be themselves and
you all wonder why.
Want to know?
Because of all the constructive critisism
we get from the second we walk out of
our rooms.
No wonder my stepbrother doesn't want to
leave his room or
I don't want to leave school;
They're safe havens from
******* like you.

How do I say
What can't be said
Or feel
What can't be felt?
To which you say:
"Well, how DO you feel?"

I don't know that this is real.
The fact that I have, or had,
All I could have wanted,
and yet,
I feel
Like I had nothing.

Nothing ever happened,
I never had anybody.
I asked nobody to lunch,
And gave my heart
To nobody.
Yeah that sounds about right-
No one or no body.

I had no one at my apartment,
Under the sheets
Was not a body,
Not a soul,
Not a woman,
Not nobody
Shared a pillow and a blanket.

So...
"How do I feel?"
I ask my self
And everybody,
Because if nothing happened,
With any body,
It only means that in this story
I was nobody.

My eyes have been looking
For weeks, months, years
For perfection –
Or at least perfection in their view.

They see me try my hardest
They see me throw away necessities
They see me fall.
They cry.

But my trials of heartache do not matter
For my efforts go unseen.
No changes –
Neither in my eyes nor in those of others.

I stare at the mirror and see eyes looking back at me –
Eyes that look like mine, but aren’t.
Eyes unrecognizable, but still, eyes.
Turquoise, cerulean, cobalt, even;
Bright, wide-eyed, and

                                         sad.

Beautiful but sad.
Sad because un-beautiful.

The eyes in the mirror are desperate;
Sighing, searching, waiting
For that one morning when they will see a change,
The change they’ve been waiting for, for oh so long.

The change that will bring all –
Happiness, love, success –
Everything my eyes see at night
When dreams become reality.

But right now, my eyes are blurry
Covered in tears
Overflowing
Because they do not like what they see.

Remember when you called me a traveler?
Perhaps, I knew then.
I wander under the pale blue sky
til my feet bring me to you.
I can never measure the horizon
or how long I've gone to finally
reach you.
And I have you---
too close we almost breathe each other
arms folded
and thighs twined together
I whispered to you---
"This is my destination, to you."
and remember when you called me a traveler?
Then, I start walking again.

the bomb does not explode. there,
only aftermath is real like amputations
thoughts are cutting through my flesh
from years ago. when that marine
i went to high school with told us
of his tumor, the surgery he
couldn't pay for. the nuclear facility
he was stationed by. his bunk-mates,
their brains cut also, angry now
and as he loudly spoke beneath
his bandaged head we nodded, cut his
story out as perhaps true, not worth
looking into