To the ghost
Who just whispered
Incoherently into my ear,
Then tugged my feet
And lit a cigarette:

Its two AM.
What the **** do you want?
Please go back to sleep.

Sleepy Stupor,
Please stay a while
If you're the only one.
I lay here, still, and smile
At dreams of someone

Sleepy Stupor,
Please stay a while
Please don't let me come to
But folded sheets talk so loud
And him to I so few

Everyone asks
"Aren't you afraid
To travel all alone?"

I reply
"Not at all.
I am afraid
To never have gone."

you've been on my mind all day
i am out, wandering thoughts of you on my brain
what is it you'll have to say?
i'm running through rain, out here it is grey
but soon ill be home, i'll be drenched

these puddles have me thinking
if i open your mouth
what might come out?
but i dont want to do the talking
just put your lips on mine
lets work this out

when i get home, i can't wait to let it all go
soon i'll undress, open you up and get inside of you
follow your lead, do whatever you suggest
reading between those **** lines
in the glow of the lamplight
we'll close the door, leave the world behind

find the place where there is no telling
where i end and you begin
rediscovering what is ours over and over again
a new slant rhyme? yes baby
each stroke feels like the first time
your curves ever evolving in my fingers
i scratch deep lines. no self control,
never knowing where you will take me next
what shape might you make
where your lines will blur and break
..is this ***?
its a language only we can speak
whats happening here no one needs to know,
unless we want them to.
right now its just me and you
my eyes follow your every move
we press in sync, perfect harmony ensues
i can't deny myself
i put my all into you

There is more paint on my hands
Than my canvas,
Which is blessed with an image
Of my dog's ****, and I love it.

There is a small stain
Of yellow splattered memory
From when I knocked over
The paint tube for the 17th time,
And no one yells. I love it.

It is a Friday night at 24,
My first night alone in my apartment.
All of my friends are drinking,
Or spending time with their partners,
But I am here, drinking wine out the bottle,
Sneaking leftovers out the fridge with my bare hands,
Spilling paint all over my ******* self,
Painting a silly doggy ****,
And for once
I am happy
Alone.

my psyc professor once told me:
"chocolate induces the same feelings as ***"
10 chocolate bars later, i still feel pretty **** lonely.

Black and milds
Mask the darkness
Of a cold, rainy,
Starless night.

They fill my lungs
The way that headlights
fill the fog,

Leave bits of Ashes
In the cushions -
Glowing, then gone

Now all that is left
Is a hole in the seat,
And a smell I can't get rid of.

When I say I like to play games,
I mean I like monopoly.
I mean I like rolling the dice,
Playing the odds and hoping
To land on something lucky.

When I get lucky
I land on free parking,
Like the kind on the street
Outside of your apartment.

I celebrate as I am showered
In more kisses than I can count.
I shove them down my throat
To negotiate with later.

As time passes we will
Trade them back and forth
Until every inch of space
Between me and you is occupied.

For a while we will be equal.
We will play nice. Pay small tolls.
Taking only what we are giving,
Trading for mutual benefit,

Growing from one another.
Building houses and visiting
One another's properties.
Not worrying about landing
On one space or another.

Slowly grassy fields turn
To sprawling developments.
Places that some people aim to be,
Make a family, one, two, three.

But we are not the type to, baby.
We will not stop for a white picket fence.
We have personal goals, for personal developments.
We are career driven people.

In the name of monopoly,
We will circle the board until we are dizzy,
Erecting concrete skyscapers one layer at a time,
Building walls stacked on walls
That scream to the sky

"Something was built here."

Something hard. Something heavy.
Something immovable. A concrete block
Concealing a once-grassy field.

I went to visit you there.
I found a ticket on my dash board.
I guess thats why you said you're fine,
But I am not.

These walls cost me a toll that I cannot pay.
I heard the only way to knock them down
Is if one of us loses.

Good thing "It's just a bored game."

It has been months
Since I have

Pet a brown dog
On the floor
Of a living room
That breathed
To the rush
Of chasing.

Felt its tongue
On my cheek -
Sticky with slobber.
Saw it lap at my cup
Of water.
Found it heavy
on my lap.

Came home
To a beating heart
Waiting for me,
What a thought!

It's been quiet
Quite a while.

I looked outside and saw
The leaves had fallen off,
The grass had yellowed
Some time ago.
I did not notice
For quite some time.

I saw my hands in the glow of clouds
And wondered,
How long has it been?
How much time has gone by?

I want so much more
Than four walls and a bed,
To simply wake up,
pillow under my head,
A meal in my stomach
But I am simply fed up.

The way set in place
By society, blindly
Tapping my way through
A 9-5, 8-6, 7-9,
Why?

When did I lose
The dream for something more?
I am drowning, weighed down
By rigid rules and indecision.
I worry it's too late to save me.

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.

They say when you die,
Cryonics can bring you back.

I lay motionless and cold,
Hopeful that life will, one day, return.

I recently traded my air mattress
For a big, thick, fancy one.
We had to heave it up the stairs and around the bends,
Laughing and sweating and crying the whole way.
My arms were so sore, and we were all so tired,
But I slept oh so sound.

She thinks dandellions are beautiful,
Contagious bursts of sunshine on the neighbors lawn,
Waiting to be wished upon.
Breaths of wind planted
By the mouths of hopeful children.

it slips
and it dips.

it falls
to the wayside,
like clothing
on the floor
or brown hair
on a pillow.

it waves
in piles
of misplacement
that crash
and fall,

rippling
and blurring
from one day
to the next.

no idea where i am and
no idea where i am going
just a tank full of gas
and the patter of rain
just me and time and space
no plans, no destination

"Sometimes I think I have felt everything I'm ever gonna feel. And from here on out, I'm not gonna feel anything new. Just lesser versions of what I've already felt." - Theodore Twombly, Her

I can fit
In the crook
Of your arm
And the space
Between your lips
And the gaps
So inviting
Between your fingers.

I can fit
On the edge
Of your bed
And the cushion
Of your couch.
Sink your head
On my pillow
Of a chest.

I can fit
Pans of veggies
In the oven,
Fill our mouths
With a temporary
Substance, some
Sustenance.

I can fit
In your phone
As a number,
Paint your background
With the spackle
In my eye.

I can fit
so many spaces,
and places,
and people,
and things,
just anywhere but in.

My body is a temple
But the men don't pray.

Golden boy, my ray of sunshine,
You'll never know how much
Your radiance soothes my lows.
It seems so simple,
A furry back on my toes,
A lapping tongue, a wet black nose,
But you're so much more to me
Golden boy, my ray of sunshine,
And you'll never know.

sometimes grey is really yellow.
he is sunshine on a summer day,
giggling at knock-knock jokes
with punchlines like the wind.

and sometimes grey is really brown.
coated in the mud of puddles
that he was told not to touch
but leapt into anyways.

and sometimes grey is really green.
when he is, he asks questions
as tall as his dandelion legs
that grow taller with each day.

and sometimes grey is really red.
like the day he came into the world
screaming and all-of-the-sudden
with his middle fingers in the air.

and sometimes i am really blue.
when i look at grey, and yellow,
and brown, and green, and red
wondering how he might paint

wondering if the world will see his colors
until grey cups my tears in his hands
throws them into the air
and makes a rainbow.

I circle the store at least three times, every time I go.
I can never make up my mind.
Usually Trader Joe will ask me if I'm OK,
Or if he can help me find anything.
Usually I'll lie and say I'm fine,
Squinting intently at the array of fresh greens
But today I asked him..

How can I decide which fruit is the sweetest?
Does it matter where it came from?

Does it matter if an onion is red, or yellow, or "sweet"
If they all will make me cry?

What's the difference between a fig and a date?
How come I can never find either of them?

If swiss chard is so good for you,
Why does it taste so bad going down?

Why do beans make you farty?
How is that a "magic fruit?"

Why is everyone blind to the lie
That carrots make your eyesight better?

Is it toe-may-toe or toe-mat-toe?
Poe-tay-toe or poe-tat-toe?
Does it matter?
Does any of this matter?

He replied, "Ma'am, my name isn't Joe. I don't know. I just work here.. and they definitely don't pay me enough for this."

So I left with an empty bag, and a heavy mind.

to the groom's side:

I am sorry
I never had

the words to say
I love you
one last time.

the truth is..

I don't know how

we got here
or where

I'm going
wrong

but
I do

know

I have
to go.

If I were home..

I'd find comfort in the concrete
Etchings on the front porch
Spelled by a six-year-old
With her mom's apartment keys.

I'd open the front door
Like a gust of wind
On a summer day
Just blowing through

And see you sitting there
On the couch, always on the couch
With a red blanket, a box of Cheez It's
And the game

And I wouldn't stop, or think twice.
I'd just yell "I'M HOME!"
And make my way through

The dining room,
With goofy pictures
Of you and Kel
From the fair

To the kichen,
Where I'd open all the cabinets
To the smell of dust,
Empty aside from cosmic brownies.

I'd grab a pack, and come sit next to you.
You'd grab yours too,
And light one. And it would
Glow brighter than any candle
Ever could. And that smell would
Fill me up in ways I no longer
Can feel full. And maybe I'd notice -
That your fingers were yellow as the sun.
Or maybe I'd notice the teeth still in your
Smile. But probably not. Definitely not.
If I'm honest, I wouldn't notice a thing.
And what a gift that would be.

be kind to yourself.

even on days
when life seems like
an hourglass
there is always time
to find solace
in your inner peace

i open my arms to the wind
and find it uncomfortably still

there is something eerie
about the way you
can be submerged
in something
(or someone)
but feel nothing

i wave my hands
back and forth
like a cab-call
to feel it on my skin

the first time
a boy kissed me
i asked him
not to.
he held me tight
while no one was around
told me he would not
let go until i did.
i called it love.

now i write poems.
and maybe i shouldn't write poems
for men that i have only looked at from across a room
and maybe i shouldn't tattoo his name
in hearts on my arms
and go on honeymoons before the wedding

but if i'm being honest
i have so much to give
that the fantasy of you and me
makes me think that maybe
up is down and down is up
and that for once, maybe
falling might not be so bad

when you teach me parkour
you tell me there are softer ways to land
tuck, roll, spin out, land gently on your toes
falling is not the worst thing if you do it right
but it takes time to learn
and if i am honest
i am writing love poems before
i've learned to rhyme or reason
recite to you my flat lines
trying to turn the snaps into
a CPR jumpstart for love
plug into you
a broken battery,
just trying to recharge
all of my rusty parts
that I, lay before you
as if getting *******
would fix the gaping
hole in my chest
thats been out of
commission for years now

when you tell me i am _
and introduce me to your best friends
i feel the walls fall down
like piles of clothing around us
like makeup washing down a drain
like scrubbing rust off an old pan
i stand here raw and real, and still
you tell me i can stay over
for the first time in a long time
i say "id like that"
press two lips to a forehead
and two hands to a chest
take a moment to take in
the man that is
lying so beautifully next to me
lying so beautifully next to me
lying so beautifully to me
my body hits pavement

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.

i dont know you yet
not even your name
but i whisper sweet
nothings to the wind
hoping you are listening
hoping you are too
waiting for the wind
to carry you home

you are always gone
as soon as you come

you are breath
the first and the last

in and out
rise and fall

try as i may
i cannot hold you

so i learn to love you
as you are

Did you ever wonder?
When you wandered?
When the sun rose
on green pastures?
When you frolicked
through the fields?
When you laid down
and felt it on your skin?
That soft meadow,
That summer sun,
That fragrant air.

And did you ever wonder?
When you wandered?
When the leaves died and bled
all the colors of the sunset?
When you watched them fall,
slowly, to rest with the earth?
When they floated around you
and crumbled them beneath your feet?
That crunch.
That rustle.
That rot.

And did you ever wonder?
When you wandered?
When the fields froze and
the moon no longer shone?
When your breath turned to ice?
When the cold came to chatter you mouth? To shatter your bones?
When it was dark and you were alone?
I am dying to know:
When the frost came to bite you,
Did you feel it?

And do you ever wonder?
When you rub those bloodied hands on sticks and stones,
just hoping to make a spark, if it will ever catch the same?

Joe is the first thing on my mind
When I open my eyes in the morning.
I long for his warm embrace,
His electrifying kiss,
The smell of his presence
So familiar to me,
Enveloping me with a sense of comfort.

Without him my day is sad,
My mind foggy and groggy.
But most days Joe is here for my taking.
I sip him in slowly
With a mug more than half full,
Giving me that bit of motivation
That life without him lacks.

When life gives you lemons,
You get lemon ******.

There is no rush,
Only breath.

There is no stress,
Release that notion.

Just let it be,
        let it be.

Listen to your heart beat,
Dance to its song.
Sway to its rhythm
Like you should have all along.

Make an intention,
Set it to motion.
Keep your head
Above life's commotion.

This day is a gift,
This life is a light.
Your soul is a beam
That can brighten the night.

Smile like a full moon,
Shoot like a star.
Be the best you,
The true you that you are.

Sue is baking pretzels on a Thursday afternoon.
Flour on her hands, just like we used to.
Its some familair smell in the air,
Deep warmth that fills a room in the abscense of your laughter.

When I asked you if you thought about old loves,
You said she was a snuggie blanket in the closet.
You said she was a car on the side of the road.

I didn't understand just how far thoughts could wander.
They drive me crazy - traversing time,
Traveling places that this body no longer can,
Conversing with lingering loves in my mind -

"I'm building a travel van like you always wanted to.
I'll be travelling solo, and you won't know
Where I'll go and the things I'll see.
Its just for me.

..but I wish it weren't.
If you had the option, would you go?
If you had the option, would you want to know?"

I will always be wandering, searching for home.
I will always be wondering, wishing to know:

"Do you ever think of me
The way I think of you?"

Where do we go
When we are forgotten
In everyone's minds
But our own?

Dear Love,

I found you in the back alley way
near the barn on a bike
and swimming in the glen.

Saw you jump right in,
*** out, into a freezing pool -
middle fingers in the air
like some weird baptismal funeral.

I felt the weight of your losses on my shoulders
like a backpacking trip from hell,
and the way your lips pressed against one another
in an empty room.

Heard you laugh in an empty room
and fill cars with God-awful karaoke,
windows down and smiling the whole time.

I tasted your tears when you laughed
so hard that you cried, or cried so hard that you laughed,
bittersweet like a chipwich in a 711 parking lot.

Smelt your pain like a two-day-old dish
just waiting to be scrubbed, and
your happiness in clean clothes and roadside flowers.

They say soul mates aren't real,
its just who you put the work into.
Each day I wake up to you,
raw and real and still trying,
still learning and loving and giving it your all,
and honey that's just why I love,

Myself

she moves her body
from couch to bed
undresses
shirt to chin to floor
knows every scar
and freckle constellation
and the square on her left arm
she got from a bandaid
dances
naked in her underwear
to blood-flown beats
that only she can hear
builds fires
from yesterdays news
climbs trees
like its her day job
makes climbing trees her day job
she is cool
as a ******* cucumber
writes poems
to a lover
she found in a mirror
tucks herself in
like she always has
and always will
and always will be
me.

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.

Among the piles of ***** clothes
Beyond the stacks of dishes
Lives a girl you’ve passed before
A truly absurd missus.

She shows the moon her moonlight
And showers in the rain.
If you glanced your eyes upon her
You would wonder if she's sane.

She wears two different shoes
One black and yet one red.
She even has three hair colors
That grow out of her head.

Her skin is very spotty
White patches all around.
Her head is red and blistered
With scales like dragons crowned.

She has teeth like a vampire
Some pointed and some straight.
I’ve been told she bites people
Who touch her by mistake.

Some people say she is a fool
Who hides behind blue eyes,
Or say she is a tyrant
With a torso full of lies.

Some people say she's misconstrued,
Not odd deliberately.
“Perhaps she's a mishap of God”
They say concernedly.

She laughs at jokes not funny.
She does everything wrong.
One time she walked around the town
With her dress tucked in her thong.

I heard she drinks alcohol
Like it's her morning kiss
And slurs her speech suspiciously
In an evil nasty hiss.

So if you see this missus
I’ll tell you what to do,
Just walk right on past her,
Until you’re somewhere new.

She is not worth your time
Not a second or a split
Not a minute or an hour
Not a day and not a tick

So simply just keep walking by,
Your dignity in check.
Keep your eyes on the horizon
And she's gone within a sec.

Don’t dare to look too closely, ma'am,
Fear what she may do!
If you gave her any time of day
You’d find out.. well.. she's like you.

I used to write a lot,
I had a lot to say.

These days I am quieter,
It's easier that way.

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.

i live in a constant state
of ignoring deadlines
and instead taking my due dates
with poetry

every excursion leaves me thinking
what a day, what a night
what a thought, what a line
what a moment.

what if i use this or that rhyme?
i find it sublime, i have lost track
of time, but found me in spaces
carved out between lines
the moments between thought
of whats next in my mind
what word would be one of a sort?
i assort them -

they advance. i am weak,
they assemble. these words a worthy match for me
win me over - i rage no war
just wave my flag, surrender once more
we have done this before, a repeat, i am familiar
i know better, but i am a word *****.
self control is out the door
and i let him walk. i hope he runs far away
so my words and i can stew a bit longer.
i don't want it to end. i am tired of talking in numbers.
i am tired of making sense. i just want to play.
lets have a word day. or two, or three, or five.
i can multiply words if you give me the chance
professor, accept my submittance. my poems provide
no wrong answers. no prompt, sit and listen.
maybe its your turn.

a fleshy finger
makes its presence
known on my left
shoulder. firm
and intentional.
fleeting like your
interest.

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?