I’m writing a story about my life.
It’s funny
The way
I can’t turn 24 years
Into more than four pages
And the words
Emotionless
Forced
carry no weight.
I’m grasping at memories.
Wondering why
It felt like
I’d never forget.

Long nights and hard days
Scraping the last remnants of my self confidence
Hoping to cultivate them
At a sooner than later date

My heart has been super-glued over and over
and as much as I’d like to think it gets stronger
It feels more fragile every day
I have to be strong for her.
I have to be strong for him.
It seems, however, that I’ve just become
A crutch
Or a stand-in
Until something better comes along
He doesn’t want me
And she doesn’t know any better.
“This is your life and it’s ending one minute at  a time.”
10/20/09

my heart, imploding
watching clouds i am tranquil
praying for the rain

Too introspective
to write novels; pondering
self takes too much time.

These pipes are dowdy
weathered, worn,
but I still use them
(and abuse them.)
I miss that feeling
that my chords
would fly me away;
that freedom was a song you sang.
Today it's not the same.
Aching...
each note, it leaves me...
aching...
reaching, yearning
begging for a muse
to use me.
My gut is turning;
hands and cheeks, burning.
My mouth is open
and from my veins and capillaries,
almost as if necessary,
I am Bursting.
Inside out and all around me
the sound it speaks to me profoundly:
This is who you are.
Remember?

Come down from there;
I’m more than just a little angry!

I’ve lost the will to hold my tongue.

This wretched talk,
It drives me crazy.

Forget those words…
You didn’t mean it.
                                           This is far from hopeless.
            My throat is dry….            Please…   Catch the wind…
All this
it leave me breathless.

My eyes are coated
and shining.
And in yours,
the light is dimming.
I wonder which of us
           is more blind?
We are stumbling…
…. bumbling our way,
and it’s not that
I’m Disappointed
as much as
Disillusioned.
Home is the space between my ears these days.
It isn’t however
A …. safe harbor.
Forget a shining suit of armor.
… “impenetrable fortress”…
… And things aren’t any clearer in here
Than at this precipice.
Can our feet be sure?
Can our path hold true…
If our eyes deceive us?
Collect me…
Fetch me from this wishing well.
I can tell this dream is over.