when I was younger
I told only lies
I told myself if
I said something
that made it true
as If the words I etched
would morph my future, my past
into something I could
revel in, wait for

I told myself that
my mother was young
she was beautiful, ardent, honest
that making  bonds in a temporary family
was futile, useless
that she would be there

I never really thought about my father
I told myself that he didn't matter
somehow, the imagined bond
between me and my mother
took up most of my energy
but the spun sugar web
of half truths and full lies
grew more bitter as
I did

I refused
to see the acrid truth
my mother doesn't, couldn't love me
she's never met me
and apparently, she thought naming
the man who sired me
didn't matter either

my mothers mistakes run
bolting my blood in reality
enforced in my head
through constant warnings
of pregnancy, drug addiction
as if I will ever make her mistakes
no.
I'll make my own

I've built myself a palace of lies
and as I step past the threshold
I wonder, even as I wander forwards
if my new truth
is made out of the same material
I wonder if this new truth
is a lie disguised as forgiveness

Because maybe I've just moved rooms
and there's a ceiling of clear lies
holding me in
as I think I've found freedom

they tell me I'm made of dust
as though a slight gust
could ******* apart
As if the beating wasn't just my heart
but a maze of particles
infusing every article
dead and blown away

they tell me ill return to ashes
like i was made of ashes in the first place
like instead of thoughts it was just space
that your hand on my heart wasn't what kept it apace
but just science in the ashes
in the dust

sometimes asking is the hardest part
the shimmery tremors almost art
opening my mouth with no sound but silence
an act in itself of straight defiance
sometimes asking's the hardest part
as my wondering comes straight from the heart

Once upon a time
Lived a boy drenched in reason and rhyme
He culled the fields
A plow he yields
With a smile as soft as soil

But he heard the call to better things
away to rocks and stones that sing
Buried down in dirt and dust
Yields a bite of metal's rust
A smile as sharp as flint

The hand of death touched his soil
But through that barrage he twisted and toiled
But as he pleaded an escape from the grip of black
He knew that it would pull him back
And a set as solid as stone

Back to farm and yield he traveled
To see he life had unraveled
His green fields of corn and roan
Was all dark, and filled with stone
The green boy shadow stained

The boy had twisted and shouted
That the shadow of death should let him out
But in his haste to escape
He forgot the trace of blood and the deeper scrape
That was gunpowder and blood

He forgot to ask
He forgot the tasks
That had given him a soil smile
And in that lost guile
He forgot to ask the hand that gripped him
To wash itself of the shadow
Of blood and gunpowder

it bubbles and burns
the softness I yearn
leaves its mark inside me

its sweet and its raw
of earth, and claws
and fizzles deep inside me

flowers grow better
sunk in seltzer
poppies bloom inside me

petals caress
like a maid's wedding dress
up my throat, inside me

they say I'm in bloom
so I consume
the soda, now deep inside me.

life is an endless stream
of blue jean clad
millions
following the
wave
of others adorned the same
iconic
way
the american idolatry
of blue jeans
of classic
of sameness
of belonging
the blue denim ocean
crashes
on the edges of
the cliff
of what they don't understand

i pull away in the nick of time
right before he captures his lips with mine
he grabs my shoulders
my meekness making him bolder
and as i struggle he pulls me in closer
as if this changes the fact that this is part of an older
struggle for dominance
but aware of an audience
i shrug out of his violent embrace
as his angry fingers try to erase
my fear of his anger
my fear that he will linger
in this ferocious dispute
of me trying to escape you
bruises bloom as you glide your hand down my arm
as you make everyone forget with your charm
bruises bloom in my heart
as your words tear me apart
bruises bloom in my mind
as you blind
the ones that could mend
the bruises you tend
like a garden of blue green
roses

click
click click
the letters
mix
and stir
and whick
my thoughts
onto the glowing white page
the qwerty keyboards
calling my name
write me
it screams
and begs
and pleads
it tells me the clicks
will wash away
the feelings of another lost day
the clicks whisper of hidden things
that time will pass
that mindless thing
as i sit clicking and whicking
and stirring up thought
and laughing
and crying
all inside
as
my family lives their
lives
that i forget to take interest in
as they all respond to their clicks

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

Getting older
Doesn't mean I've grown up
My coming of age story
Won't be one that's read in English class.
Is adulthood a dramatic change
Or a series of small steps?
What defines me as a child
An adult
Will others one day examen my life, circle a section, and say,
Yes, this is where she had her coming of age.

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

Who would you be without words.
Without the innate ability to weild
A sharp and bitter taste
To be left without them
No more music no books no conversation no jokes no movies
You've lost the solace of words
You've lost the shield of language
You're losing it.
Even a dog recognizes it's name.
But soon you won't.
Who what when how
Its all words
Without them
What are you.

we talked once
through stalks of paper
book of trees
we glimpsed
pieces of hands
souls, eyes
as the books wavered and shook
in the still earthquake
of paper between us

i dreamed of a blanket
a park
sunlight dappled your face.
i dreamed of me and you
sharing the same space.
i dreamed of leaning in
a sweet second kiss
and laughing and turning
to the children i'd wished
i dreamed of touching the stubble
the glasses
and say
i love you
i love.. you
but i  woke up
and the dream faded away

i never think of death
well no, that's a lie
i do
but i think of small deaths
not sickness, not tragedy
like, breaking my neck or not watching my step
but if only the good die young
ill be around for a long  while yet

they say the earth
is made of elements
a whole table of them
actually
but how many times
do we
touch promethium
in our lives?
for everyday chemistry
between you and me
we need
a new table
one that starts with Hope
(H)  
then helping
(He)
then Lending
(L)
on and on
balancing
the equations of daily life
until we reach eqilibrium

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

Life is
*******
Expensive.
There's phone bills
Water bills
Transit books soap netflix toothpaste food rent
To buy
And it's a lot more
Than I was ever
Prepared for.

Anger doesn't come
          naturally
Sadness doesn't linger
         long
Fear fades
         with each passing day
As I hollow out
    the poisonous pieces
leaving a empty shell  of happiness

the flash of a camera
is a tumultuous thing
a blink of light
a subtle ring
behind your eyes
as you blink in surprise
shying away
from the flash of a moment to stay
immortalized on the tiny screen
no guessing however unforeseen
you pull your cheeks
you face feels tight
only the smile you chose when you saw the white
in the blinding vortex
of a camera light

friends are like

pebbles on a beach
sometimes the plain ones
are worth the most
but i've never been good
at the picking up the pebbles part
i worry i read into
i over compensate
i try to be chill
but i just act manic
because acting like
yourself
when you look in the mirror is hard enough, but with
real
live
actual people?
writing is easier
but my friends
the pebbles I've managed to keep in my pocket
are the smoothest
shiniest
flawed
exceptional
pebbles on the whole beach
and I've lost a few
picked up ones that weren't good
to me
as i was their pebble
but my friends are
the rocks
that keep me weighted
in the real world

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.

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

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.

eating hot food
is like a little
challenge
to swallow
before it burns your mouth
before the food wins
the struggle to avoid
my stomach
chew fast, mouth a bit open
******* air in and out
on short pants
but I win
GULP
down it goes
I can feel its warmth smoldering
in my belly

I always thought art had to be hard.
There had to be some deep inner struggle, some magical spiritual resonance
That gave art meaning

I thought love was about pomp and circumstance
That it had to be verbose, brash
I pined and flirted and thought I knew love
I knew nothing

I haven't changed much
I am a different shape but the same shade
I've found art in puddles, and love in myself
But I'm still learning
I'm sure I'll still write poetry
That's pompous and shallow
But now I'll know a little but more
About the pieces of myself

And maybe one day I'll figure out who I will be.

I write poems about love.
its the truth
look at my profile
usually its sad
angry
that he wont give me the time of day
that he wants our relationship to always stay
as friends
but the other day
a man confessed
and told me he loved me
and I shied away
unacknowledged
I was upset he put me
in
such an awkward position
but thinking back on the forward
confession
I must admit
my misconception
that I did the same thing
to get
over another
so maybe this boy
is just trying to get over me
but I cant forget it
I see it now
in every intonation
every stare
every touch
and it makes me uncomfortable
to be loved that much
because
I
cant
feel
the
same

they say that love never dies
could never curl and  bawl and cry
love is the purest of all emotions
even turbulent and torrid
it is pure, never horrid

but I'm tired of loving you
or seeing your jaw, you finger, your tooth
and feeling a rush of fear
that i will never escape from this anxious pit of unclear
good intentions and impure thoughts
so i do what i am taught

i slog through the love, the lust
the misplaced affections because i need, i must
be graced with one smile, a small glimpse
even if my feelings you already dismissed

i was going to tell you,  don't you know?
i was going to knock my feelings off their petty throne
i thought that maybe if i let it all out
i would not feel a gout
of excitement for the forbidden feelings

that maybe i could stop pealing
in laughter at the smallest thing
when i thought you weren't looking, as i watched you sing
that i would have the control of my buzzing desire
but now i refuse to fan the fire

my friends still egg me on.
Valentines Day is on Saturday, what could go wrong?
I've found that people are great at giving advice
when it wont affect them even once or twice

but they know that you know off my misplaced affection
you see it now in every inflection
she lied and told you behind my back
and then asked me to cut her some slack
when now that tenuous friendship we once had was broken

and i only ask you to give me a token
of admitting your silence
rings out louder
than any no

I told you today
in a round about way
that I loved you
I spilt secrets and feelings on that blessed white page
hoping it had been sage
to admit in finality that I love you
now I await
for your response post haste  
as you struggle to figure out my name
and my heart I try to tame
as it flutters and beats
at your chairs every squeak
and I pretend cool
as I curse that once again I let my heart rule
over logic and pride
I need to learn to smite
these whims of adrenaline
and fix my hearts painful regimen
of loving you

its the small things that
entice me to you
the way your glasses
kiss your cheekbones
the way you blush
when I cant
contain my stare
the way
your
voice is deeper than the pacific
and you are
as tall
as the leaning tower
I love how you
are scared of spiders
because I am too
I love that bone that gently emerges
when you
play violin
first chair
but that bone
entices me
almost as much as your smile
because you
fill the sum of your parts
with music

heat courses through
to
fills my face
as he shys away from my hand
an eyelash remains clinging to his cheek
i want to scream
shout
cry
how could i be so repulsive
to him?
what had i done
other than love him
to make him so uncomfortable
its not fair how
friendly he is
the smiles
the jokes
the lunches we spend together
hes not my best friend
so that stereotype has been
avoided
but now ill never get the chance
i see it behind his
light
eyes when he looks at me
he will always hold me
at a polite
friendly
distance
that hurts more than
being rejected,
this awkward limbo
i accidentally touch him so much, a normal friendly
brush
helping him open something
brushing his hand as i playfully take
his textbook
but he always gets the same look
desperate
awkward
uncomfortable
i'm not a *****
for loving you
goodness knows
an accidentally brush
wont affect you with
the disease that plagues me
i want to hate you for not touching me
but i can't
if love's a disease
then i'm
festering

a girl walked up to me one day
well, a young woman really
she said that she had something to say
and what she cried was sorry

i was shocked, surprised
for what? i queried
i don't remember any past transgressions
so it didn't lessen
my bewilderment when she smiled
and said
for everything

a couple years later she walked up to me again
and said lets share secrets and be friends
and one after another the words just flew
tales of love and *** and horror too

she sat beside me
as i drank in her words and similes
a silent laugh kindled inside me
as adults we are still little kids
as i replied to her reckless bid of
let's share secrets and be friends

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

I look(ed) in
the clouds
and search(ed) for dragons.

they dance(ed)
and love(ed)
and sang above me.

I laugh(ed) and cry(ied)
all night, and in day
I look(ed) for dragons.

Up, up up
up in the clouds I look(ed)
to where they say(id)
I can find my dragons.

but now I'm old(er0
and sad(der)
and i'm afraid

as I look(ed) up
that I've lost my dragons.

THE EARTH WAS STILL
AS IT SWIRLED AROUND ME
A HAZE OF ASH AND DREAMS
A BURN VICTIM OF AN UNREALIZED FANTASY
SCREAMING IN TWISTED EXCSTASY
AS MY FACES MELTED AND PETRIFIED
FROZEN FOR A LIFE ALIEN RECTIFIED
WITH A SHARP OBSIDIAN *****
TO DELIVER ME REMADE

HE SCRAWLED AND CLAWED HIS WAY TO ME
HIS WORLD ENTIRE, AS THOUGH I COULD SEE
MY LOVER ONCE DELAYED
BY GRIEF AND ASHES, A MISTAKEN AIDE
OF THE LOST GODSPOKE MEN

HE TOLD THEM TO LEAVE HIM DIRE
THAT HIS PASSION WOULD CARRY HIM THROUGH MUCK AND MIRE
FIERY INTO THE REALM ABANDONED CRIES
WRAPPED IN THE DUSTY ORGANZA LIES
HE SEEMED LIKE AN EYELESS CREATURE
BLUNDERING HIS WAY, A BLIND BEESHECHER  
SEARCHING FOR LOVE WHERE THERE WAS ONLY
A MAELSTROM OF LONGING

REBORN IN HIS GRAVE OF PROPHETS AND GRIEF
A SOLDIER SENT ONCE TO TEACH
THE FIRE SCORCHING AND TWISTING MY SHROUD
AS HIS WORLD WENT TUMBLING, BROKEN AND PROUD

TORN IN HIS WAKE OF GRACE
AND WHEN MY BODY HE FOUND ENCASED
IN GLASS, AS THOUGH A TRUE LOVE AWAITS
BUT WHAT HE COULD NOT ENKINDLE IN HIS HEART
WAS WHAT WOULD RIP THE GLASS APART
LOST IN OBSIDIAN IN ASH AND GLASS
A SHALLOW PRISON
OF LOSING AND LOVE AND
THE SPACE BETWEEN US

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

logical
Responsible
practical
make believe
that this is me
that these are qualities
who i am
in all honesty
the questions run
wild and free
make believe
that this is me
that that will ever be me
please
tell me who i am
because even I'm not sure anymore
is anyone
does any
single
one
know
other people
know
see
judge
what we push aside
what we pay no mind
can become who we are
in a blink of an eye
in a wayward sigh
becoming a lonely
make believe reality

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

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

whispers
giggle twirl today
meet me in the hallway
as we gather our books and pens the normal way
as though this happens every day
you smile in the happy little way
that seems to hold me as i say
meet me in the hallway

we meet like love isn't here to stay
as we collide in the hallway
people smile and look away
at our rendez-vous in the hallway
your lips meet mine, we kiss, you stare into my eyes as we sway
meeting in the hallway

i waited for this all day
anxious fluttering belly fae
i walk out, the noise around me coming to a haze
as i smile at you, unknown, in the hallway
as you hold out your hand for me, life seems a little less gray
because i held you in the hallway

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

I walk past the poor every day
The ones that ask me for money
For the change
That I hear jangling in my ears long after I walk away
Money comes to me like a slip of paper
A white page
Stateing times and dates and hours spent
In the pursuit of happiness
Because that's how I feel when I get my wage
Like the hours I spent didn’t just waste away.
The jingle of my work, my age
Is what I pour into that man’s cup
It might be fifty cents
But it’s really six minutes
It might be six minutes
But it’s part of what I earned with my time.
Money is a sense of safety
A paper cushion
In my back pocket
That protects me from them.
A buffer of light green
Silver, copper, gold
That speaks of books
And travel
And new worlds
So I pour my dreams into that man's cup.
Maybe I can share my dream with him
Maybe the money
Will help him
In a way that it helps me
Maybe he will feel safer, warmer,  happier
With my hopes jangling in his pocket.
It may be fifty cents.
But it was still money
My money
That isn’t gaining me anything
Except a lightness in my pocket
And a quiet evaluation of where it can take me.
Money controls me
Just as much as I control it.
As I tip the coins
As they fall
I can hear them
They keep me going for another six minutes, then another six, then another.
That fifty cents,
Screams at me
Power, effort, time.
I want to think that money is good
That the people who get it are
But I see how I spend
How he spends
How she spends
And I think that the dreams that money whispers are for adults
And maybe I have to truly be an adult to know
That it’s not what my money does to me, but what I do
To those without.
My coins get caressed in his hands
***** in a  way
That’s so  different than mine
God bless
He whispers, and I think of the coins
That have that
Exact
phrase stamped on them.
Money should be used in Thomas Jefferson’s say:
To promote happiness in a responsible way
Because the tail of the devil must be dipped in the stuff
The economics of everyday making decisions tough
I can feel the relief it gives me to part with the money
But I calculate the loss
The casual toss
Of the money,
The money
That represents so much
Good
And so much hope.

sometimes
its so easy to be manic
around you
to be nosy
and
annoying
but I thought that
maybe you saw
it as normal
like maybe it was obvious
in the way I look at you
that you are all I ever think about
that other boys
are just distractions
from you
but when prodded
you call me nosy and annoying
I never thought
I never dreamed
that all those hours we spent together
were a chore for you
all those messages we exchanged were
just
trying
to get me to leave you alone
I thought i'd be broken
be sad
lonely
a mess
when you rejected me with a
'lets be friends'
but now its worse
because
we were never friends
in
the first place

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

i feel the water pulling me down
drowning drowning in the lack of sound
i can see the moonlight shimmer
reflecting the weight of his voice’s timbre
i smile the water gushing between my teeth
never again will  i have to hear him speak
I see the halls and the turrets of the father
finding me finding me other places to wander
i see him talking to a crown of stone
the teeth eyes and lips mine alone
Pulling me down in the lack of sound
as in my love i start to drown

I was sitting on the car with my family the other day
Pink Floyd was on the radio
And we were discussing sadness and
Melancholy
When my mother said she didn't like to listen to sad music
I realized
That
Her
Sadness
Is
Just
As
Unique
As
Mine