Sunday morning monologues
Front row fixtures
Dreamy papercup dialogues
And cracked tile constellations.

It's safe inside these walls
Safe, they scream, safe
And behind my smiles and uplifted hands is
My never ending unease.

Sunday morning monologues
Front row fakes
Sunshine maple tree jogs
And stained tile motivations.

I could stand up
Leave those lyrics running
Walk out
And never come back.

Or take to the mic
And scream every last
One of my insecurities
To the whole dang world.

But I'll never
Do either.

Sunday morning monologues
And front row blanks.

i've been
showering on
sunday mornings
at ten thirty

(for my whole
life i've always
showered on
saturday nights)

but it kind of
helps to dim this
morose veil of
rainy silence

(it doesn't
actually
but i convince
myself that it does)

and i'm kind of
hoping that
sunday showers will
bring monday flowers

but i've seen a
saturday storm or two
and i know what a
friday flood looks like

tuesday torrents aren't so bad
after all and a thursday
thunderstorm is about the
same as a wednesday watered-down

but a sunday shower?
i've never seen a
monday flower
come from a hurricane.

i had a houseful
of old friends
milling around
a lakeside town

their summer was
my half of a winter
and they spoke things
that i believed in
but had absolutely
no reason to say.

they were
alive to me
more alive
than anything else.

i don't know where
they went
trapped somewhere
inside a screen
buried alive under
my own problems

are they still
sleeping
in a graveyard?

or is she in jail
and is he seeing
someone else?

they were my
friends
just pieces of
fiction

and i'm hoping
that somewhere
inside me he's still
strumming a
ukulele and she's
standing on the side
of a waterfall and
looking down
i hope they're
alive and well

(knowing them
he's probably
sad but fine and
she's probably
just as crazy as
when i left her.)

but i don't know
i can't promise anything

i lost them
and i lost who
i was when i was
with them.

take me back
a year
take me
ridgeside

i can only promise
one thing

that i haven't
forgotten you.

We tap-danced in Target
Skipping up and down with
Doublemint and Milky Ways
Twizzlers and the bittersweet chocolate waltzes.

We crouched in the corner
Not to shoplift, just to talk
Exchanging philosophy with paper towels
And lead the paper plates through secrets.

We walked on cracked sidewalks
Chipped with the dubious glances of fate
How many feet have wandered these streets
And how few have really seen?

We sat in the backseat
As the brownish gray fields rushed by
The setting sun stayed suspended in the sky
Burning up the tired atmosphere.

We drank mixed lemonade in chilled, clinking cups
Front porch step afternoons
Frosted glasses drained of sugary pink
Summer expectations.

When I wished innocently in February on
One cold night saturated in body spray
For friendship to be free
I had no idea how lovely life could be.

i've been thinking about
a second tattoo

this time
across my forehead

I KNOW I'M NOT
GOOD ENOUGH
SO DON'T *******
REMIND ME

and every time you
started talking at me

i'd point one *******
to my face and then to yours

but somehow i don't
think you'd notice

sometimes to
move forward
you have to
look back

i looked back
revisited
the past
all my old
thoughts
chronologically

it would appear
i've been writing down
in line breaks and stanzas
the godforsaken
dramatic **** in my head
and calling it poetry
for a solid
ten years now

ten?
really, ten?

yet i checked
and last year
i wrote exactly
four poems
the year before
six.

ten?
only ten?

and this is the
fourth for
this year
and i know
because i can feel
the words i didn't
allow myself
still rattling around

i need
to get
them
out

a set of maracas
constant cha cha
in the background
trying to pinpoint
the moment of
nostalgia

i can feel it
it was
definitely
ten

i can't salsa
dance to
my own
failure

so here i am
and i'm wondering
what if
i tried

one
just one

poem a day
it doesn't have to
be like this it can be
freeform
it can be
proper
it can be
anything

ten to one
leave the
half dozen
to the others

it just needs to
be

i just need to
be

can i commit
myself to
one
until the end of the year?

it's not that
i'm not sincere
it's that i don't
know how to
convey that i
actually care

(what a complex
color scheme
so bright and
busy on the mind
i can feel your eyes
picking it apart)

because i've
worked hard
to look like
i don't
worked hard to pretend
i don't need you to care

(and how my words
start looking
unconventional
formulated to seem
like something i
never was)

i wasn't
not really
it was just the
here's the thing
how do i say
tired?

(i don't think i'll
ever see you again
and i don't feel as old
as the others seemed)

i'm grateful
for your gifts
and kind words
i really am

(i cashed your checks
months before
hitting the post office
go ahead and
call me a
heartless *****)

just know that
i haven't
spent a single
cent of it

it's sitting in
my checking
account just
waiting and
wondering how
much of
my hospital bill
it will cover

(but if there's anything i can't
do that's blame you for wanting to
contribute to the side of my
personality that you never knew)

please put your money
where your intentions are
and you know what they say
about good intentions

(that the road to hades
is paved with them)

but they never did
mention which one
of us was heading
towards hell.

i may never have
spain or france
but i’ll always have
this

sun bleached
pavement of rt 89
that crawls its way
through tiny towns
over hills
and around
haze kissed
blue water

a tickle
of crisp
cider

wine
swirling
splashing

it all pools together
in my head
terms and types and
flavors

spontaneously fermented
ambient yeast

funky orange wine
geodesic concrete

ducks and geese
and state regulations

i want to take notes
pour drops on
the page
absorb every
milliliter of
information

hold it in my hand
and squeeze
until streams of
honey and pear
citrus and ginger
and every other
golden
unattainable ideal
run through
my hands

until the cold weather climate
native pink catawba
fermenting inside me
turns into something more
than the sum of its
component parts

saying i want it
doesn’t even begin
to cover it
it’s not just want

it's an ache
and the
ache is lust
impure and sticky
trapping itself between
my fingers

the ache is greed
green and trailing
the ache is desire
blue and rolling
the ache is passion
blood red and dripping

the ache
sinks itself
into my skull
like a nail

the antidote
is the very
thing that
caused it

pain and comfort
are both the same
and they come
in an opaque bottle
with a label that says
"made in new york"

so was i
and when i die
i hope i come back
as a cat
on an old man’s
patio or the echo in
a cavernously empty
tasting room

the sediment in
the bottom of your glass
the urge to try
something new

i don’t know what
my future holds
but i know
i’ll always have

this moment
moss on rocks that
have never had a
chance to dry out
water pouring out
of a pipe
in the side of a hill
into my insulated cup
the coldest
purest
most delicious
beverage my
this day
has to offer

i don’t know what
my future holds
but something tells me
i’ll be okay

and i may not have
spain or france
but i’ll always have
today

I sat in the silence of a
Room eight times larger than I know
And I absorbed the six hundred
Empty chairs.

And I wrapped myself in
Miles of white fabric
And learned the feeling of
Sitting on an escalator.

The clean lines and plate-glass sunshine
Of Hermes's aqueduct
A secret passage everyone knows
You cannot fade into floral carpet.

It is a jaunty expression
To consume a length of sub sandwich
While strolling down an ally
Aware you may get mugged.

And over the years I have begun
To believe that teenage girls
Should not have camera phones
With their sneaky minds.

Somewhere along the line I learned
How to think, that silence
Is a virtue and precisely the best
Way to be alone.

I will never forget
The chandeliers of
Trapped Christmas lights
Painted in a warm glow.

Hook your arm in mine to
Stroll upon this concrete
And we will share this half
Gallon of lukewarm milk.

Let's say
Hypothetically
Someone was
Keeping score
And I had a
Perfect
Unsurpassed
Record.

In that case
There would be
Three hundred and twelve
Pieces of paper
Somewhere
In my house with
Five to thirteen lines of
Text on each of them.

And then suppose
Five and thirteen averaged
Out to somewhere between
Seven and eight.

Then do the math
And tell me what seven or eight
Times three hundred and twelve is
And then think about how
For each line of text on each
Sheet of paper
There is another
Sheet of paper in some
Binder somewhere
Or a pile in the righthand
Corner of my room.

And remember
I'm just one person.

And then think
About the butterfly effect.

Do you know
What happens
In the mail room
When you're not around?

Do you know
Who uses the copier
In the dead of night
Or the morning dawn?

Do you know
Where we go
When we
Die?

Or even
Why we're
All alive
To begin with?

It's sure
As hell

(Or should I say
As unsure as hell
Because no one can
Agree on anything
Even a universal a
Concept as hell)

That we're not living
To make paper
To print out our
Personal whims on.

And then think
About the butterfly effect.

i'm cold
and damply
drowning in
all these
blackish
tones and tunes.

it's hard
to find
a song to
err on the
side of
brighter hues.

especially
when i'm so
frostily
submerged
in these
tonal blues.

i love new cds
the crinkle of sliding
plastic wrap off
how it feels to remove
the security label
in two tries or less

to see my eyes on
the backs of songs
crystal clear and
iridescent

(too new to be vintage
too old to be cool)

how smooth a brand
new jewel case feels
and a booklet before
fingerprints

but then again i love
finding them secondhand
a little smeared and
pages crinkled

how a brand new
album is a blank
slate for me to write
my memories on
and when the plastic
cracks and the music
plays on it all just proves
that together we lived

(hoping and praying we didn't get
scratched to the point of no return)

i was born in
the fall of a fleeting
shimmering silver age
the hybrid time
between analogue
for the common man
and digitization
of the masses

my childhood
when these things
were still fragile
expensive
slipping into
adulthood and
falling into
feeling obsolete

*(i am the last remaining
child of the compact disc)

there are thousands of things
i want to say and i can't
find even one way
to say one thing

so sometimes i tamp
them down and mix
them with syrupy sweet
sludge in my mug

and other times i remember
bits and pieces of them and
write them on scraps of paper
and abandon them

lost and found
whatever is shoved
into the bottom of that
cardboard box

was only lost
never found

nobody knows where
they come from or
where they will go
after the lost and found

lost and found
waiting
the miscellaneous
and i

is this
the new normal?

yelling fights
drunkenly spilt
words that never
should have been said

crying myself
to sleep for
the third
night in a row

feeling alone
surrounded
by my
best friends

helpless
and lost
confused
and rejected

is this
the new normal?

i want to believe
this is temporary
that our tears of
anger will turn to
tears of laughter
soon enough

that i’ll fall asleep
and wake up
every morning
by your side
and won’t spend the
whole night tossing
and turning with
anxiety ridden possibilities

but maybe this
is the new normal

this is
what we
all wanted

this is
the goal we
worked towards

but miserable
is not where
any of us thought
we would be

and i knew
it would be hard
but i never thought
it would be this hard

i’ve gone through
rough patches
fought my way through
muddy swamps and
thick vines with sharp
thorns that ripped my skin

but always because
i was left there
never before because
i walked myself into it

but is this
the new normal?

pushing you away
because holding you
just reminds me
you still have to leave

i’m tired
of this

all i want is
a kiss that
isn’t given to
say goodbye

all i want is this
nightmare to end
and a new normal that
doesn’t feel like a mistake

this is what
we all wanted

but i thought
i was stronger than
the hard times
and here i am
all my resolve gone
cold and brittle
and i’m cracking
under pressure

all i want is to
take care of myself
without help
from anyone else

you held me close
and promised you would
take care of me until
i could take care of myself

but i’ve never known
any kind of tape or net
that could stop
a landslide from falling

if this is the new normal
i’ve started to wonder
what was so bad
with the old one

Clocks tick
Seconds slip
By.

Leaves fall
Babies crawl
Kisses end
Branches bend
And break as
Hearts ache.

We'll forget, forgive
Move on
But stay in once place and
Hurt to fill empty space.

And still the
Ceaseless passage continues
Of the monolith called
Time.

Clocks tick
Years slip
By
Don't live your life
In regret
Don't be afraid
To forget.

they will not always
agree with you and
they will not always say
what you want to hear

they'll hate and they'll
love right alongside
where the lines of right
and wrong don't blur

but at the end of the day
if they stick around
they'll stick around
through hell and back

and you'll know you have
an ally steering your back
with one *******
offered to those behind you

and until you've had a
judgemental friend
you will never know
how comforting that is.

When you cracked
The sky cracked, too.

And all the feelings
I had tried so hard to
Get past
Fell through the shattered atmosphere.

And in the chapel
Bathed in fragile glass light
The coffee was well-disguised
But bitter, like you.

And the hard bench and off
White wall
Reminded me well of
A home no longer mine
Reminded me well
We all have demons.

When you cracked
The sky cracked, too.

i'm not showering any
more frequently than
i typically do

but every time i step in
that bathtub i swear
a whole day goes by

the water falling
turns into soft
concrete

and the drain
stops up and
i'm standing

ankle deep in
a brand new
sidewalk

soap suds running down
my legs and pooling
upon an unwalked path

and heaven only knows
how long before it all cracks
and i'm free.

i miss the way
coffee used to taste

i used to take the dregs
at the end of the morning
*** and pour them into a
steel tumbler

mix in handfuls of
refined white sugar
to fight the bitter
flavor i had not yet
learned to accept

then it went into a large
glass receptacle with
terminally stained
interior corners

mixed with milk until
pale and creamy
left to sit in the fridge
for a week

drunk from shimmering
crystalline glasses at
any hour of day or night
because consequences
didn't matter to me

my summer coffee tastes
different now
not so watered down
and drunk early
from plastic cups
through straws that crack

just because
it's there, not
because i took
the time to make it

and i miss something a lot deeper
than the way my coffee used to taste
but i cannot for the life of me
remember what it is

let me tell you a story
about a girl and a pie
the boy doesn't enter
until the next stanza.

she made this boy a pie one fall
suggesting the possibility of
a romance with commitment
as short lived as her flakey crust.

he took it the opposite way
that their love was as deep as her
smooth pumpkin filling
and married her on the spot.

the term is spiral
but it's more a
plummet, a drop
on a rollercoaster

a downward spiral
sounds like a waterslide
all smooth splashes
bubbles of laughter

but it's more like
the cutoff when your
heart jumps out of the
hole in your stomach
just hold your
hands up and scream

when some get sad
you spiral slowly
things pile up and
they slip and slide

when i get sad it's
freefall but i guess
i'm used to
bumps on rides

but it's all in the
way we fall

taylor swift sounds
petty and vindictive
until someone hurts you
and then suddenly
she takes the words
right out of your mouth

there are mean
people and then
there are people you trust
and one day you
realize they’re
the meanest ones of all

the mean ones
don’t bother me
it’s the other ones
that do

i just want
to be big enough
strong enough
that they can’t
hurt me
anymore

to shake it off
as it hits me
not to let it
crush me

because if anything
takes energy
i don’t have to spare
it’s being hurt

but hurt me
you do
even as you
seek my love
and forgiveness you
still manage to dig
sharp little barbs
into my skin

don’t you dare
tell me what
i’m thinking
don’t you dare
tell me what
i’m feeling

and most of all
don’t you dare
tell me how
i should be living
how i should
be dealing with
things i would like to
leave in my bad memories

but if taylor swift reminds me
of any one thing it’s that
you will probably
never change

and i just have to
roll with the punches
let ******* be *******
and never stop hustling

my brain is controlled
by two halves

one half is a
pink stuffed
easter bunny
bought on sale the
tuesday after
with big glassy eyes
that don’t see
and a slightly crooked
smile that doesn’t
let the emotions through

and the other half
is a bearded dragon
all spikes and scales
it flicks its tongue
at the pink bunny
and seems to imply

“go go go
move!
keep doing
something!”

the rabbit stares
into the distance

the bearded dragon
continues standing
neck prickles twitching
desperate to make
something happen
and yet he cannot
convey this urgency
to the pink bunny

who only exists
to be held
and to sit quietly
with only his
thoughts for
company

and so the silent
struggle for
action remains
silently and
unaffected by
either party’s action

or lack
thereof

and that’s the
two halves of
my brain and how
they work together

apathetic and
yet neurotic
depressed and
yet still anxious

did you hear
the news?
they've
discontinued
mornings

now all we have
is nights
stretched out
too late and
the worst coffee
you've ever tasted.

(put on your
warpaint
or just your
eyeliner
nobody is actually
looking)

now we're all
s c r e a m i n g
before the sun
has even risen.

they've
discontinued
mornings
how does that
make you feel?

(it makes me feel
like absolute ****)

error
error
caffeine
not found

pile your
triangles and
terror into a
text box

the margins are
glaring
your coworkers
sleeping

error
error
**mornings are
discontinued

how to ride a bike
(that was dad's department)
how to double knot my shoe laces
how to make my bed
how to play scrabble
how to keep a house clean
how to cook
how to bake
how to drive
(still dad's department)

how to exist without caring
about others' opinions
how to not burden everyone
else with your troubles

how to throw a punch
(only how to take one
and complain instead
of fighting back)

how to treat your body
with respect and when
you don't like someone else's
to keep your mouth shut

how to keep your chin up
when you're down
how when you don't like
something you do it anyway

to only accept criticism
from those you would
go to for advice
and that giving someone
the benefit of the doubt only
benefits the giver's conscience

how even words
that mean well
can cut directly
into a person's soul
and leave them
bleeding for decades

a work ethic
a good attitude
how to rely on yourself
and yourself alone
for anything and everything
but especially money

my brother taught me
bunny ears for my sneakers
my pastor's wife taught me
not to pack down flour in a cup
my first job taught me
how to clean a kitchen
my boyfriend taught me
how to make gravy
my boss taught me
you show up even when
you're sick and tired
and don't want to be there
my best friend taught me
positivity is never wasted
but i still sleep with
lumps of blankets in my bed

the numbers in my
bank account
the food on my
dining room table
and the people i made
a decision to love all
let me know
i'm self sufficient now
but my mother still
winds her way through
my subconscious whining
that i still need her

and i'll spend the rest
of my life trying
to unlearn the things that
my mother never taught me

this isn't
a suicide note
i don't need
to write one

i already have
if you piece
together all
the words scattered
throughout poems
and journal entries
nobody reads and
that i rarely write

if you struggle
through first
and second drafts
you'll see the parts
of myself i don't talk
about and shadows
of people that i
cared about

if you did
all that
you would
begin to see
it's written in
between lyrics
and under
layers of scars

so this isn't
a suicide note
just a memo
that i've been
writing one for
my whole life.

Some nights
I pick up my pencil
Open up my book
And the words flow
Like water, calm, cool
Smoothly winding, bitter wine
Sweet golden honey emotions.

Some nights
I can't quite
Gather up my thoughts
Churning out slowly
Stilted memories
Like a faraway, distantly sparkling party.

Some nights
I sharpen said pencil to a needle-point
Flip through the book
Reread old thoughts
Stare at the last page
Glaring, sad, blank
And have no thoughts to fill it with.

head for
the jeeps

i'm scrambling and
crawling through
bushes over the
sand dunes

head for
the jeeps

just in front of me
a potato masher
detonates and both
the jeeps explode

head for
the jeeps and
if you don't
make it try
for the half
track on the hill

but before i
reach the half
track they've got
me surrounded

and i'm alone
with the enemy

in war there
are only winners
losers
and prisoners.

i don't feel very
whole these days

that specific sticky
dusty feeling all over
my palms neck tilted
sideways running the
tips of my fingers down
rows of plastic cases

"oh are you over
there looking at
music again?" you
sigh but it's not
the kind of reproach
i need to defend
myself against because
you know i always do it

and i don't think you
really mind how long
i take because once in
awhile i'll find one that
you like or that i'm so
excited over you can't complain

and then we wander
through rows of
scratched dressers
winding our way
around old doors and
molding strips that had
a better life once
chairs and desks
dinette sets and hutches
a little bit of this
a little bit of that
a little bit of something special

laughing over
strange items
ugly clothing
even art pieces

and for an hour or
two i can feel the
stuffy secondhand air
between us clear

we usually don't
buy anything or if
we do it's not much
because neither of us
happen to have very
much extra cash

but once in awhile we'll
find a fifty cent mug
potato coasters
a solid wood end table
or a nice cd rack
a piece of someone else's past

and i'll load the
furniture into
the van if you let
me keep the change

i like thrifting
because looking at
items with unknown
history puts the
present into
perspective

gives us a reason
to go out something
to laugh about over
the dinner table

to agree about how
nice that cabinet is
or to disagree about
how ugly wicker is
instead of what
the other is feeling

because everything
is subjective whether
it's trash or treasure whether
it's mine or the next person's

and i don't feel very
whole these days
but on the other hand
i'm not yet in
the attic of the salvage
shop on the corner
and neither is
our relationship

I have a
Legacy.

Old Christmas lights
Vinyl siding
Rusted bicycles sprawled
On thumbnail lawns.

Two a.m cigarettes
On wooden porches
Scaffolding to store
Gasoline cans under.

I have a
Legacy.

"You were raised in
A trailer park."

But wasn't I?
Wasn't it the truth?

I have a
Legacy
A life that I
Escaped.

Thumbnail lawns can't
Compare to the life I got.

But not all will have
That kind of chance.

The preschoolers
Are perfectly
Lined up
All of them
Staring at me
Fear widening their eyes.

I'm just the
Ticket girl
Passing on their
Papers
Before they step through
The gate.

And I've been there
Too
Scared and
Alone
Reduced to a name and
Barcode
Rushed along by
Those taller than me.

The only difference
Between you and me
Is that I'm too
Old to cry.

But I can
Guarantee that in
Fourteen years
You will be
Just like me and
Your tiny
Hands will have
Painted nails and a
Clipboard
Clicking your pen
Counting the
Blonde heads
At your feet.

You'll be
A different barcode
And you'll be the
Ticket girl instead of me.

And when you get home
And your stud earrings
Have been removed
Will you still be
Nothing more than a
Slip of paper
The water vapor that clings
To the windows?

The same
Ticket girl
Hesitating
At the gate?

You and I
We're both the same
Thinking today
Might change everything
We must be somewhere
Now
And we've
Stalled
Hit a cleanly painted
White wall
And hidden ourselves
From stepping out.

From barcodes we come
To barcodes we return
Whether or not
We're tall
Enough to be the
Ticket girl.

lonely autumn nights
blisters and calluses
forming on my stiff
cold hands

(pure cotton
is forgiving of
hasty tendencies
or picky forms)

wrapped and wound
tightly around my fingers
every loop an attempt
at controlling chaos

(thinking about
how i'm not
an outcast and
i never was)

i'm the shoe in the pair
that is slightly too tight
on the one foot that's a
bit larger than the other

or the shirt that you
keep wearing for years
because it fits but you
don't really like it

i am the paint on your
windowframe that's just
fine except for the white
flecks it left on the glass

(i've never been
an outcast
i've always been
different?)

i don't like to say
i'm different because
we're all different
i was just different
enough to be a slight
nuisance or distraction

i apologize too much
for what's not my fault
and too little for what i
should take ownership of

*(something about my personality
maybe just misplaced anxiety
dictates that all things must be
stacked and aligned perfectly.)

i remember weeks
of nights i couldn't sleep
on air mattresses and
pull out couches

clutching a brand new
little black mp3 player
earbuds wrapped
around my neck

years and
years later

i'm still lying in bed
but it's broken now
and the music doesn't
play right anymore

(the tracks all
split and break
apart between the
cords and my ears)

and i remember the
night before my
graduation it just
wouldn't play in one ear

and the sounds weren't
coming through right and
i heard a brand new side of a
song i'd known my whole life

(a more raw and real
background track of
harmonization and
something sadder)

and it made me feel
better to know that
there are still unheard
layers to the familiar

that can only be
accessed through
time and the
broken parts.

(shhh dear skin you're
safe and smooth now)

cornstarch feet
toothpaste running
through my hair
listen to the vinegar hiss

(shhh dear skin you're
safe and smooth now)

petroleum based
insecurity wrapped in
a greasy old bandanna
the stuff of family feuds

(shhh dear skin you're
safe and smooth now)

i know that i often
feel about the size
of the proverbial
postage stamp

but every steamed up
monday night i try
to convince myself that
i'm safe in my own skin

(shhh dear skin you're
safe and sound now)*

go ahead
choke me
in your eyes
strangle me
tangled up in
unjust judgement

i'm always told
that i'm too
critical
but spend any time
under my nails
and you'll start
to realize why
i'm cynical.

Every morning as a
New day
But that doesn't mean the consequences
Of our actions are taken away.

Every night I'm
One day older
But that doesn't mean I have less of these
Burdens to shoulder.

Every afternoon is
One more chunk of trickling time
But wasted hours add up fast
Like millions are made of nickles and dimes.

Every single late
Night I spent awake
Could have been used
For society's sake.

Now and then and
Here and there
Are the seconds I surveyed
The ones of love to share.

my internal clock is
hard wired to get
up early on thursdays
but not this early

(i can't sleep but
then again i could
just sleep and sleep
and sleep)

and after i stumbled
into work at six sharp
i discovered at nine
that i never showed up

*(i'm tired of
being alone
tired of empty
tired of snow)

tomorrow is
sure to come

tomorrow is
sure to come

and if i were dead
instead of watching
this cold sun rise
it would still be rising

because time
marches on
with or
without me

and i'm holding on to
one last shred of hope
that i can hang onto
time by the skin of my teeth

because tomorrow
is sure to come
and i can come with it
or let it go on without me

*but tomorrow
is sure to come
with or
without me.

it's really too bad
that nicotine
leads to addiction

and it's too bad
that street drugs
cost so much

too bad that
alcohol isn't
given to minors

too bad that
i can't afford
to properly
destroy myself

too bad that
i've always
felt the need to.

it hurts
a sharp jabbing
pain in my
lower side
just above my
stomach

i only feel it
when i start
to think
too hard

it often aches
throughout the day
snakes downward and wraps
itself around my legs
squeezes my muscles
so tight i can’t sleep

the pain
screams
that i am not
good enough
that i never
have been and
never will be
good enough

there are purple
bags under my eyes
i keep them full
at all times

full of
what?

full of
words

words like
“no”
“can’t”
“want”
“practical”
“best”
“should”
“plan”

heav­y
words
that pull my
head down

so that i focus
on the floor
my own feet
and the thick
vine winding
up from the
ground trying
to choke me out

lately every
step has been hard
trying to pull
the roots up
so i can begin
to move forward

it’s slow
and the pain
and the words
make it slower

and i am tired
so tired
all i want is to
stop moving
just for a
bit to rest

afraid of
what i know
about myself
and how if i
pause and
slow down

my body will
come to a
complete halt
and more of those
dead weight words
might tumble out

words like
“wrong”
“want”
“work”
“will”
“can”
“happy”
“no”

until i am buried
under an avalanche
of double negatives
and wishful thinking

and still the pain
keeps on throbbing
as i keep swallowing
down my toxic words

i'm scared
to death

(it will be exactly three
months before christmas)

and i don't
want to
find myself
alone that
night and
fighting

(it hurts to even
think about it
because i'm still so
low it sounds okay)

but i don't want
to go anywhere
be with anyone
because there
are demons we
have to deck ourselves
and dates we
have to face alone

(on the other hand
who knows what might
happen if i were alone
i don't even know)

and i just wish that
none of this had
ever happened but
oh well it did

and now i have to
face the terrible
pain of seeing the
rest of the fall

(the chill in my
knuckles on
halloween
the pie dough
under my nails
thanksgiving day)

and into
winter

(tape scrapped
palms before
christmas
hot mugs of tea
for the rest of
eternity)

and on and
on for the
rest of time
and i don't
want the
rest of time

(i'd take the clock
off the wall and
crank the hands
around backwards
to give myself a
second chance but
denial won't help
anything at all.)

i've always hated
feeling trapped.

Honestly, it's hard to find
One who's soul matches yours
One who radiates light and honesty, when
Kindergarten is a decade behind.

It's hard to find someone who's not a
Superficial saying.

A relief, it is then, to have you.

Cups of coffee in the afternoon
Our strolls down leaflined sidewalks, on
Dreamy mornings it's good to have a
Friend, when true friends are hard to find
I know that I always have
Somebody, and I hope you always know you
Have somebody, too.

it's back
the urge to cry
gone only for
three short days

the lump
in my throat
my family thinks
i've got a cold
my coworkers think
it's allergies

but i'm lying just
trying not to cry

because crying makes
me feel weak and if
there's anything i can't
stand it's feeling powerless

i'm trying not to let
myself have emotions
trying to stay strong
trying not to scratch
at the wounds and
trying not to cry

but there aren't
many pills left
in the bottom of
the bottle and i
don't have refills
so i don't know
what i'll do
when i run out

trying
failing.

i swear
it was the longest night
of my life
and i've had a lot of long nights

i'm trying to forget
i'm trying to
i'm trying to
i'm try
i'm try
i'm
i'm
i'm

choking
suffocating
under favorite
blankets
and blanketing
thoughts

blank
mind goes
blank
free of everything
but panic
and wondering
where
my next
breath is
coming from

the last time
this blanket helped
but the last time
wasn't this bad

the walls i've stared at
for so long
have never looked
this way before

i'm trying to forget
trying to forget
i'm trying
trying
i'm
i'm
i'm
i'm

gasping
for air
but too tired
to bother

you held my hand
and promised
it would stop
i don't know
if it would have
if you hadn't said so

and when the storm
ended
you asked if i wanted
to talk about it

and i did
i swear
i wanted to
but i just couldn't
make the words
happen

i'd take you up
on that offer
the next time i happen
to be able to form a
coherent thought
outside of a poem

(which means
i'll probably
never
get around to it)

and you said not to
think about it too much
i believe you
i know you know
what you're
talking about

so i'm trying to forget
trying to
so i'm
forget
forget
forget
trying
trying
i'm try
i'm

remembering
every single
**** reason why
but all i want
is for it to
all go away.

nothing has changed
in years
at least not when i look
out the window and see
the same sunsets
i've been seeing every
night when i don't want
to be inside.

there are people
who were born looking
like poetry
pink toenails
swaying to some
soft song.

there are people
who were born looking
like music
hair flowing
feet dancing to some
wild jig.

there are people
who were born looking
like a painting
their skin
harmonizing to every
untamed color.

and then there are people
who were born looking
like trees
standing straight and tall
unbending
in the wind.

looking like trees
and feeling like
tumbleweeds
born to love and
leave before the
desert storm.

blowing their way
through life.

people looking like trees
and feeling like
tumbleweeds
tumbleweeds like me.

my cracked
toenails growing down
into the floor and twisting
for something to hold onto
my hair growing upwards
through the roof and
towards the late
afternoon sun
and my skin slowly separating
into layers of bark.

every
fiber
screaming
run.

a tumbleweed
born and formed
into a tree
no longer a sapling
too late to leave
too early to die.

go home all of you
and i'll be happy
alone in the dark
the only place where a
tree can truly be
a tumbleweed.

we had been mopping
the kitchen floor all day
and the dirt never
stopped coming back

and earlier we had sprayed
the entire front porch
down with the garden hose
and now it was still wet
which made it feel as if
it had recently rained when in fact
the grass was a crunchy
brown carpet of regrets.

the night before we had
drunk orange smoothies
laced with lime and something
aged sleek and dark

(i think it must have been
the reason we couldn't
sleep that night
lay awake in my parents bed
and i told you why i
wouldn't go swimming
until the sun rose
the dog barked
the birds screamed
their morning songs
and my body stopped its
nightly spasms of fear.)

and the next evening
we put on a miranda lambert song
(the one we drank to
in your mother's van last winter)
sat on the wet
porch swing
and cracked open
our first beers

they were
really bad
i gagged
because it tasted
like carbonated
banana bread with
too much stale
baking soda
and we poured half of them
into the flower beds

the next morning
was sunday
and we had milk and muffins
in the kitchen with
simon and garfunkel
then went back out to the porch
drank iced coffee in the
eleven o'clock sunlight
and you said
"if this were a normal sunday
i would have been up at six
at church by eight
and done teaching my first
sunday school class by ten."

(is beer as much
of an acquired taste
as coffee is?
because i can't ever
remember not liking it
i used to think it was
bitter but i always
liked it anyway.)

i didn't say anything
because i didn't want to
say what was on the tip
of my tongue
that this kind of sunday
had become my normalcy
and our variety of saturday night
no longer felt like underage
drinking and more like
the way i was meant to be.

Cracked sidewalks
Hopeful puddles
And the downtown umbrellas
Racing with the cars
In the rain of
Toasty libraries
You sat on the floor like always.

Downtown coffee shops
Roasted from the finest and most
Impertinent beans
Never forget the
Kind of damp days we
Spent together.

Sweeter now the cherries
Taste than before you
And somehow they'll always
Remind me of you
But life, our
Unforgotten years
Can always remember to
Keep you and yours alive, in our hearts, don't
Say goodbye.

when i look at my body
i have only ever seen
a topographical map of every
failure and self-loathing thought
that slowly destroyed it
neglected and broke it

but under your hands i
forget about all that and feel
flowers blooming from the cracks that
desolation left as your fingers and
kisses remind me that even crooked
trees still grow upwards and that

the most majestic of mountains
remain standing tall through time
uneffected by the scars and faults
that history left on stone

i've had a
good day

remembered
to water my
plants
drank two cups
of coffee
didn't feel the
irrepressible need to
scream at my family
drowned in a
stranger's spaghetti

(okay so maybe
i could have lived
without the whole
swimming through pasta
it starts to wrap around
and choke you after awhile)

found out that
apparently i'm
the nicest person
at work because
i'm the only one who
doesn't want to
throw karen out
the picture window

(i mean i do
i just don't admit it
because that
would be mean.)

i kept looking up
to the bells on the door
remembering yesterday
when i saw the face
of one of the dearest
ladies i've ever known

(i don't know if
she saw me)

and then for some
reason she turned
directly around and
rushed down the
front steps and
didn't come back in

maybe it wasn't her
maybe an emergency
but the question's
eating at me.

slipping back and forth
here and there
into the mindset that maybe
i owe it to them

(i don't want to go
anywhere on monday
nights but i don't
want to tell you that)

then hitting myself
in the head because
what have i been
saying so long?

i don't owe
anybody anything.

i've had a
good day
or a day
that wasn't bad

(just tied my
spine into knots
and i tried the
downward dog
but the dog
knocked me down)

so i'm not sure
why the veins in
my arms are aching
and the muscles
in my elbows
compressing

as if
even

like i'm not
brutally aware
that my wrists are
not currently
available for
extended slitting

so i don't
know why
they're so
upset

then again
i don't
know why
i'm so
upset
either

i mean
i've had
a good day
******.

sometimes i wrap your
jacket around
my pillow and bury my
face in it before i fall asleep

it smells like summer
in a hot kitchen after
long work shifts
sweaty and spicy

smells like the first night i
put my head on your chest
your arm went around my shoulder
and i could feel my heart
thudding out of my ribs
when you kissed me without warning

i panicked
and the next time you
asked before you
brushed your lips against
my cheek and then i felt
the stars flicker in my bones

i remember the day i
threw flour at you
for no reason
and you didn’t get
mad or anything just
kind of stared at me

the day i stuck a rose
in my teeth
declared myself a princess
and we went to the mall

the day i stole some alstra
from my mother’s yellow pitcher
put them in a tin can
and gave them to you

gerbera daisies
your hand in mine
it’s been a year
and i find myself
falling in love all
over again every week

with your smile
with the dimple
in your right cheek
your laugh
your hands
how good you
are to me
even when i don’t
deserve it
and how i never
know exactly
what you’re thinking up in
that blonde head of yours

of course you’re not
perfect but you’re
the closest **** thing
i’ve ever found to it

and i miss
last summer sometimes
the brand new flutter
in my stomach and
the crashing and
tripping over the side of the
big commercial sink and
into feelings

but i wouldn’t turn
back time for anything
and i hope i
never have to sleep
without you by my side
again after this month

i never wanted an
expensive champagne
twenty four karat
designer tag kind of love
and that’s never what
you wanted to give me

all i wanted
was you
and that’s what
you’ve given me

when i say
“i love you”
you say
“i know you do”

how good it is
to have someone
the safety of home
and adventure of living

to blow a kiss
and know you’ll catch it

to grab your hand
and know you’ll hold it

to love
and to be loved

you’re my
soft place to land
and i’ll be
your right hand

you’re the only
decision i ever made
the only chance
i was willing to take

and heaven forbid something
goes wrong but you’re the only
possible mistake that
i would be happy to make

it takes time
for love to spread
its roots and begin to grow
upwards and bloom
but i’m willing to
wait as long as it’s for you

and it hasn’t been
easy lately
i’ve put a lot
of tears into your
favorite hoodie
been hanging
into you for
dear life

but i have to believe
this won’t last forever
that you and me
are strong enough

i have to
believe in us

There's spotlights
And track lights
And ambient
Wall lights.

And my feet always feel
Closer to the ground in here.

Chairs and floors and
I am not getting anywhere.

Throbbing, my head, make
It stop, plug my
Ears and hide my face
In darkness.

Drumbeats, reverberating
Through the furniture, make it
Stop, just
TURN OFF THE NOISE.

I swear, I will keep
My back against this wall
Until something happens, and I
Swear, something will happen.

There's spotlights
And track lights
And ambivalent
Wall lights.