Every night was the same
With the waking and flying away,
And the sky was cold and too loud,
And I didn't want to be there,
But what could I do?
I cried as I reluctantly soared
And I covered my ears from the violent tattooing of the passing air
And my wings ached as my body froze--
All to look over a jaded paramour,
To check;
To ease my mind so that in the daylight I could stay,
And as I hurdled between stars and clouds I silently wondered if the objective was worth it, or valid at all--
But I couldn't ask that of myself
Because I couldn't answer it.

I didn't find the time in the months I was around you
To ever say, "Hello,"
Or learn your name.
Angela S.
I didn't know it until today.

I didn't know that you were thirty-six until I read the articles about you.
I knew that you were late to choir sometimes,
And you wore shorts even when it was cold.
I didn't know you lived in those apartments until the police were investigating them.
My sister lived so close to there.

I didn't find the time to know you,
Angela S.
But I found the time to judge you.
You stood between seconds and you were a first.
You didn't know your parts very well.
I was annoyed.
It's concert choir, no audition.
I shouldn't have been so bothered.
I'm sorry.

That was the last time I saw you.
I didn't know you had a son until after he found your body.
I knew next to nothing about you until you were shot.
We sang the same music for months.

I hope you've had sweet dreams the past five years;
I know I have.
I wish I looked more like you, talked more like you, was more like you.
Then I could at least feel like you were real
And luck was kinder.
It's been so long since I've known what to do, or how to.

I haven't ever written much about you,
For, or to you;
Too many words I just can't say.
I can't believe how much you haven't seen--
I've outgrown mom now.
I graduate in twenty days.

You never saw the baby born,
Or mama sick from chemo.
She's never been the same since you, and I need all your strength.
Just so you know, the whole world thinks you're a hero.
I've never seen so many people cry within a hall's length.

I wish you'd seen me sing, I wish you could be in my wedding.
A sister's such an awful thing to lose.
I always tell you so much, I just wish that you could answer.
No friend or pen can fill your shoes.

I miss our arguments and PC games and secret missions--
About the fire: I told mom.
And by the way, I've never smoked in my life, and I won't.
A promise is a promise, even if you're gone.

Maybe just another try;
He said he's sorry,
No need to say goodbye.
Bruises go away,
Not like you're gonna die.
It's just blood beneath your skin.

You know who you are.
I'm not going to say it.

First of all, I'm full of clichés and apologies.
Forgive me later; the rest is more important.

I wish I could tell you aloud the things I've told you while you slept.
It comes in bursts, which you trigger, and lately I miss you even when you're next to me.
Because when you're next to me, you're not yourself.
You're not ready, or not alone.
You can be cruel.

But I know you better.
You've told me a thousand times, I know you best.
I know the broken pieces, locked away and swept under rugs.
I searched until you showed me.

And it's not a pretty picture, not all of it.
I've loved you despite yourself.

And you-- you know me, too.
You're the only one who knows it all, because you've been there for so much of it so far.
And the rest, I've shown you.
And you're the only one.

You're the only one who's seen nearly so much-- my broken pieces locked away and swept under rugs-- and has ever come back for more.
You're the only one who's done this outside the boundaries of friendship, although that's where we're standing now.

And you're the only one who's loved me despite myself.
And not because you had to.

It's a lifeline consisting of a single thread.
It's walking through the plague with a surgical mask.
It's five months down the donor list.
It's an experimental procedure at one year to live.
It's a mother praying she'll have as many children when she's fifty.

It's a kinder desperation, a nicer word.

Hope isn't a hero, as it's made out to be.
It's devastating.

Baby ladybug, how I'll love you when we meet,
From your newly thinking head to your newly tapping feet.
How you'll fly out in the sunshine, pick a petal for your seat;
Lovely baby ladybug, how I will love you when we meet.

And the cyclist said to the seafaring man that it was the best **** poison he had ever drank.
The seafaring man was uneasy, wishing that the cyclist would put the bottle down.
He had cautioned his friend in the past--
"Poison will **** you, you know. That's the very purpose of the stuff."
-- And the cyclist's reply had always been the same:
"Well, I've had two swigs, and it hasn't killed me yet."
Then three swigs, four, five....
"Yes," the seafaring man would press,
"But it makes you horribly sick every time. You've told me so."
The cyclist would give a peculiar look and say in a peculiar voice,
"I know what I'm getting in to. And it hasn't killed me yet."
Months later, the seafaring man left the cyclist's funeral either sad or disappointed.
He wondered if the death went down as an accident or a suicide.

I would greatly appreciate the kindness
Of not giving me that smug look,
As if my bad days have anything to do with you.
As if I give the smallest care about who you're with or what you'll do.

The only thing that bothers me
Is your arrogant, ignorant, crinkled, smug face.
So please, point it in some other direction.

"Hello there," said I to the stranger beside,
"I'm Cari, and this is my boyfriend."
The stranger looked past, with some side-eye and sass,
And said, "You must be overjoyed, then."

I tilted my head to the side then and said,
"I am, we've decided to marry!"
The stranger just frowned and then said, his voice down,
"I was being sarcastic, he's scary."

I frowned then, in turn, and my boyfriend, face stern,
Said, "C'mon, babe," in dirtied apparel.
With his crossbow in hand he led me through the land,
Snuffing zombies and bandits-- oh, Daryl.

I'd look in your direction
If I was out at sea;
The furthest I am from you
Is the best I'll ever be.
I've got to see you coming
If you're out on your way,
And I'm sure you know I'm looking,
Scared I'll see you everyday.

I am a human being,
Not a hero like you.
I am a human being,
Not a hero like you think I am.

"Honey, sing to me
Or take my photo down.
I am so colorblind,
I feel so helpless now.
With all that water all around you,
Are you doing fine?
You must still need me,
You're still always on my mind."

I am a human being,
Not a hero like you.
I am a human being,
Not a hero like you think I am.

Don't ask me
Why you are the way you are.
I've just come to talk to you again
About whatever makes you happy.

On the sofa we lay,
On his shoulder I leaned,
And he smiled and said,
"Play me a song."

So I grabbed my guitar
And began to pluck strings,
But then paused and thought,
"This is all wrong."

What I held was a fruit,
Yellow, bruising, and curved.
I peered up at him--
He didn't notice.

I continued to play,
But it squished with each strum--
He laughed as it came into focus.

Stuck in an attic with old, molding floors,
A witch in the corner, no windows, no doors.
The roof just above us, I crawl on all fours.

Her eyes are too wide and her hair is too red.
She says, "One can leave when the other is dead."
The only solution is cleaving her head.

I tear up the floorboards as she crawls up close.
I find flies, a knife, and a Cherokee rose.
I do the sick deed and step back in repose.

Escaped, I walk soberly back to my home.
Avoiding more danger, through green hills I comb.
I crave coffee, music, and more time alone.

The house we drove to on a dare
Was smoking from outside.
The walls forbade our entrance,
But within, an infant cried.

Searching for the howling babe,
We overturned his home--
At least, that's what it once had been
Before the flames had grown.

We found a pool of furniture,
The burnt upholstery maimed,
And then a table filled up
By a family aflame.

We found the infant's parents there,
His older siblings, too.
Quite calm, his sister looked to us:
"I'll burn the both of you."

Jessica Winter once burst into flames,
Leaving me with a terrible shock,
And Amie and I played a distasteful game
Until we met a man with the pox.

My lips met the lips of a boy I adore
And his hand met the curve of my waist,
But he pushed me away with a shake of his head;
I awakened with only a taste.

I wish I could believe
I'm falling for the man from Pakistan.
The only one I'm falling for is you.

I wish that it was true
I love the girl that likes the things I write.
The only one I write about is you.

And all my words are falling out
My fingertips,
My cracking lips

Growing up happened faster than I thought it would;
Now I pay bills and visit my parents.
I sleep in this recliner where I would stay up late,
Talking on the phone with liars until I fell asleep.
"Dulcet tones into a receiver," I called them before.
Now I know better.

My feelings aren't hurt anymore,
And now I've forgiven almost everything.
I'm too strong now for the backbiters of the past,
And they've grown into harmless strangers
Like we all do.

Sometimes when I hear that song,
I feel the hurt again, but that's all it is;
A feeling, fleeting, gone by the double bar line,
And I feel so much better.
I cry much more for happiness these days.

Growing up is happening so quickly,
And now I'm waiting in the recliner on an engagement
That will have the harmless strangers smiling politely.
Their feelings aren't hurt anymore
And we all know better now.

I'm riding on ideas that won't quiet down;
Ideas of someone that continues to leave.
They shine for a while, a light between trees,
Then fade like an old song with notes overplayed,
And feelings like comfort soon make me afraid.

Keep yourself from the rest of the world
If that's what keeps you sane,
But I hope you'll always speak your mind to me.

I don't think you know you matter,
And I know sometimes it's hard to believe,
But I hope you know you've always mattered to me.

You're rough and full of unkempt thoughts
And those are often unappreciated,
But I hope I'll always get to hear them.

Your mind must be heavy--
So heavy,
And I hope you'll let me help carry it.

A yard, a porch, a floor, walls, and roof,
All sewn together with me and with you.
Fireplace stoked and the dog on the mat,
People peer in our windows to see.

Soon I'll show you how to cook chicken soup
And you'll help teach all of our kids how to sing,
And before long they'll think that they know everything,
But we'll laugh softly through.

God only knows what I see when I see us.
God only knows just how much I can feel.
Tree swings and strollers, some green grass and you--
God only knows how I want them.

Good morning, good morning, oh, darling of mine,
I hope you've been sleeping so soundly.
Each morning I'm thankful to heavens divine
That my heart's with yours and you found me.

I cna't poem anymore I
think I broke me

My nouns aren;t verbing and
adverbly I:m giving up
i think

I think i cna't poem anymore I
think I broke me

I don't know how you do it,
How you're both so big and small.
I fell just as the leaves did;
I for you and them for Fall.

I've never given so much
And received much in return,
But you've turned that around;
Shown me that love is grown and earned.

Your breathing in the nighttime;
Your clock beside the bed;
Your sleeping speech of nonsense;
Your image in my head.

I don't know how you do it,
How you're both so big and small.
I fell just as the leaves did;
I for you and them for Fall.

That's enough.

All the words from before,
Though they all were sincere,
My young heart will begin to rebuff.

I have no one to blame
But myself when I'm sore,
And it's not like it came off the cuff.

I said I'd take them down
And just throw them away,
But look now, I've been called on my bluff.

I don't want them forgotten,
And yet, yes I do.
But I meant them, and now that's enough.

The miracle that had occurred
At witness of his written word
Sent scatt'ring all her plans and all her sense.

A spectator, I watched her fall
In love after his curtain call,
As well as falling victim to pretense.

Her chest would rise and sink for him,
His words, to her, a sanguine hymn
For her to follow, live by, and to serve.

And I looked on in slow receipt
As he made dismal she once sweet,
And she believed 'twas all that she deserved.

I waited so long for that kiss, for those kisses.
I'd thought it was coming so many times.
I wanted to do it myself, but I didn't--
No, it had to be him,
And it had to be right.

So with the sun sinking away
And the dirt and sweat on our bodies
And the mosquitoes quietly stealing from us,
It happened,
Once, and again, and again,
But never enough.

His fingers tracing down to the small of my back
And my arms lacing around his neck
With his back in the dirt
And my chest against his
And our words floating quietly as whispers.
It happened.

And nothing had ever been more right.

And now I want to throw myself down.
I want to feel the ground beneath my knees and heaven's glow upon my upturned cheeks.
I want grateful tears to swell from my closed eyes,
Because I can't contain it all; I know I'd burst in an attempt.
I want to feel every word of every lover's ode wash over me;
I want to feel you all around me,
Ceaselessly, without end.
I want to always know you're there.
Experience, not age, limits the abilities of the heart and mind,
And I believe that you and I have experience beyond our years.
We can join the ranks of the young who ask, "What do they know?"
We can turn ourselves into a couple of clichés, loving through adolescence and promising our forevers away,
And I'd be content being typical if it was for you.

I realize that one day I will cease to be,
As Keats recognized umpteen years before now,
But he knew himself and he didn't know me,
And when Earth spins without me, I'd like to know how.

Will each of my thoughts sink into living minds,
Corrupting the dreams of the children below?
Will every idea then reside in the sky,
Polluting the night with a whimsical glow?

Will my memories be seen through strangers' eyes
Who happen to walk past upon my dead hour?
Will each feeling be honed in on by passersby?
Will each beauteous moment draw up a new flower?

When death is so honest and ugly a thing,
I say truthfully, I don't want to let go.
But e'en on the large chance that death won't grant me wings,
Can I honestly say that I'd first see you slow?

There was a vacant lot in space,
And I was interested in that.
It was a little spendy,
But the view was incredible,
So I bought it out from under a man I didn't know.
I felt just a little bit bad.

I moved right up,
Set my belongings on the lawn.
I'd heard it would be cold, that empty lot in space,
But it wasn't so bad,
And the view was incredible.
I unpacked and organized my things on that lawn,
Made all of grass.
There was no house up there.

They asked me why I'd moved there,
To a houseless lot in space,
And I'd tell them two truths:
"I wanted to be a little more alone," I'd say,
"And I wanted to see everyone at once."
They countered with downsides,
With hunger, thirst, and love,
And they were right,
But the view was incredible,
And I couldn't leave that behind.

I was a little more alone,
And a little more cold and thin.
I was a little more tired,
And my empty lot in space was a square among circles,
Just like me.
But I looked down at my old house,
That shape where I used to live,
And I saw everyone at once,
Lit up by stars.
The view was incredible.

Doe-eyed spacemen left behind--
But no one knows a life like mine.
And shared wavelengths are hard to find;
Nobody knows a life like mine.

Forgetting and forsaking time--
No, no one knows a life like mine.
I have no match and no one rhymes;
Nobody knows a life like mine.

The shipwrecked lovers start to climb,
But they don't know a life like mine.
I am forsaken and I'm fine;
Nobody knows a life like mine.

You gave me a marvelous ring on my finger,
You gave me a firefly jar
To tie to a branch and to light up the sky;
Show the world that small glory of ours.

My young stomach was sickened as yours was afloat,
And so heavied my hand did the ring,
And I cut through the brilliance by shutting my eyes,
But you cast at me luminous things.

Maybe when we are older
It won't be quite as hard
To get our acts together,
Pay for our bills and cars.

Maybe I'll treat you better
And you can give me more,
And we can be together
And not just be adored.

Maybe when school is over
And we don't live so far,
Then we can try again
And I won't have to wonder where you are.

But until then, I'm finished;
I need consistency.
I'm worth the time you'd wait,
But Maybe's all you've ever given me.

Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam,
Hahaha, you ****, loser.
Stop hitting yourself!

You're such a ****.
I am gonna kick your ***.
Jesus, what a ***.

You're an ugly *****.
No one loves you-- why would they?
Just go **** yourself.

... Seriously, guys,
Bullying is not a joke.
Stand up for people.

I thought that I would take a dip
In water lapping o'er my eyes;
I thought I'd take a cautious swim
To see the mermaid I despise.

While bedding sharks and cuttlefish,
She calls my love below the air.
So stricken by her beauty,
He ignores her crimes and strokes her hair.

She holds him blind to her misdeeds
And softly beckons yet another--
He's swallowed too much ocean
To return to land-bound lovers.

His fishwife, I wade angry shores
To welcome him back from the sea,
But she's the siren he adores,
And I am just in love with he.

Every morning, mourning dew;
Oh, dry your eyes, my darling.
Stretch your arms and raise your wings,
My lovely little starling.

Turn from that that's harsh and wrong
And think of kinder things.
Smile now, my baby,
Who can fly with dampened wings?

Fill your head with joyous song
As you wake from your sleep,
And don't forget, but don't dwell, too,
On what has made you weep.

Every morning, mourning dew,
But dry it and fly far,
And please remember, darling,
You could dim the brilliant stars.

And don't forget, my baby,
What a precious joy you are.

One day I'll learn to roll my R's,
And on that day I'll wed
An Irish vigilante who
Will shoot my villains dead.

You're my very own connotation for divinity.
More importantly, you're my very own.
Words can only say so much.

When I disappear,
And I can't see you
And you can't see me,
I don't know what I'll do.
No souls for me, no heavens.

When I die,
And I can't sleep in your arms
And you can't sleep in mine,
I don't know what I'll do.
No souls for me, no heavens.

When I was a child
And you were a child,
I wonder if we met
In the streets outside my grandfather's house.
I wonder if we played together and neither of us will ever remember.
And if I start to forget our stories from now,
I don't know what I'll do.
No souls for me, no heavens.

And if we start growing old
Like everybody else,
I don't know what I'll do.
No souls for me, no heavens.

I can't remember exactly when the world ended;
I died alongside my fellow heathens.
Our memories are fuzzy.
Some of us swear to recall the flash.
Some say they remember the fires that burned us,
The waters that drowned us,
Or the winds that blew us all away.
Some further say we're still alive,
But that can't be true, can it?
I don't remember anything about it myself.
I remember things from right before.
Or, at least they feel like they were right before.
There could have been months in between, years even,
But I remember the face of a boy,
And his name,
And remembering him makes me feel like I never died at all.
I don't know what happened to him--
Whether he lived or died.
All I know is that he's not where we are.
I miss him a lot,
Especially since eternity feels like one long day.

Pressure isn't always harsh.
It doesn't have to be the grim and guttural.
It isn't always in regard to the coarse.
There's the soft kind, sweet.
The gentle pressure of lips against a collar bone.
Fingertips tracing freckles,
Valves working at elevated speeds.
Pressure needn't be a villain.
It can be a tender confession by means of softly spoken words.
Poignant colloquy put down with clean intentions,
The hum at night of dulcet tones into a receiver.
Mellow pressures on the heart and mind are pressures, too.
The pressure of eyes directed toward skin,
A foot on a gas pedal.
The pressure caused by closing distance.

Pressure me.

A messy life together could be okay,
Could be happy.
We could wear our shoes on carpets,
Leave rings with our coffee.
The dishes could pile up,
We could neglect to fold our laundry.
I could forget to cap the toothpaste,
You'd leave your jacket on the floor.
I am okay, if you're okay,
With coffee rings and carpet stains,
So let's enjoy our stay.
Rules are broken, messes made.

Wishes that are left ungranted
Always will be one,
Past your calloused builder's hands
And whispers from your tongue.

This last wish arrested by
Our Kingdom Come and fade;
Different men have matching paths--
First cradle, then the grave.

Righteous living leads to dying--
Wrongful life, the same.
Men and suns and stars and saints
Are all by sleep contained.

My wish is for deathlessness
With you at home to greet.
Carry me to constancy
With talons on your feet.

Discretion (a gift and a curse as of late)
Has granted affections to cling to my mind.
"Precaution," is hardly correct, I'd debate;
"Postcaution," is true as a term I can find.

Historic endeavors don't have to repeat,
Lest heroes and humor are all stricken dead--
The long road to victory's paved with defeat,
But breakdowns can't stop us from looking ahead;

Ahead to the sweet things, the smiles with teeth
And the gentle detainments with fractions of might--
To watching The Saints and then lying beneath
All the stars when they cut through the blue with their light.

And these skid marks we've left on the road, near behind,
Will only be seen 'til we drive far away,
And I'd like you to know, if you feel so inclined,
That I'm glad for the privilege to see you each day.

Don't touch me--
Not with hands;
Not with sight;
Not with words, as was your custom.
I've retreated into myself,
And you are not invited to ruin me further;
You may not follow.
So please, don't call out to me
With your voice or your eyes,
Not with your hands or thoughts,
And don't include me in your activities,
Deceitful or otherwise;
Exclusion won't upset me as much as you do.

One Oregon day,
The princess awoke
To discover that outside it snowed,

So she strapped on some boots
And zipped up a large coat
To adventure the cold Oregon roads.

On the bridge was a prince
With bright smiles and kind eyes,
And he asked her, "Why doth the wind blow?"

The princess replied
With her head slightly cocked,
"Just what makes you think I would know?"

He averted his eyes
To the white sky above
And then to the valley below.

He took her small hand
And she pointed out west;
Down cold Oregon roads they will go.

Slowly, I'm recovering.
I'm out of rehab now;
I'll never touch the stuff again.
I think, though, that I'm a drug as well,
And that old addiction is still addicted to me.
I hope so.

I hope it recovers, but I want it to suffer.
I hope withdrawals are awful.
I hope it gets night sweats.
I hope it can't sleep.
I hope it cries when it remembers how I made it feel.
I hope it sees me and aches at how happy I am without it.

I hope detox is hell and then we never see each other again,
But I do hope it recovers.

She's slowly come to understand
She's not the type of girl he needs;
The type of girl who doesn't heal--
The type of girl who bleeds and bleeds.

The type of girl 'can't feed a man--
The type of girl who waters weeds.
The type of girl who tries to sow
Her garden with ill-gotten seeds.

She understands just thorns will grow,
But prunes each futile plant she sees.
He tells her that he's off to wed
A woman 'can fulfill his needs.

And now she is a barren girl,
The type of girl who's on her knees.
The type of girl who doesn't heal--
The type of girl who bleeds and bleeds.