today i woke up not knowing where i
was or how to get back home,
(or if i would ever feel at home again)
because although i awake in the same
bed every day, this room is unceasingly cold
and i find myself more and more lost in these
sheets that i don't know as my own  anymore.

i had lain there for forever trying to remember
the last time i had felt comforted by sleep-
when the only thing i could find under my pillows
were nightmares about empty skies and
words that got lost in translation, i had to stop
in my tracks and reteach my self how to breathe.

i'm starting to get this awful feeling
that i'm not always going to fall asleep alone
but i'll still wake up terribly lonely.

your loss for words
is the most beautiful poetry
i have ever known;
i want nothing more than
to hold that secrecy
behind my lips
and keep it there
forever.

i once knew a boy who spoke of
rustling leaves as a euphemism for
supreme love; he told me that he could hear them
whispering, "come closer, yes,
i really mean you"

can you hear it? he asked,
can you hear it too?

i closed me eyes and tried to remember
the last time i had heard an invitation as subtle as
the ones that hid in the solace of
autumn's last breaths, and there it was
buried in the softness of your palms outstretched
to the stars (longing to hold hands with the heavens)

when i opened my eyes again, i found myself
face to face with the only truth i would ever
learn: that every thing i've ever
needed to know is hidden between that boy's
words, your curious fingers, and the orange rain
that falls in november.

Absence of ambition
dancing with the
presence of boredom.
I'm nothing and I'm nowhere.

Unassuming, at best– no
tempting minx, I confess,
but this I would bet (speaking
humbly): give me paper and
ink, half an hour to think– I might
just convince you to love me.

All I wanted was a cigarette.
We weren't allowed to smoke.
He knew where to go.

We swept sidewalks together.
Raked sand together.
Talked about life together.

His window was across from mine.
I think he saw me changing once.
Maybe more than once.

He was getting dishonorably discharged.
I didn't think he was a good man.
I didn't think he was a bad one, either.

It had been two weeks since I landed in Monterey.
I only wanted a cigarette.
He knew where to go.

I bought the Southern Comfort and bottom shelf gin.
He carried them with him to his room.
I didn't think anything of it.

We raked sand together.
We ate lunch together.
We watched movies together.

We sat on a makeshift bench by the ditch by the installation fence.
We drank and smoked and laughed.
I taught him Farsi and he taught me Russian.

Russian for "hello" and "goodbye."
Russian for "This is allowed."
Russian for "This is not allowed."

I think he saw me changing once.
He tried to kiss me on the cheek.
I told him no, my boyfriend wouldn't like that very much.

We smoked some more.
We drank some more.
We laughed some more.

It was 2130.
I had to be in my room by 2200.
He said not to worry, I'd be back in time.

I insisted and tried to leave.
I fell to the ground.
He didn't help me up.

I only wanted a cigarette.
He kissed me on the mouth.
I did not kiss him back.

I was immobile.
Paralyzed.
Drugged?

He kissed me again.
And again.
And again.

I did not kiss him back.
I had a boyfriend.
All I wanted was to smoke and drink and laugh.

He grabbed me by the ankles.
Pulled me over the ditch behind the army barracks by the installation fence.
I could hear soldiers coming back to their rooms.

I was paralyzed.
I always thought I would fight.
Fend him off with car keys stuffed between my fingers.

I looked up at the tree branches above me, my watch said 2147.
That was the last time I prayed to God.
There were leaves in my hair and dirt on my arms.

There was something less than a man between my legs.
It looked at me with hate in its eyes.
We swept sidewalks together.

God kicked back and swigged a PBR
     while I was ***** behind the army barracks,
     over the ditch by the installation fence.

He helped me up.
I couldn't stand on my own.
How sweet.

I vomited by a tree.
I was disgusted with myself and him and God.
I wanted to drown in Southern Comfort and bottom shelf gin.

He walked me to my barracks building.
How sweet.
I made it to my room by 2200.

All the girls watched me stumble down the hallway.
I was so violently alone.
Taps wailed outside the window.

I left my hat by the bench by the ditch by the installation fence.
He brought it to me the next morning.
How sweet.