he stared hard at the sky
and saw the whitest of stars...
a simple glimpse inside his mind
was all I needed to fall in love.
for the stars weren't stars at all,
just white bubbles in a sea of hope
stretching out to the sheer depths of imagination.
he boasted of the morning birds and
their sweet, sweet songs...
a creature I had come to hate,
he made me long to hear.
we've heard all our lives
how attraction is necessary in love
but I told him I loved him
before I ever saw his face.
and I do, oh, how I do.
those bright blue eyes bring feeling
back into my empty, empty soul.
he makes me unafraid
to love again, and to grow
to be the fullest essence of myself
without pause or second thought.
all these years...
I've been scared to be truly vulnerable
I have called myself nothing
unworthy
ugly
not good enough
you know what he calls me?

do you ever look at a person so long, their face changes?
studying them so intensely until who they were is no longer who they are--
they have morphed into a stranger with a life story unknown.
the same concept goes for written word..
repeating a word over and over again until it looks foreign.
foreign.... foreign... foreign.. foreign..foreign..foreign.foreign.foreignforeignforeignforeignfor­eign...
foreign...foreign...foreign.... see?
the scariest part is that we are able to convince ourselves of the change almost wholeheartedly.. what does that say about validity?
there may be three truths in the universe..
one kind that is objective,
and one kind that is subjective.
perhaps when the two marry together,
we have a third universal maxim.
but how can we ever know for sure?

I was eight years old,    again

travelling down winding driveways chipped here and there with gravel and dirt

to my right, the opposite of what you'd see in daylight

a sand volleyball court, its dilapidated net blowing pathetically in the wind..

is now a gaping rectangle in the ground, keeper of ghouls and darkness so vast it makes my hair stand on end

backwards geometric shapes draw themselves into my nightmares, like two planes have been crossed and flipped -- a mirror giving life to an evil that is not seen by the conscious mind

I wish I could say that I recognize the tells in my dreams, but that isn't me

recurring scenes dance vividly against my eyelids and I wonder if they're trying to tell me something

or our brains cycle through the fluff until it is time to pull out the deepest parts of ourselves,

the  old  haunts, the  me  at  eight  years  old

a dream is a product of our being- a nightmare, the quotient of all that tears us apart

isn't that what life is? the sum of all parts?

what a wretched feeling,
being lost in my own skin
I find ways to stretch wrong
and all the kinks move to new places
places that weren't to be discovered

drowsy eyes fighting against light
my spine straining against might
I'm going to snap myself in two

if a cat has two realities:
poison or death
can he be blamed
for acting the pessimist?

like candy,
we wanna taste the sweetness
without the consequence
there's a nagging sugar rush
trying to explain something
to me in this frenzied manner
like if I don't grasp it fast enough
I just may
..........crash.........
tic tacs clacking down the path to somewhere
and I've only just dipped into my candy stash
tomorrow's agenda promises Hershey kisses and snickering calories
because everything so good
is essentially somewhat bad