one, two, three, four
those are the first number we learn when we walk out the door
one plus one ends up obscene
the second thing we learn about as teens
minus one, add three
on your boy you weren't so keen
start at zero
life's anew
since it is just me and you
divide by one
you splinter off
maybe for a time you become so lost
that one two three
don't make sense anymore
how could little numbers
keep your soul from the downpour?
well, you think, toss
the primer away
I'm not so keen on maths anyway

envy grows
a curious thing
no rhyme or reason
just a sting
of leaf green
to destroy the envy
the lust
the greed
you seek acceptance
you want
no, you need
to be released from the prison
of spiky green
a prison that grows and grows with each passing hour,
but could be cut down with only a flower
growing inside the carefully tended walls
a flower called ego
this bud
once uncovered
can bloom
and break the envy walls
so that for today
they won't bother you at all
but care for the flower
today tomorrow
the next
so that envy doesn't reach out again
and re-trap you in a web
of tangled mean

the serpent slithered into your heart
spewing a poisonous spray
she seduced
lied
cried that you
need to know
she hurt you
when she hissed
all the secrets and non truths
of knowledge
she killed
My chances
With every word that slipped from her
Serpent tounge
A flower
an apple too tempting
But in a tree
a garden
Of sweeter fruit
A seed of desire
Sowed into a prosperous garden
Of could have beens
Of maybes
Watered
With the withering
Of a mouse's slow start
Slowly ****** clean by
A dry serpent heart

Tears are water falls
Slowly dripping down your face
As I look at you
Embarrassed for
You
Angry for
You
So don't cry
Because
In three days
You won't remember
You fell down
You pick yourself up
Once again
Another price
Gone to the void you
Say you love
But we both know
You
Know
That she is horrid
Embarrassing
A liar
A liar that you love
And I can't help loving you
Because
You are not afraid
To cry

you tell yourself
that you don't love him
you will not
in any way whatsoever
spend a moment more vying
for his attention
for his affection
or whatever
you call it
the jokes before during after class
how you are afraid to touch him
because
maybe he has some
magical
power
and can feel
that you are dying yearning straining
for a moment in his limelight
to be even a blip
in his timeline
a moment in a lifetime
you wonder if he can feel your love through your glances
when he walks next to you
time prances
a sugar spun web of
friendship
you never thought
a word
could sound so cruel
and bittersweet
like spiderwebs spun
through heart strings.
you know he won't
has said
has scraped his foot awkwardly as you
poured
implied
no spewed
your affections
in a barrage of desperation
of losing
of love
wouldn't it be easier
if you were like him?
able to see the world
the girls who hurt him
you
in a different light?
one that wouldn't
keep you up at night?
maybe
his hurt
is a questions you forgot to ask
you will do it tomorrow
joking before class.
the same patterns
picking away
on your heart strings

when i ask my father to spend time
away from his quibbling
and political diatribe
to read poetry
it pains him
as he reads he seems to sigh
why why why
is she wasting my time?
he reads, he skims, he stands up fast
a grimace marks his face at last
its depressing
he snarks
with a disappointed air
i don't like
depressing poems,.
a poem about death
is it really depressing?
ok, well, that's
obvious in its truth
but there are plenty that speak of
the other side of life
reading one two three
down
down
my feed
there's love
life
hearts
dreams
all splayed out
on the operating table
we 'literates'
call poetry

that
is the expletive i share
i spew
in class
in a presentation
in a final
so that he laughs
so that he smiles
and so maybe the grader
will forget
that i maybe kinda
accidentally!
missed three
slides of my poem
but it doesn't matter because  
he smiled
so i can take
the laughter of the others
the murmurs after
there will be no embarrassment
i just won the gold
in the Olympics of life
or of today
take your pick

Sharp nose,
just a hint of
his wide open smile
in the screen light
maybe its unromantic
maybe its just plain weird
but his profile in the screen light
was one of the most beautiful things
I've ever held sight of
as if the real him
was coming out
and
only
i
could see it
but it burned me
his face in the screen light
it hurt me
that profile basked in blue light
simply
because
it scares me.

why are so many things so tempting?
why do people let their hearts rule their hands
rule their mouths
rule their minds
why do I?
I can't control my hands, my words my mind
the seduction is there
every step of the time
the rules the lines they all become blurred
and all my thoughts just whirl and stir
a cesspit of temptation
to do things I shouldn't
to do things that would hurt others but make life easier,
to disobey the rules
I've followed my entire life
don't spend too much time reading and study instead
the seduction is there
pulling along
changing my ways
making everyday a little harder
but
a little bit better
a cruel mistress with  
the best
of intentions

hiccups are such a silly sound
a stomach tumbling bumbling sound
a sound full of childhood
and wistful memories
they tell the story of days gone by
of teddy bears and cookie crumbs
when it was just you and I
but now the crayons washed off the walls, the toys put away,
the lullabies sung
but we all still have hiccups
the hic hic of hap
hic
iness

people always name me
label me
for my season
a petty qualm
a minor annoyance
but annoying all the same
hey spring! they yell, like that makes them clever
hello winter, they crow
like I haven't heard it all before
sometimes I just want to scream
my name is Autumn
not winter
not spring
not summer
Autumn

is it ironic
to spew poetry
about poems?
to inscribe words about inscribing words?
well, if it is, then so be it
for poems and the air around
me, every word I write
every scene I breathe
could potentially become a poem
a lyrical transformation
of the everyday into
something never scene, written, never had
being
before
I typed it up
hands freezing on the keyboard.
waiting hopelessly for the next poem to show
on the feed
that means
so much
to me

as a child
no one ever could believe my favorite color
could
be
light.
to be precise
the morning light on a cloudy day
the deep light dove gray
of the sun behind the clouds
yellow, they could believe
gold,
they loved the sheen
but not gray.
gray was plain boring,
simply too gray
I was told to pick another
pick another?
was it so preposterous that
I loved the color that
was to oft left behind?
they told me to be a normal child
and enjoy the random reds
the mediocre blues
the grassy greens
but it will always be that light
shade
of
gray
for me.

when he touches my hand
his cold
cold hand
I smile
he smiles, perplexed
asks me why
I say
a cold hand means a warm heart
I always presumed
and now I know
that
fact
is true for you

sometimes I think
that I really need makeup
to hide me from myself
when I look in the mirror
all I see is my bad
personality
brought to life
small eyes, full of lies
full lips, I'm a *****
my mother likes to say that
I don't need makeup, that I have a nice face
but that doesn't explain away
the facts
because girls snicker at me,
boys call me crazy behind my back,
that my father calls me fat
because "he loves me
and
is
trying
to
help"
so maybe the one, two, three layers of slick and color and shine
will bar the anger and wrongness
and lack of reason or rhyme.
maybe one day i'll have the courage to wash all the makeup
away.
maybe one day

people seem to move their lips
but
nothing
ever
comes out.
well, that's not exactly true.
words escape
like dead leaves
in a windstorm
but like leaves
they
flutter
and flurry
useless things.

a pretty painted kissable lip
tempts
no one
when the words it drops like bombs
explode
killing
the life
it
envied

When I was younger, I saw life
As white houses in neat rows
I loved the chrome, the steel, the metal dreams
The feel of sand and dirt and seams
There was only the meadow, the machine, and me

Now everydays an endless stream
Of cigarettes and magazines
I’m trying my best to be just like them-
A sad sirens song with red lipstick on
A ******* kicker, with a heroine heart

They say I’m dangerous because I don’t know what I want
They say I f@cked my way to the top.
Well we all mourn atop skyscrapers
As they clamor for judgment day
But I’m not afraid of dying
When the words of prophets are written on the subway walls
And the good crawl down to tenement halls

They sing for fame, liquor, love, scream give it to me
Because I thought I was sitting pretty on the throne of metal steel and chrome
Fools, I say, you do not know
That all I want now is to be left alone

So I sit up at night talking to the moon
Becoming so lost its like I never existed in the first place
Listening to the fabulous clockwork of heart and lungs
Listening to all heart’s dints and machinations
Made of metal and tears and chrome


I was lovely once, marred forever by a pair of (heart shaped glasses)
The foulmouthed flower of bohemia
Moonshine, take me to the stars tonight
While I’m not afraid to live fast and die young
Among the whispering , the champagne and stars

Angry yet, half in love
With death in the cooling twilight
Singing an arsonists lullabye with the workers in songs
For I stumbled into trouble, got my makeup on
A red lipstick sirens sad song
Of metal, steel, and chrome

Its real hard to be free when you are bought and sold
And only money makes you smile
They tell me I did it but we blew it
They say I’m too young to worry ‘bout burning out
So come on, let me bite the bullet now

I’m stuck in the landscape, the loveclub
I'll save you a seat next to me down below
This heights messing with my head
The ground calling to me
Like something out a dream
I’m scared to jump but terrified to stay
And this way I’ll never, feel no pain.

my boy builds coffins, don't ya know
of metal, steel, tears, and chrome