Fall blows in like a cold breeze
Sends shivers down my spine,
Makes me weak in the knees.
I want to jump into every pile of leaves
Throw them up and set the sky on fire.

For once I am not scared
To watch the world die.
If for just this moment
I saw its true colors.

Yellow. Red. Orange.
Green. Sometimes Brown.
Vibrant and dying,
Spewing colors into sky
As if its dying breath
Was an exhale of self -
Releasing all that is not necessary
Right here, right now.

I'm starting to believe that there are reasons for the seasons.
Bone-chilling nights where my breath turns to ice,
Warm summer sun and spotless skies.

If fall is the season where eveything dies,
Why do I feel so alive?

What joy:

To hold
The world
In your arms -

Alive and warm
And soft
And breathing

Chest rising
And falling
Yet rising again

Always rising,
Like the golden
Dawn, consistent,

Always bright.
Always beautiful.
Somehow,

In my arms
Against the odds
I'm holding light.

He is five-foot-ten,
Brown hair, brown eyes
with lips that taste like playgrounds -
Something sweet and familair.

He's something to slide across.
A merry-go-round, something that I take for spins.
I'm not sure what that makes me
Besides sort of dizzy.

If I were five
(Or maybe now)
I'd glue our hands together.
Sticky and stuck and stupid.
So sticky, and stuck, and stupid.

Life
is not glamorous
(all of the time).

Sometimes life just is
bags of empty potato chips on the couch,
crumbs in the folds of a stomach.

Sometimes life is a frown,
a heavy body, a dull aching
for something more.

Sometimes life scrolls by
like Mario chasing meaningless flags
or photos on my Instagram feed.

Most times life is a muddy blur
Of the same ****, different day.
Some days I want to run away.

I often sit in a room with myself and do not say hello.
I do not ask how I am doing.
Sometimes I close my eyes and pray I'll disappear,

But I am here.
I am here.
I am here.

Today is a new day.
I have a choice
to make it count.

Like a preschooler learning
one, two, three..
no one besides me can decide.

I can open my ears - I can hear myself.
I have a lot to say.
I can open my mouth -

Shout it out, like a prayer
to my inner goddess.
Today is a new ******* day.

It is mine. Rain or sunshine,
it does not matter.
Matter is what I make it.

It's the atoms and the Adams
that connect us. The Eves
and passing eves.

There are no sinners here, and no saints.
Why? Because I say so.
Today is good because I say so.

Good is what I make it.
Like Good's potato chips
In the folds of a stomach.

Its something to laugh about.
Wrong feelings do not exist.

Sometimes you just need to listen.

I am content
here, on the concrete step
carved out for the homeless man.

I am content
with the 30 minute wait
for a bowl of hot eggs.

I am content
wandering the streets
not knowing where to go.

I am content.

When fate comes,
he will beckon.

Home is in the walls of this body,
old creaky bones and toothy smiles.
Soft footsteps fueled by inner hearth.
These arms can hug themselves.

I need not worry.

I am content.
I am content.

mouth
breathes heavy.
***** air.
lungs are full
of space.
the butterflies
do not fly -
they are dead.
i coughed them up.
hacked the ashes
of their bodies
into breeze -
some sweet nothing,
some kiss of wind
i hope
will find its way
to your mouth,
wide and lonely
and waiting
for mine.