and this is a place i’ve been before

and this is a place i’ve seen before
watching his chocolate eyes search within the reflection of anything and everything…

he touched the surface of my conscience, waiting for the ripples to begin within 

my heart, to begin 

within 

the heap of dreams inside my soul
piled there like clean laundry waiting for a 

fresh pair of hands to fold
but his ripples came with distortion, contortion, it all became dsymorphic

my dreams converged with memories, my desires converged with melodies
sung in familiar tenor tones,
yet a voice i knew not to be my own

my own soprano theme subdued beneath the means

of self-discovery
that weren’t really meant for me, fettered to your contrary schemes,
playing out unwary scenes and losing myself in our routines,

seemed i didn’t mind losing me to find your dreams.

and so the heap of dreams inside my soul 

growing moss and growing mold,

sprouting negligence for negligees,

thread bare, left there, lying in disarray
passed by for the chosen right of way… 

chocolate eyes and hands on my surface skin, ripples, quakes, tremors, shakes;

my hazel eyes opening to your mistakes.

people are imperfect reflections, with our opaque complexions,

i was not your means, your queen, your pedestal, your play-ground. 

i was not the place for you to **** around.

left skeptical by your lechery, your ability to capture me,

self-identity came much more dearly…


what i’m trying to figure out is who to be 

and this is a place i’ve been before

and this is a place i’ve seen before
and it’s 'cause i washed up from the other shore, that i’m. ready. to. break. free.

i have trouble
with people
because we are all flawed
and i am forever forgiving.

That gnawing feeling at the pit of my stomach
went away as of, well,
two seconds ago.
Now the feeling has dropped to my feet
funnily enough, though, my heart is in my throat
and apparently my heart has brought with it a spring of tears
which are now flowing freely and falling to my feet,
along with the pit of my stomach.
And evidently my swollen heart and spring of tears have
drowned my words and quickened my thinking,
because my thoughts are racing but the words just aren't coming
And as you walk away
all I can do is sigh.

breathe, please.

summer makes me crazy
(in the best way)

i'll never again be so reckless as i've been,
and that's the truth. a fact.

and so my recklessness, my crazy doesn't scare me.

i feel like i know my limits.

i love. i feel. and i will be okay.

what i loved about him
              was
                  what i was not.
what i did not love
               was
                    what i was afraid i would become.

and the smoke is the warmest thing this night.
you light my cigarettes,
and i want to kiss you.

i can't i can't i cant.
you.
once. it was.
but we were both so broken.
we couldn't feel it.

it clicked in my heart,
like the flint in your lighter,
sometime after it became forbidden.

maybe because it is forbidden?
maybe because it is trust?
because i could always trust you.
because you never ****** me over.
because.

you listen. and i listen to you.

i trust your judgement.
i know you won't let us fall off the cliff,
fall into the ditch, get addicted,
get caught,
break.

and you know, because as i drove erratically,
i told you, only half meaning to.
and you know that nothing can come of it.

forbidden. would hurt.

i think i just want you to know that you're worth. . .
"it was good."
"we'll just leave it at that."

and we do. and today. i avoided the us.
but it would have been good.

when i am old and happy,
and married to someone who makes me feel safe.
we'll talk about you.

and laugh.

In my determination to fly,
I have to find a balance
between the elmer's glue,
which failed
when I flew
too close
to the sea,
and the beeswax,
which stung
more than
my own back
when I thought
it'd made me free.
My pride will be my breaking,
I'm sorry for mistaking
acid for honesty.

In winter air,
the siren rings
among the leafless trees.

The night,
it falls too quickly.
The days,
they sleep too soon.
I much prefer the stretched
and strengthened days of June.

Leave be the creaking bones of snow,
Let pass this fragile moon.
I much prefer the waxed and wakened days of June.

I don’t mind
the brighter skies,
the holidays,
the giving ways,
but I much prefer the stretched
and strengthened days of June.

creaking noises in the ceiling.
i'm disgusted by myself.
lose-lose-lose-lose situations.
the time-the altitude-the air differences.
nothing works out. everything ends. and badly.

will you marry me?

we don't, we don't have to be
madly in love.
i'll take half
in love
half is a lot.

i promise.

At this moment, I am wedged between my tonsils.

Stuck, yet scrambling to stay still
                    (I am afraid to make a noise.)
Beneath me: there is nothing but an empty stomach,
                behind me: a neck which wears its weakness in its cracking
                        and before me: a tongue trapped in a clammy cage
                                    by a brain blanketed in discomfort.

i am a million different people. one for every second,
i've ever had a conscious thought. for every second
i've ever been aware of my own existence.
and there is no person that i should be striving towards.
because the moment i reach her, and obtain
her brilliant, generous, selfless, people-loving, peace-seeking qualities,
she will be gone.
i must make every step.
         deliberately clambering.
                   deliberately continuing.
i must make every step on a staircase that has no trajectory.
where each step ahead only comes when
          i've reached the next.
and whether it's up or down.
i must keep it. hold it for that moment. and keep moving.

don't touch me.
Don't Touch Me.
DON'T TOUCH ME.

my heart is tired. it murmurs
and growls at any threat
of emotion too great.

sometimes things sneak up on you, and kiss you softly on the cheek

and sometimes they just slam you in the face.

you, you are. you are just like everyone else.
you are just like everybody else.
I want to call do-over. Yell rewind. Back space.
Take it back. Because.
you, you are. you are just like everyone else.
you are just like everybody else.
and it was i, and it was me.
It was my own journey that mattered.
you, you are. you are just like everyone else.
you are just like everybody else.
It could have been someone else.

too late
to be awake
without the dull
of a drink. but
the bottles clink
and clank,
when i ask them to play.

like a dog, who's been hit
maybe one too many times,
maybe just once, but too hard
i sit at your feet.

throw me a bone and i'll lick your face
all the while being terrified you'll do it again.

i am the can't without the tried.