Why yes sir
Of course I can assist you.
It's my job, after all.
Oh, you need to be measured for your suit?
Well if you insist.
I seem to have lost my tape measurer
I suppose I'll have to use my hands
For your inseam.
Your thighs are so thick and strong...
Oh, you're a 34.

He sits upstairs, most of the day.
Most of the night.
Most every day, most every night.
He tries to fit in
He tries to be helpful
He tries to be wanted.
He is
But these people are too
Dysfunctional to show it.
Hiding from the dragon lady
He's been sitting upstairs
Alone
For twenty years.
I wish I knew what to do
When he comes down.
I wish I knew how to show him
How much I care
And appreciate
And love.
But I am too dysfunctional to show it.

I hope I don't do to him
What the dragon did to the towerman.
I hope we don't do to our spawn
What they've done to me.

I love the sound of clicking keyboards.
Of beating hearts. Of waking up next to you.

I love the steady, the whole
The more than I thought I could have.

The sounds of you and me, at night
In the morning
In the afternoon, skyrockets flying.

I love the sounds of your lips on my shoulder
Of your fingers in my hair.
Of our skin combining.

I love the noises of now.

I am free in the darkness.
Free from your eyes,
Binding and infuriating.
Free from myself.

I am safe in the darkness,
For unknown danger is no danger at all.
Blindfold me to comfort me.
Whip me to awaken me.

I am strong in the darkness.
Convicted with conviction,
And only in the present tense.

I am blind to everything in the darkness,
And I don't want to see or believe.
I am empty in the darkness,
And I don't want to be filled.

They scoot together slowly
Body language lubricated by *****.
They are still awkward...
He tries to win favors with alcohol
And laughter.
She just goes along with it
Happy for attention
And free drinks.
An interesting courtship
Monitored by Pastor Smirnoff.

The word that reminds me of you most is delightful
Which is weird, I guess.

That's not the word I'd choose to describe you with.
Those words mostly start with I.
Interesting. Intense. Intellectual.

But it reminds me of you.
It's what you said when you met me.
The combination of your diction
And your reference to gods of old
Made me interested.
Made me want to know you.

It's what you said about a shirt, once.
Before we technically started.
Delightfully low cut, remember?
It made me think you might be interested in a certain side of me too.
That was after I realized how very intense
Those shivers you gave me were.

And you said I would say delightful things while drunk
And then we had that hour long conversation
About male prostitution in "Gone With the Wind".
The most intellectual dialogue yet, for drinking.

And I guess the beginnings are always what we remember best.
So, delightful is what I remember.

I'm pretending this grape soda is a beer.
Instead of grapes
I taste hops.
Instead of sugar
I taste bitterness.
And when I take a swig
It erases some tension
Til sip by sip
I will become a puddle of relaxation.
Or maybe nonexistence.
It goes well with the tear tracks on my face
And the sad song on my iPod.

A little black kitten
Spawn of witchcraft and Satan
Watches flames flickering
In manmade wax.
He bats at fire
To see if he's invincible
To see if the sorcery protects him.
I can smell the burning wicks.

His whiskers are bent
And his claws are long
And sharpened to fight
Against those who enter his territory.

The witches will protect him
And Satan will welcome him
When he tires of this world.

She steps out of herself
Literally speaking.
Takes a step
Her flesh opens,
Her muscles and bones
Advance alone.
No blood is shed.
She's just trying to be true.
Takes another step
Her muscles fall off
They lay on the ground
Twitching with energy.
Just her bones now.
Her bones
White and strong
Yellowed and brittle
Either way
They are all that support her now.
She has stepped out of herself
As much as she can.
If she takes another step
Will she simply disintegrate?

I've been out of breath all day
Maybe I went jogging in your mind?
I don't understand pickup lines, I just miss you.

I'm going on a diet
Of three poems a day.
My water will be ink
Black, blue and gray.

I'll get nourishment from stanzas
Calories from rhyme.
No more food shall I eat
Not at anytime.

I'm going on a diet.
I'll lose a thousand pounds.
But it's unfortunate that enchiladas
Are now out of bounds.

I am not deep like the rest of them.  
I have no style
No beautiful phrases
About love
And life
And chicken.
All I have are my surroundings
And how they make me feel.
I feel hungry.
I feel tired.
I feel not as good as you.

Her brain is hardwired
To think of only him
And of certain needs.
She has become obsessed
Dependant
Though I don't see how she's managed like that for so long.
She says she refuses to live without him.
That he is the only one for her.

I don't know how to help
She knows she's more than just
Half of a couple.
I've seen it.
But she says if she doesn't have him
Life's not worth living.

Apparently he disagrees.

My mind  feels like gravy
Slow-moving and liquid
With chunks of solid thought.
My body has melted
What was once a solid bar
Is now a pool of liquid.
My eyes sting
As if they are infested with jalapeño seeds.

I am a smörgåsbord.

The feminist in me rages
But the female in me is melting.
I know you can tell
Especially since it's all over your fingers.
Never stop talking.
Never stop touching.

I.
Want.
You.

I was beautiful because
You told me I was.
You were beautiful because
There can be none like you.

I'm working on remembering you.
(not that it's possible to forget)
But I want your details
So I'm working on remembering you.

I think I have your chin down
But your nose is not perfected.
Your eyes are almost there
And your hands are probably halfway.

I was beautiful because
You made me believe I was.
But you were beautiful because
There can be none like you.

I want to know you.
Your no banana pancakes
And your Dr. Pepper
And your gas station champagne.

Our atoms are getting familiar with each other.
At least, that would explain
Why my skin, no, my whole being
Both tenses and melts when you're near.

Your fingernails know my back
My hands know your chest.
They're close friends, you know.
I'm sure you've noticed.

I am beautiful because
That's what you bring out.
You are beautiful because
There can be none like you.

He says he loves you.
Not that he will love you forever
And not that he wants to pledge his undying fervor.
But in this moment
He loves who you are.

And that's really all you can handle now, probably.
Because you know how boys like to say
I love you
In the flame of infatuation.
And you know how people can lie
Malicious intent or not
Because you did it for months.
And you know how that song goes
"Boys like you love me forever"
And it always makes you uncomfortable
Because forever is a long time to promise
But some boys don't seem to move on very well.

So you are unsure about forever
And about promises
And about love.
But he says that it just means that
He loves you as a person.
He loves you right now.
He is in love with this point in time.
And you're so **** happy
Because that's exactly what you feel
Because you are in love with this point in time
And you love him as a person
And you love him right now
And no one else has ever been able to understand that distinction.

You can't get that stupid grin off your face
And you fall asleep in his arms
Subconscious armed with idle speculation
About fictional futures
And possible presents.
You just hope he's grinning too.

I've thought of a lot of things to write
In the past couple days.
I should write them down now
But the tv is so tempting
And I'm so comfortable
And I'm so full of excuses.
What a shame.

Maybe I'll go write something silly
With rhyming and stanzas.
Let's find out.

I've felt discouraged recently.
I think I need to remind myself that I'm not a real poet.
I need to remind myself
That I just write what comes out of my fingers
Not any form of literary artwork.
I think that if I remember that
My words form more of a journal than anything,
Then I will be able to write again.
And maybe it will be something
I actually enjoy reading.

I dreamed you left me at Christmas.
Under snow and trees, you walked away.
You just didn't want me anymore.

I know it's false.
You've given me no reason to doubt
(Though I shouldn't be thinking that far ahead anyway.)
You have only been perfect.

I guess my subconscious is just still waiting.
(I wish my dreams didn't have a habit of becoming real.)

I dreamed last night.
Everything I used to aim for
And what I used to believe I could have,
I had.
It was an alternate reality
That made me so disappointed
When I woke and saw it was false.
It was my heaven
Where those hopes I have long put away
Came to fruition.

I
Was
So
Happy

I wish I didn't make that face
When I swallow wine.
My face contorts.
Mouth goes sideways when brain goes upside down.
Everybody's smashing things up
And my brain-hole likes it.

The feeling after you're done reading a book is so empty.
So final.
So quiet.
There's so much to wrap your head around
But there's nothing left.

I bet death is a lot like that.

He said to me
One needs to know where they're going in life
To know where their writing's ending will come from.
I have a vague idea of where I will go in life
(Whether or not that's where I want to go...
Is an uncomfortable question.)
But my poems always end
Unfulfilled
Unsatisfying
Abruptly.

Is that some sort of sign?

When I leave you
I'm not trying to abandon.
I'm seeking serenity and solitude.
I need to go be alone
To be able to smell the air
Drink some wine
Listen to the running water.
It's not you.
It's me.

I haven't written in three days.
I've been so exhausted
My body has been in
A constant state of achy misery
My mind a never-ending buzz
Of things I must get done.

Too many things.

I could get them  done
If my body's ache
Would
Just
Stop.

I am trying to get my mind off
The usual morbid thoughts.
The ones about
How everything is temporary
And how I won't remember any of these people
In ten years
And how nothing matters.
How the world doesn't care whether any of us exist
And if humanity slipped out of existence
Mother Earth would probably rejoice.
About how we are nothing more
Than placeholders in the cosmos
And our existence is unnecessary
And unimportant.

Because if I stay on that path
I will end up in an
Existentialist state of
Suspended indifference.
And that is not good for sales.

You reversed my polarity
But apparently some magnets are attracted to the same,
Not the opposite
For we must both be positive.

My ions are re-tuned, altered to allow for you.
And when you combine science and music
The formula gets confusing
But I'm pretty sure that's ok with me.

If you don't know what I mean, that's ok too.
I'm not sure I do either.
But my molecules are drawn to yours
On some base level
And I hear string instruments when I'm with you.

You are empirical proof for all I thought were dreams.
You turn theories into laws
And you turn me into someone whose smile is permanent
And not from botox.

You are all the science I need.

She saw.
My world did not burst into flames
(the color of her hair, by the way)
My hair did not all fall out
(though i lost a significant amount in the shower)
My brain did not melt into lava.
All is still well
And I have not yet died.

I think that calls for a drink.

I breathe your name as that of a deity
And look at you with stars in my eyes
For it seems you must have come from the heavens.
And if you are of the stars, I am surely of the earth.
You, light and explosions
I, soil and and photosynthesis.
I am devouring you for nutrients.

I am entranced by the tastes of our bodies mingling
The taste of you on my tongue.
The taste of me on your lips.

But I am entranced by you even more.

Gray matter unfolds
To expose a world hence unseen.
What you thought was soft muscle
Is actually a community of golden pathways,
Carved from the hollow horns
Of unicorns, slayers of virgins.

Like a deconstructed accordion,
It flattens
And reveals a soul, a heart
Floating through space on the back of his fingers.

The deepest annals of the universe
Are uncovered for your eyes only
And for those few blessed moments
There is only greatness.

Poems, have I failed you?
I have shown two of you
To two of them.
Neither were impressed.
Am I not allowing you to live to your potential?
Should I send you into the great open
To find yourself
And learn to express what you feel?
Apparently I'm not allowing you to do so
To your full ability.
I am deeply sorry, dear words.
I really didn't mean to.

An oral fixation
Perhaps falsified, as an excuse-
Skin, turned to hard rubber
Lips, turned to lust
A tongue, turned to love

A caress doesn't have to come from hands.

I am woman
Hear me moan.
See me arch
Feel me groan.

I am woman
And I will prove to thee
That I am all
I need to be.

I am woman
And I am strong.
I am mighty
I belong.

I am woman
These ******* are mine.
This *** is hot
And these hips are fine.

I could fly away.
If I didn't have him
I could hop a plane
Going anywhere.
I have the means
And I have the attitude
The only thing holding me back
Is him.

(The only thing holding me here
In this plane of existence
Is him.)

(I should thank him.)

The words are trapped inside my mouth.
The liquid muzzle
Put there by *** and uncomfortable situations
Locks my jaw
Shut
For hours.
I sit here
Always on the brink of words
But they never come out.

I hope one day they will.

He's beautiful.
His all-encompassing smile
The jail cells that hold his teeth
His strong nose.
I want to trace the bumps of his nose
With a pipe cleaner
And have him feel the soft fuzz against the jagged bone.
I want to run my lips
Over his full ones
And taste him
And feel how soft they are.
His eyelashes are black as ravens
And his eyes are pools of earth
That I want to live in.
His eyebrows cut across his forehead
Showing his native background
And his scars tell me stories.
His hair never falls
Only expands.
It's perfect because it's his.
Black and soft, it feels like satin to my hands.
His ears poke out
Like small mammals checking to see if danger's around.
They will enlarge with age
And that fact makes me smile.
Mainly because I know I will be there
To watch his ears grow
And his back get hairy
And his face to wrinkle.
I will always be there
And I will know the locations and cause of every wrinkle.
I will tease him for every hair on his back.
And I will kiss every inch of his ears.

My lungs forgets the proper rhythm for survival.
Instead I breathe in your fingers
And breathe out your tongue.
My heart forgets how to pump my blood
(Was that bumBUM, or beBEEbum?)
So you pump me instead.

My mind forgets how to think
And all that exists is you and me
And the rhythm we create.

I know that I'm trying to hard.
I'm not the natural poet
novelist
singer
dancer
lover
But I wish that I was.
I know the words dripping off my fingers
Onto these black-and-white plastic keys
Are ridiculous
over-the-top
unnecessarily esoteric
But where's the fun in life if you can't be disturbingly aware of your dysfunction?
This one girl
This ever-changing sunflower
She writes novels like there's no tomorrow.
At least, she starts them.
I don't have the creativity for that.
This other girl
An iris, though she'd rather be a daffodil
She writes poetry
Emotional, heart-wrenching poetry.
At least, that's the impression I get
I can't imagine it'd be anything uplifting.
But me
I occasionally get into a trance
In the shower
At the river
In my bed
And disjointed words fall out.
While they're flowers, I'm a leaf.
Unnecessary. Available in abundance.
But occasionally you can rip me out of my home-stem
And run me through your fingers
And tear out my veins.
These words are my veins.

Summer's coming.
Soon my life will consist of water and sun
With some work thrown in for good measure.
Hopefully it's better than those before it.
But this year I am more confident
This year I actually won't be alone.
If I play my cards right
I should be spending my days by the water
***** in one hand, book in the other
Headphones on.
That is how summer is meant to be.

My tongue runs over my swollen gums.
I taste the blood.
I feel the aching zones
Between off-white and red.
It stings.
There's not enough room in my mouth.
My tonuge runs down the row of 16;
There are two prongs sticking up
Where they shouldn't be.
Wisdom teeth.
Four corners, four teeth.
My teeth are textured.
Some feel smooth
Some ripple
Some have edges that grate against my tongue.
One tooth hides behind another
Afraid of the air
And the water.
The tooth that once housed a hole
Is now thicker than the rest.
Thick with plastic
Or whatever it is they use.

It's a cavern of discomfort
Cause by my own doing.
Blood.
Plaque.
Pressure.
I should've been a bird.

She wasn't happy here.
She claimed it was because
Her people
Her lifelong friends
Were up there.
She blamed her depression on the city
And its early hours.
Her lack of purpose
Lack of stimulation.
But she's there now
And she complains of the same malaise.
Apparently the problem
Is not in her surroundings.
It's in her.

******* does not appeal to me.
According to the masses
It is a delicious experience
With only bliss and comfort involved.
To me
It is awkward
Uncomfortable
And fruitless.

When your face descends
My mouth puckers up
My eyes close
And I just try to not offend you.

She's getting older.

I always knew she was old.
The dry lips
Can't just be a family trait
The wrinkles
Can't all just be smile-lines.
The fact that she was my father;s mother insinuated the fact.

But I didn't realize she was old.
She's never been old in
The feeble way
Hunched over while walking
Not noticing everything around her.
But now she hunches
And she doesn't notice
And her voice doesn't take
That cutesy tone when talking to me.
She doesn't use her silly sayings
And doesn't scout the store
For shirts I might like.

She's old.
And when you get old,
You leave.
Forever.
But she can't leave.
I love her
And I need her to be around.
I need both of them to be around.
Forever.

Scratch-scratch-scratch
You can hear my hand against my leg.
Scratch-scratch-scratch
Primal hair versus modern skin
Scratch-scratch-scratch
Soft versus rough
Smooth versus jagged
This will be a fight to the death!

He needs me to be
And I know it.
He doesn't really know how to be without me.

I wonder if life would be different if he didn't.

We could be heroes.
(At least, you could be mine.)
We could be something.
We could stop time.

We could be icons
For people like me.
Those who gave up.
Those who want to believe.

I think I believe in this.
I think you do too.
We could be heroes.
We could see this through.

I know you're here.
Maybe not right now
But you will be
Or you were.
Whatever.

Will you see me?
Can you tell?

Come see me
Let me know you remember
Let me know I don't ****.
I know I'm not
All you love
But come one.
Just do it.

Chocolate custard
Forgotten high school friendships
They talk. I'm silent.

I never fit in
But they accepted my words
All groups need an ***.

We are different.
I, observer. They, observed.
One relationship.

But it is the past.
I barely remember it.
They consider it real.

Steakburgers and fries.
We pretend to remember
Friendships long-empty.

Dissatisfaction boils up in my gut.
Soon it will turn to anger
Which will turn to rage...
I wonder who I'll take it out on.

Surely it will be the wrong one.

But it's the fault of many
Not just one!
Though honestly it is just the fault of one
This one
Me.

I feel TRAPPED
By myself.
A hostage in a cave of my own making.
The only way to escape
Is to make a hostile exit!
But if I shoot the guard,
I will be dead too.
So really there's no point.

Maybe they'll let me out for exercise sometime.
This is prison, isn't it?