I feel the last few spare hairs fall away from the crystallized tower on top of my scalp
as our adopted mother walks by
spitting smoke into the breeze
which is blowing away from us,
letting the words
"I do wish you could just kiss and make up"
spread along the outline of the fading smoke
coming from nowhere obvious
spurred on by nothing.
I hear the voice behind me agree
and I murmur my own agreement
but I see none of that when I look into the eyes of her eldest daughter
I see no chance of me rekindling anything
with the girl inside, cleaning the kitchen alone.
For the first time in three years
I see no love for me in her eyes
and I watch her hands pick up papers and ***** dishes
and realize that they will no longer be in mine
I see words hidden behind her eyes
but realize I will never hear them
as I run through the kitchen on my way to the bathroom
to expell from my bladder my attempt to caffeinate her away,
as I run through her house, my second home
and realize she hasn't even bothered to meet my eye today.
I look in the mirror at my hair
and smile wide, forgetting the tears that have been frozen in my eyes
since I realized that I had lost
the first person to find me
the first person to find out who I was,
so I smile as I look in the mirror and see someone completely different

I wonder
as I sit bathed in the half light from the lonely bulb left on in the kitchen,
the dog the only other person awake;
does she feel anything for me,
any bit of what I feel for her?
am I even a thought in her head before she falls asleep?
like she often is for me.
Am I anything to her?
She is the one I avoid writing about
for fear that she will see it, she this.
this is only the second poem I've written about her.
but, wherever you are at this moment,
I want you to know,
before I go to sleep
that tonight, like most nights
you will appear, even just momentarily in my thoughts before i fall asleep
The time I save for positive thoughts
and hopes for the future.
and that hope is simple:
that you're hoping that I'm thinking about you as I'm falling asleep

The rain would usually bother me
but today I'm tired
and sickness and intoxication are both wearing off
so each little droplet does nothing to phase me
from my half awake daydreaming state
staring into others faces,
just aware enough to turn when they turn.
Most days I would study each line-
the smiles, the wrinkles, the way their hair parts
just trying to understand each of them.
Today I'm looking just to look at something moving
so I don't look at the concrete
and fall asleep, bored.

The three other classes on this end of campus
are each let out early
and file through this bottleneck
quietly enough that I only notice the last few as they walk by.
She looks up from the ground and sees me.
Saying nothing, she smiles in a way that makes me wonder if she's looking past me,
I look, there's nothing there.
I smile back for a second, as well as I can.

Later I catch her smile again from a crowd in the hall.

I stop for a second,
not physically, I keep waking.
but, I keep my eyes there, smiling.
she's already looked away, so I don't worry.
It comes harder to me today- studying a face,
and her's is one I've never been able to figure out,
so I give up and keep walking.

Am I a friend to her,
or something more?
Am I what I wanted to be
years ago-
A thought in her head before she falls asleep?

Or am I just broken because I think this hard about a simple smile?

Somewhere in your lecture, you say
"you have addiction problems"

you don't know how right you are
but you don't know how strong I am.

I have fought pills, cough syrup
energy drinks and cutting
and you'll never know.

but I've won.

I may have addiction problems
but I ain't gonna let morning tea turn into one.
I trust myself more than you ever have
and that's what's helping me learn to love myself
and beat those addictions.

so drag me down all you want,
but all it's doing is helping me stand tall
(and showing me what I can defeat,
by getting me started in the first place)

half hour after midnight
and she says
"help, he loves me, and it's confusing me"
i try my hardest
but it was just yesterday
i left that note on her dresser
and i know she read it;
she didn't pretend like she didn't.
So
I'm crying
and shaking as i help.
then she says
"i'll just talk to you about it tomorrow"
and we say our good nights
and our see you tomorrows
and all that.
and i look back at my empty bed
still crying
and i don't stop,
can't stop
the tears just flow
and i can't stop shaking.
so i listen to sappy love songs
occasionally wiping my desk with kleenex.
an hour later i give up
and climb into my empty bed
still shaking
still crying
sometimes i wish she really knew
sometimes i wish someone did



©Brandon Webb
2012

I stumble into the dark house
holding a clothes basket and a backpack
and marvel at how strange it is to be back.
after two weeks in a warm place
my short-covered legs are cold enough
that i'm fearing mid-summer frostbite,
and in the quest to prevent that,
i see the small things i'd never notice-
everything vaccuumed, swept, mopped and washed,
all electronics- off,
my brothers room- clean,
mine- barren,
the heaters- dusted,
cobwebs- gone,
bathrooms rugs and towels- matching,
the mirror- clean of toothpaste splatter,
and the bathroom counter empty.
I smile as i change into pants
thinking about how empty this house is
without me;
how empty it will be-
without me



©Brandon Webb
2012

For once, the tears aren't falling from my eyes
As I stand on this stage
the arm of the middle aged blond woman-
with a smile frozen on her lips
and tears frozen in her eyes, ready to fall at moments like this,
resting on my shoulders.
And with every word she says
I see another gurgle of raw, teary happiness bubble out of the short shaking woman
sitting in front of me
whose name, face and voice I know
but who I have barely talked to.
The applause is too much
it's all too much.
I take the check,
give a her a 30 second hug
and sit down next to my aunt.
She hugs me and the whole room smiles
the principal takes longer to stand, drying her face
but announces the next presenter just the same.

Shoes squeaking, finger skin frostbitten
Short ebony haircut bobbing earthquake
As he fills himself into my shadow
Decrepit public shed, well worn bus stop
Gurgled greeting, shoving, shouting, calm peace
Take my seat, damp bench, leave brother standing

Rain rides four faces, outside, far from me
Forming veins, channels and exits, swiftly
In rush for concrete sidewalk stopping point
Smiles form themselves, response to tickling

created by a dozen droplets of a storm




©Brandon Webb
2012

When I was younger
I realized that if I only liked one girl at a time
only thought about one
I became obsessive and never ended up with her
lately i've realized-
If I think about several girls at once
and tell myself
I'll give the thoughts of the others up
If I ever
end up with any of them-
I don't get obsessive,
I get confused
but confused is not obsessive
confusion limits how extreme I allow my emotions to become
but having any feelings at all
for a girl
is enough for me to fall for her if it ever comes to that point
but tracking multiple lives
and often getting so extremely confused
leaves me unable
to break through my shyness
and anxiety
to take a chance with any of them.
Just because I write about other girls
don't assume i'm not thinking about you
you're here
I just find it impossible to write about people who may read
what i've written about them.
I write about you
in my head
but rarely write any of it down
sometimes I hope you do the same

right now-
I hope you read your name out of this
and aren't offended

I didn't recognize him until I walked by and looked back;
Standing straight up
he towers over me
by a head or more.
his voice was less hoarse than i'd ever heard it
and he had a small smile under his mustache
as he said my name
and asked
"how's it goin?"
I smiled back
"pretty good, you?"
our conversation didn't last
half as long as it should have
and i felt rude
breaking away and walking off,
waving at his daughter and son-law
as they sped by me
and around him
honking and laughing
as they flipped me off
so i returned the gesture,
and walked off laughing.
down the road
down the hill
thinking I should have talked longer
I owed it to him;
I've known him six months or so
but I've known his kids for five years
and his family is mine-
he is my father
just as much,
if not more
than my actual father.
and I actually like this man-
I worry about his health
on a daily basis.
but seeing him standing straight up
and hearing him speak in a clear voice
is a comfort,
so i smile as i regret not talking more

We're standing in the cold, rainy silence
when he opens and closes the door without a sound
and stands on the foot brush behind me
leaning against the garbage can
that always seems to have a backpack behind it.
Without a smile or a hint that he's going to speak
he says,"sup" in a fading, worried tone
speaking to me but looking away.
she takes three steps and wraps her arms around him
smiling at me over his shoulder as if to say- something,
I'm not sure what.
but I smile back, and take a few steps backward
in an attempt to be there, but only on the fringe.
A small circle forms around them,
nobody speaking for a few minutes
and then everybody splits into their own conversations
except me
and as soon as the bell rings, we all walk off
they find each other again and walk together
and I smile for her.
She was like my sister once, for just a second

I've been out of it lately
been thinking less
sleeping more.
goin to bed at 8pm
waking up at 1pm.
I know it ain't the fact that I'm sick
it's all the cough syrup I've been drinking.
never been high on anything
but the world seems... softer, now.
I'm halfway though that huge bottle,
don't know if I'm gonna miss it when it's gone.
I've told myself that I'm not gonna buy more,
but I'm not so sure

we circle the mall endlessly
meeting any female eye
hoping she looks back
we're desperate,
we're trying.
but everytime
someone meets our eyes
we look down
unsure of what the hell to say;
so we walk away.
back to the same stores,
same areas
we've already been.
and then,
we stop for a second
somewhere around JC Penny
and ask each other
"what the hell would we say anyway?"
and both our answers are
"i wouldn't be able to talk".
but we keep walking,
keep gesturing everytime we see a girl
but never walk up to her,
never say anything.
for two hours we do this,
reminding us both of how shy we are,
but we still have a good day.
I just hope next time i'll say something,
because i want to hold a passing face,
not a girl i already know.
there's no chance of ruining a friendship
with someone you barely know.
i need love without taking a chance
but i'm too shy to take the chance
of talking to an unknown girl
and hoping for love
just to avoid loving
a girl i can't take the chance of losing.
i need someone,
i just can't jump




©Brandon Webb
2012

even i will miss this place
i think to myself
as we separate our belongings

into two piles
there in the dining area
where i used to play with Ryland.
Everyone, (other than him, being only three)
has tears in their eyes
except me
but i’m still sad
not because we’ll never come back here
but because that very fact
doesn’t sadden me like the rest
even though i will miss it
but i like moving on-
i can’t stay anywhere too long.
But, i do cry-
when he runs down that hill
like he has a million times before-
a huge smile on his face
as he avoids every memorized bump and hole
and i know this is the last time-
last time to experience all the memories
we packed into that trailer-
into that farm,
where fear left us restricted and regulated.
But i pack the truck
and disregard memories,
never stopping to remember anything-
not the bonfires by the big log,
rolling boulders into dead plum trees with the tractor,
picking huge buckets of blackberries for homemade cobblers
from bushes that have been gone for months,
pulling the hose up the hill from the pump house
to water everything,
flicking mosquitoes off the screen door
at midnight, with a crowd gathered to watch,
or the smell of a sulfur shower before church.
i stop to remember nothing
by unintentionally avoiding him most of all-
more than memories, or tears
i’m avoiding the man who was my father
for four and a half years-
who we lived in four houses, a motel, and a tent with-
because if i think too long about him
all the memories i’ve left behind will come back
and as we finish,
say goodbye,
and give him parting hugs
even i really start crying-
and then we drive off,
for the last time
and he’s standing there-
crying, but not waving
and we all wave though the tears,
through the car window
the fence and the garden.
I lost a home
and a father today
and i can still barely cry





©Brandon Webb
2012

First note of the year:
a small tan thing that falls to my desk from his hand.
I don't recognize the name
but I know immediately who and where she is.
He lets me out a minute early
as we're all congregated around the door
waiting, patiently for the bell.
I walk into the room
to find her jump roping
in a third floor classroom
at ten in the morning.
Her's is a face I have never seen
and her name is also unknown to me
as i the reason i'm here;
who told her about me.
but we talk for a few minutes
her words slurred almost unnoticeably by a slight southern accent
that makes me feel better about just sitting here and talking.
after ten minutes
a face familiar to both of us melts in through the doorframe
and we all talk
until a face all three of us know
also slinks in
and sits on the sofa
and our conversation continues
about everything,
and nothing,
and ourselves,
and everyone else.
the minutes creep by
and feel bad for not being in class
but this feeling, here
with a couple of good friends
and the short jump-roping lady with the slight southern accent
is peaceful,
and for the rest of the day
i'm calm and my thoughts are collected.
and a few of them
just a few
are questioning my future
thinking how great it would be
to be in her position;
in a room with people she knows
laughing, smiling, talking
and letting them leave
with smiles and calm thoughts.
more than traveling and meeting people,
learning their stories as I go;
this is where I belong
or is it?
I can't answer that
even with clear thoughts.

Someday I'll be able to-

Someday




©Brandon Webb
2012

I know how I see myself
but
I can't stop myself from wondering

who am I in the eyes of everyone else?

when someone asks me a question
during a discussion in CWP
and everyone hears me
as i stumble over my words
in the center of that quiet room,
trying to answer the simple question-
"how does that makes you feel?"
and i wonder,
how does my stumbling and stuttering
make them feel,
about me?
does it change anything?

Or when i go to bed
thinking about
the conversations i've had during the day
and wondering how those friends see me.

I've never asked,
never had the guts.

My self esteem has always been low
I've always hated myself,
Sometimes i just hope
the smiles are true,
the friendships, true.

I've never asked

Who am I?




©Brandon Webb
2012

she smiles minutely as i sit down
just enough for me to wonder
what's going on in her head
just enough to make me take
a few extra seconds to say anything
but we have a short conversation
at a table with other people
and before I leave
I realize
I've ended up breaking down
some huge walls for her;
she was the first sunset beach walk
I took with any girl,
the first time i decided
I would explain my feelings face to face,
and that same day
my first near-seizure
where i ended up flopping around on the floor
of the school bathroom, alone.
She was the first girl to invite me
to a party of any sort,
the first house other than mine I ever entered
the first family to adopt me.
four years and one girl has changed me so much
I think
as I walk back to class
as I do every second period,
I'm a creature of habit
and I thank anyone who has ever made me try anything new
and break them.




©Brandon Webb
2012

I sit here singing along to Tim Mcgraw
as the hail tries to crack my window open
between thunderclaps
I need you
I need you
Whoever you are
I need you

We round the corner of that dilapidated building next to the highway
And I see her walking, hobbling, home
carrying a small backpack.
I want to walk over there
and off to walk her the last block
but I don't
and I continue on.
But I look back for a second
when my dad stops to talk to the directory of the funeral home.
She stops, thirty feet past where she had just been
looks at me
and gasps.
I want to ask her why my face shocks her so.
All I've ever been to her
as far as she knows
is a customer in the store for two seconds.
My face is not able to be traced in her memory
as her daughters latest ex,
an occurrence I'm no long bitter about.
I am nothing to her,
even though she had the potential to be a lot to me.
So I stand there
wondering what about me made her gasp.
I wave, smile and continue walking.

I look out the window
Into the mirror
reflecting the window
which reflects
the vague forms
of trees we’ve passed,
and every fifty feet or so-
another power-line.
Sitting there
Watching the reflection
Of the reflection
Of those trees-
I saw me
When we passed
Through shadows.
And,
When we passed fields
The reflected reflection
Was that of clouds,
And when tall trees
Cast shadows
From our other side,
I saw myself
Swimming through clouds
In that blue sky

©Brandon Webb
2012

I shrug the blazer off my shoulders smiling
"It fits" I say
the joy in my voice apparent.
He turns, smiling and hands me a hanger.
"Good luck man" he says
"I've known you for so long, 6th grade, when you were in 8th
It's been great watching you change
watching you grow
and sharing life with you.
You come visit after you leave
even if I'm gone you know the kids will pull you inside
you're like family man, don't go disappearing forever.
I hope you go far
and I'm excited to see what you do"
These words hold so much truth
that I can't even face him,
I study the tv stand
"thanks man, I will
I'll be back someday
and I know that if I sit outside somebody will come eventually.
Thank you for everything you've done
All the memories we have
and the place to stay when I'm bored and I can.
Thank you for your family
that has slowly grown to be like mine.
Thank you.
I'll be back sometime
Sometime"

glare at me all you want grandma
but you know i'm just showing him I'm entitled to a life
and i'm tired of the lies
and shaking till i can't stand whenever he comes near.
tired of the misery and the boredom and fear.
tired of coming home at three
tired of having to hide the fact that i've learned to be me.

we need to stand up
and break off all these pairs of handcuffs
he's put on us over the years
before I get the **** out of here
and settle myself down thirty miles and a ferry
away from this place
where i don't have to see his face
or hear his words
which drown the world.

so *******, im gonna take a ****
at one-thirty in the ******* morning cause i'm tired of this.

Tired of you making yourself casserole at midnight
just to avoid the fright
of him slamming the door open
to scream about how you're wasting power using the oven
to make food he won't even eat.
first thing i'm gonna delete
as soon as i plant roots someplace else?
the memories of my own ******* father as the devil and this prison our hell.

we've gonna stand up and show him we're right
cause i'm tired of always losing the fight
and having to take a **** in the middle of the ******* night
to avoid his sight.

you're own son:
42 years and you're **** well done.
My father:
17 years of drifting farther
from him
on his own whim.

lets stand up
while our mind are still focused on this bump
that seems sewed
into our road

i feel disgusting-
every itch
every hair out of place
every wrinkle in my clothes
every randomly sprouting hair on my face
every feeble, fragile, weak, cliched word
makes me need out of here
out of this place
this (mental) state
that has, again
turned me into a self-conscious mess
who only sees his own flaws

i want to burn these words
as i write them

want to cut into my face
with my non-existent, bitten fingernails
everytime i scratch

want someone to hold me
to tell me i'm beautiful
(lying through her teeth)

forget that

i don't want to make anyone
feel like i do;
ugly, desperate-
with me clinging to her
as strongly

as these ****** words cling to me

begging me for air
for life
so they'll feel that their existence
isn't a joke-
reminding me, every second
that mine is, for needing them



©Brandon Webb
2012

I sit here for a second
staring, just staring
at the computer screen,
Nerves still chewing on my mind
and my stomach
in a way that's almost painful.
And then i stand and turn
and walk through the building
out the door
across the street
up the stairs
past the main building
up the side path next to the stairs
across the lawn
in the door
up more stairs
and into that dark corner
where i wait for everybody
so this creation,
the poetry club
can begin it's second meeting

I think too much to sleep at night
but that's what makes me rip the mic

- IN-Q

She sits there
fifteen feet from me
alone.
tears are frozen in her eyes
have been for a few days.
I know how she gets,
I used to wipe away those tears.
But now I just sit here and pretend not to notice
because she told me to.
And that's what hurts-
not that she told me to-
but that I can't disobey
and go sit there.

We always go our separate ways in this stairwell
They go down
to socialize, to laugh, to eat
I go up
to sit alone
The smiles between the three of us dissolve on that landing
the laughs
everything that has happened in the last hour
gone among the voices of the descending crowd pushing past me

I can see tears in her eyes
as she looks down at her desk.
She's always smiling,
this is different-
a raw side of a random girl I barely know.
I write on a sticky note
"you ok? you seem sad,
what's wrong?"
I peel it off the pad
almost put it sideways on my textbook,
but instead, put it on my notebook
facing me.
she leaves for a second
i put it on my textbook
facing her.
she comes back-
i take it off,
put it back on my notebook
facing me.
a little later,
i pick it up
to put it back,
but instead
curl it up,
put it in my pocket



©Brandon Webb
2012

She introduced to me a new type of shaking
somewhere between
anger, hatred, sadness, regret and love.
It's only ever present
in her presence.
Only absent
when we're in the same room



©Brandon Webb
2012

I've been seven months
I've posted Forty-Two poems here
Forty-Two pieces of me
Thirty-Four of those have trended.
I have had
ten-thousand-sixty-five views
and three-hundred reactions
In only seven months
thank you,
every one.

Her hands are folded across the back of her neck
headphones cover her ears.
She sits at a table with three other girls
but they don't talk to her
and she shrinks lower in the chair
her already small form shrinking into a ball.

I should walk there
only fifteen feet away
and sit there next to her

As our words flit across the screen
I see her on the other side
In her bedroom, or somewhere in her house
That smile she always wears when talking to me
(the one that confuses me because it is shallow and hides a deeper meaning that I can't read)
Stretched across her lips.
What are her intentions here?
what does she gain from this?
From seeing me with another
Not five feet from her
On her night
And knowing she set us up.
What do the eyes hidden behind the screen hide?
What thoughts?
What emotions?
What secrets?

Back room of the library
watching him make tea

out of the corner of my eye
I watch them walk in-
Six people i used to know-
There in the other room-
two couples.
One dreaming of a time when he isn't alone,
but stuck in the present.
And one

who used to love me

I turn back,
make my own tea
and, in letting the water heat, turn back

He's sitting alone at a computer.
I watch a once familiar face
peel herself from her lover
and walk into this room.

the conversation is heavy,
barely meant for me
but i can read between the lines
her subject is apparent

"she's gone"
her eyes whisper to me

the latter half of that is a dare
just like old times-
saying,"find her" or," don't"
for once, i can't tell
her preference toward my action

i hope it's the latter
it has to be

But her eyes reveal nothing

I turn back,
continue to forget
those memories

but mix some tears
with my tea
remembering everything




©Brandon Webb
2012

I just moved my chair
from the computer
over a pile of backpacks
three feet from the coffee table

she rounds the corner of the counter
comes through the door
sees me
and backs out

Jumping over the couch
they grab her by the shoulder
and guide her in

I pick up my chair
move it over the bags,
back to the computer
and sit, facing away

she pulls her hat over her eyes
leans against the couch arm
and looks the other way

nothing is said about us
or to us
we're just there

compromising is **** near impossible
when comprising with the **** near forgotten




©Brandon Webb
2012

excuse the link, but this form is based too much on alignment for me to post it- but here's my first try with this
https://docs.google.com/document/d/17pjKI8360y8paZ5JsFZgRZvfiMGsv5mX8Dl8iqf1E



©Brandon Webb
2012