Sitting outside of Ulta,
A make up store.
Waiting for Brooklyn,
To get done borrowing
Some samples.
The lights in there,
They are very very bright,
And it makes me uncomfortable.
That's why I'm just waiting.
Out here, not in there.
When will I not be so
Ruled by my anxieties?

The thin cotton surrounds
your shivering body, falling
limply a little too high as you sleep.
Skin exposed:
soft as the hair above your neck, draping
over the quilt you lay
on top of.

I watch as a small twitch shocks
your fingers then moves
to your toes and nose, and disturbs
the gentle silence.

I crawl next to you, trying
not to wake
my beautiful sleeper,
because your dreams
are far too precious for them to end now.

how i forget to cherish
these little moments
of our togetherness;
making an early meal
of sauteed vegetables
and eggs, "froached"
like i used to call them
when i was your little
chef and would bring
you breakfast on
special occasions,
and sometimes on
sundays, just because
it was sunday and dad
didn't have to leave
for work long before
the crack of dawn
even set its alarm.

we'd all sit in bed
together, squished
into sharing a cozy
comfort, sandwiched
between you two
and my old buddy
gladly the bear who
still sits on your bed
upstairs in his pink-
and-green striped
shirt.

but then i guess
somewhere along
the way i grew up;
the move happened--
i didn't visit gladly
anymore, or you
for that matter.

today you asked
me to get the big
jar -- the carnation
                      (top)
jar, from the
shelf of the kitchen
   cabinet while i
    explained my
oddly convoluted
thought process,
and we talked
about how my
granddad danced
you down the aisle
to django on a whim
of a kooky family friend,
and how i finally
realized how little
i actually know of you--
but that's normal.

i might be growing
up now, and i
might not visit
that little bear
anymore, but
what i never
really told you,
or anyone,
is that i have
my own now,
a blue one who
used to be called
blueberry, renamed
as joseph stalin,
because i'm a
big boy now,
and my sense
of humor dried
out long ago.

i may not be
your little chef
anymore, but
i can still make
you breakfast,
and bring it
to your bed on
sundays, and
sit with gladly,
and quietly chat
until late morning
like we used to
(never) do.

Here,
there is a constant
Humming, a Buzzing(!), a
thump-thump-Thumping
of busy bees and machines
Buzzing, no
Bouncing to the
again(!) mechanical beat
of the electricity Running, no(!)
Flowing as
I.
Sit.
Here..Still.
Not quite moving
to the flow of electricity, no(!)
Beating Heart(!!!)
of the
city train stophasnostopping
as its people walk, no
Glide(!) through the crowded
Wide(!) open space,
neverstopping
neverhaulting
except to order a
five dollar cup of coffee
so they can continue running
to somewhere more important
than
here.

I was all "Hey dog, you like peanut butter?"
and she looked at me, with alert ears.

I was all "Hey dog, this jar is pretty much emp---"
and then i didn't have a jar or my hands anymore.

My dear, my love..
Were you sent from above?

I swear I saw you
Float down to the ground
And laid there until I found,
You in the midst of the night

Covered in moss,
Your eyes glossed,
And skin like thin glass

Hair as fine as silk,
Now filled with filth
And body smeared with ****

You cried and you shook
Wailing, with no intention to stop
Not saying what made you sob
You remain silent still to this day

And I just want to wipe your tears away

Your beauty is substantial,
Your mind so fine,
But you wont speak to me
So you can't be mine

Sleep is my escape.
My sweet temporary,
lost in  the imaginary,
ignoring the contemporary,

escape.

A love that I hate.
Because of this disease,
the twisted reality tease,
lost in the seven seas,

help me I pray,
continuously.
never-ending.

This is what I see
shades of the sky
sweet vista I crave,
but it fades
as I wake
Reality infects imagination,
soon it dies.

This is no place for a dreamer.

Seek your allies.
Many fight your battle, my dear.
They are not all far away, they are near.
This is war.
Because you listened to the mirror.

*But how do I find them?

each breath fills me to the brim like a
    pitcher of pure sunshine

   ribs
        e x p a n d i n g

                if I do break, it will be
            with the biggest smile on my face