Some things in life are free, some things will take a banana from your chest drawers.
However many miles a road is that men walk down must,
at the end I hope there is a crew of construction workers
that all they really need is ice cream with chocolate syrup, all they’ve ever needed.  
They realize the waves of sound in the air are made out of ice cream
and the swinging of their arm splays out chocolate syrup like rainbows.  
This would happen in the latent way that apples happen, sprouting slowly from the root
and the secret’s on the inside blooming with a star
but meanwhile forming a hide that’s either crisp or chewy.

Biting down on air is a maddening sensation
and the upper and lower jaw blame each other;
contact every time is a betrayal.
They have no one else to blame but whom they meet on the other side of the empty room.
My jaw speaks and clicks in jerks. I do not understand but it is ok.
I like to be a woman of mystery.
I like to be a woman of mystery even when I can’t understand myself;
it is ok.

I remember you like accidental
photographs: sun flare, skin,
the tops of trees. Knees. Your shirt-
sleeves in a dove grey breeze. (I arrange
the photos like a slow striptease.)

I can overhear myself relating to an older brother the eerie feeling I had when jogging past an abandoned shoe factory.  I am more nervous than I think I am and can sense brother’s multilayered disappointment in all things prime.  it’s my stutter surprises me the most.  as if it knows, beforehand, things will never be the same.  once a coward, once is enough.  born in a place that feared me.

Somewhere in the middle of a ceaseless rain's drum
That led to your forehead smoothed under my thumb
And shivering stopped by a single warm hug
I felt (for an instant) the depth of our love

I see your heartbeat in every man
and I can hear your mind
even though you hide
behind the sun.
You disappear
into places of mystery    
where you survive
inside your fun.

You see yourself
as the lost make believe
and leave no room for reality
to ever be the same.
All those bridges you are burning
have you drowning
inside of your
own shame.

You want to vanish
into a spiraling truth
and be heard
by your feelings
while reaching out.  
There is no such thing as honor
when sitting on a velvet seat
where you only shout.

Your tears will soon pass
when you think
of the anticipation
of the dreams you had
in your cradle.  
Harmony breathes in a quiet breath
lasts forever
if it is able.

I subside on the constants
in waves and meters.

three am or pm:
one in the same.

apathy begets
apathy
in a circular swirl.

I remain insaitable
in my thirst for fluidity;
I foam at my breaks.

I remain solid;
jaw jutting against liquidity.

despite my pacifism,
I still cannot dissolve.

Hey guys!

This isn't really a poem, more like a message to all of you. I've been on this site for a while now, and I've never felt liked my writing really meant anything until I started writing here. You guys have really encouraged and inspired me so much.

Anyways, in my language arts class we have this project.

We have to put together a book of poetry that represents us.  I would like to use you guys in it. You guys are the most talented poets I know,  and I would be honored to be able to use your poetry in my book. If you'd be okay with me using your poetry, please let me know! Part of the project is also to include a bio of the writer. So if I use your poem(s), I need a little short paragraph about you. What you like, what you do, things like that. So.. yeah, thats pretty much it. I am really excited to hear back from you!
Thanks a million,
MJ