There’s a hermit in me
and a flying god too.
And a dancer, who dances on the bones
of his lovers…
gently dancing life into them.

There’s a liar in me
and a repentant thief too.
Who tried to stuff precious moments
into his pockets…

There’s a handsome man in me,
bold, strong, and true.
There’s a woman in me too…
delicately twisting in her sleep.
And somewhere, there’s still a small boy
who can’t find the right size shoes.

There are rules in me that have no purpose…
small print in search of a home.
And there’s a warrior in me
who plays the harp before battle,
then rushes late into the fray.

There are tapestried walls in me
and marble halls,
formal gardens,
and servant’s chambers.
And there’s a simple cottage
I can’t quite find.

There’s a psychic in me
who reads the future
but is sometimes unable
to turn the page.
And there’s a mysterious poet in me
who finds words only at night.

And there’s a seeker of truth
who gets
lost
in
the
snow.

They say
It all will be okay-you're beautiful
As if those words can draw the line
Between bravery and slavery
And clear my back of scars
Left by the lash of sacrifice.
Every choice I have made
Has been a step away
From love, from freedom, from home.
For in this maze of concrete and steel
I must be alone, and always composed -
There is always someone watching
So I keep a steel rod in my spine
And walk towards the end of the city
Pretending I cannot feel passer-bys stare
Sizing me up
Feigning deafness to the murmurs of my pronounced bones and sharp features
All I am is a hanger for clothes
A display, a game, a gamble
They want it to pay off
So they tell me it will all be okay
Because I am beautiful

As I was thinking of her she appeared,
Suddenly my heart was a child's balloon,
We walked to the tea room by the lake,
And spoke of fountains dancing joyously.

You are a dream
I could have for a thousand sleeps,
A wonderful dream
in a moonlit night of loneliness,
Of winding roads
where our hearts may never be lost,
Of silhoutted horizon
where our love is unnoticed by most,
Of soaring mountains
where there are no impediments,
Of azure skies
where broken vows are ours to mend,
Of shallow rivers
where our memories may never sink,
Of hourless forest
where a never ending story do exist;
Yet you are only a dream
I could have for a thousand sleeps
A wonderful dream
in a moonlit night of loneliness.

I am somewhere, maybe everywhere, but mostly nowhere.
Home is fictional; I am drifting in this city of strangers. Another night without rest, a candle burning, a boy crying, blood on the kitchen floor. I tried to buy cigarettes but my account decided it was empty. From the window on the fourth floor across the street, it might seem that I live a lavish life. I stay in Tribeca- I  even have an elevator. When I go out, I dress well. Beautiful people surround me and usually drinks are free. Sometimes they buy me breakfast or coffee or give me a place to stay. My weekends are often spent in East Hampton, in a three house lot that serves as a sanctuary. I go to nice places for dinner. I am not the one paying. I buy this with my silence, a silver tongue that keeps quiet when food and water are scarce. It's okay, it has to be, that's what I tell everyone who asks for help. How can I ease their wounds when mine are gaping, when I feel sick and weak and lost? I pay them with compassion-I give them kindness. I am exhausted.
I don't remember the last time I had money in my pocket or an answer I can stand behind.
This is what I wanted.
I kiss the man next door goodnight. I listen when he is sad. I carry the guilt of the woman I stay with in exchange for a corner to sleep in. My eyes are heavy with concealed bruises. My heart is heavy with the pain of others. My body is light with the heaviness of hunger.
This is what I wanted.
Will someone tell me what to do? Can I dream about a studio with a bookshelf full of my favorite authors and a man beside me each night? Am I weak if I walk away? Do I go back to school after a summer of travel and pretend that I am the same? Can I look love in the eyes and promise purity?
I am somewhere, maybe everywhere, mostly nowhere.
I am suffering quietly. I am proud.
I am absolutely terrified. I am alive.
This is what I wanted.

There's not enough alcohol in the world
to fill the void you've left.
Your silence holds enough torture
in itself to remain nameless and
beyond anything explored.

Only I know -
I've mapped it out in several pages.

I have mapped out the curve on
your bottom lip that I never kissed,
and below that a chin that's connected finely to the jaw bones
chiseled by God himself.
Your soft palms that sprouted out to five
different ways in which you could have touched me.
Five ways in which I could have held on to you.

I should have.
But I was so stupid then.

What sweet youth this is
to slowly wilt at eighteen.
Where in twenty years I will be
thirty-eight.
I wonder what my hands
will feel like then.

Rougher?
Softer?
Kinder, or maybe the exact
opposite?

How many paintings will they
have created by then?
How many countries would my
eyes have seen?
How many men would I have
chosen to lay with?
How many decisions would I
have taken?

How many things bought and broken.
How many of those will I save.
How many memories will I forget in
twenty years that now seem so
unforgettable.
Legendary.

How much of my life will I regret?
How much will be left by then?

To mend what I have broken.
To throw away what should not have been kept.
To take a pottery class and learn
how to finally mold myself.

To Remember.

Children under trees,
Windy leaves wanting to fall,
Autumns' joy swirling.

Tonight, I am afraid.
I am afraid because I had a piece of toast 13 hours ago, and there's nothing left in the fridge except some horrible strawberry liqueur, which I am drinking despite the fact that it feels like acid in my empty stomach. Me, I'm 5 feet 11 inches, 112 pounds, blue-eyed with longish blonde hair. I'm hungry, but it appears that New York doesn't feed outsiders. So I'm listening to Leonard Cohen on Leonard Street because that's the only thing I can think of that makes sense right now. Smoking in bed, my small luxury. I had a neighbor who leaves me toast and coffee in the morning, except I haven't seen him in a while and I'm too proud to knock on the door and ask for food. It's strange, leaving a perfectly ordinary life for this desperation, this skinny **** that I thought was important but now just makes it hard to climb the stairs. I'll make it, though, right? It's almost September and that's when I'm supposed to make money. Money. I just wanted to go to Italy again, feel the life I should never have left again. So okay I’ll be their clothes hanger, their one-man show, walk a pretty walk for them, and then go somewhere else. Except right now I'm considering the hospital, that sweet IV that will keep me nourished. I can't afford a taxi though, and I don't know what is I’d tell them- “Hi I'm 20 years old, broke, starving, alone, and afraid to sleep because I don't know if I'll see another day”- I think they would send me to the psych ward instead. I don't know, I am supposed to be a hybrid of girlish innocence and feminine mystique, but all I really want is someone to put me to bed and watch me sleep so I know I'll be safe.   It's 3:26 am. I have no one to call. It's just Leonard Cohen and I on Leonard Street, singing through dry lips and fading into the white of the sheets. If I called for help, I doubt they'd find me in the bed. I'm here, though, I'm here.

I never expected I would turn to loving someone,
But being in love is a thing I couldn't stop now.
I could tell the whole world that it is you
That I have been looking for, somehow,
And I don’t want to be any further away from you
That I am right now.

My tongue will always express the truth;
I will never comfort you with those wicked lies,
For I don’t want to be in your rear view,
For I don’t want to be drowned in my cries.
And the memories we shared will always remain,
That I treasure in my demise.

There are no more secrets hidden in my eyes,
And my mind is always screaming out your name.
My days that were so hollow has been replaced
By the love that I could always claim;
And this story is penned by our entangled hearts,
That I could find no ending.

What could be found in this note,
Mostly a goodbye?
When a tiring knee waved a flag
And your bones are tired.

Depression is poison
Superiors are just hard to abide.
Unappreciated by your blood like,
What more pain can you hide?

I am sick of the system,
Reaching the threshold of my faith
Waving hand drowned and dying
Smiles we fake.

When they don't see enough
No one understands and listen.
The good is buried ,deep
Soul is badly beaten

Ego is destroyed,
No one knows your value.
Until you're gone,
They all love you.

She ran like the whiskey down my throat
Every day I craved more of her
And yet she left my mouth dry