I remember you well
at the halfway hotel
dusty corduroy ragged
shambling shoes smiling
toothless and untethered.

You, shop door keeper
sidewalk sleeper
a torrent of tall tales
and misery sweet
You, invisible to those
who see beauty 
in possessions alone
while all you possess
hangs in blue plastic noose
from your weathered hand.

Me, the bearer of bread
hot soup for the soul
and soft blanket warmth.
We settle together
to watch the world wane
You tell me your story
hushed tones as sun sets
homeowner to street roamer
family man to castaway
as an eye blinked
and winter frosts left their bloom.

We shared our love of Cohen
as the stars forged the sky
you sang a little
with tobacco rough lungs
the sweetest sound
mixed with bitter tears
picking through all that remains
in the ashes of your life.

You thanked me for kindness
grateful for a chance at visibility
your gratitude reciprocated
by the impression left upon my heart
your face forever summoned
by Leonards finest song
I remember you well
at the halfway hotel...

In 2005 The Piano Man was found wandering the streets of Sheerness in a soaking wet suit and tie
he didn't say a word.
When presented with pad and pen he simply drew a grand piano.
His nurses sat him in front of a beat up old upright
he played for four hours straight;
for four months his hands were the only things to break his silence.

Alexandre Dumas said "man will never be perfect until he learns to create and destroy."
Do you ever think about how Beethoven hacked the legs off his piano so he could feel the sounds he couldn't hear in his head, through his chest?
And Van Gogh heard the sounds his paintings made but kept going until his sanity
was just a memory floating on a distant river under a tired Milky Way.
And you see, like a Gaelic folk song blindness runs red through my family,
so I know it's not much but I'm here, still trying to mould my hands to say the right form of 'I love you'.

And did you know that the human heart beats over 30 million times a year, but we still have a hard time keeping our feet on the ground?
And did you know that the act of breaking in a horse is actually the act of breaking it's back?
Like we can't sit without sitting on broken things.
And did you know that every time a mobile phone sends out a GPS signal a bee loses it's way home, and every bee that doesn't reach it's hive dies?

So on nights when your pulse matches the beat of my favourite song
you don't have to wonder if it's me matching the syncopation of your silence --
and I wonder if you ever found what you were looking for.
And I wonder if you realise that on days you're not here I roll up my sleeves,
count the beats without you,
sit on the backseat and miss you.
And somewhere The Piano Man rolls up his sleeves
creates the Big Bang under his fingertips.
And in 2005 on an April morning in Sheerness, a suited piano man walks straight into the ocean,
begs the current to take him.

I send you a message
a bee loses it's way home.
I send you another
another bee dies.
My chest cavity is a bumble bee crypt,
my tongue a honeyed graveyard.

Another message.
The Big Bang.
The hive.
A suit.
That ocean.
Another back is broken.
Another message is sent.
I fear I am more honeycomb than heart.

To create is to destroy. To destroy is to succeed.
And would you just look at what these piano hands have finally done.

When you see her cry
     you get a rag,
a gentle delicate cloth.
                                        Lovingly grasp her hand
                                               and dab its tip;
                                       dry each tear as they come.
                                                           ­                               And ask each drop
                                                            ­                                   why it'd leave
                                                           ­                               such beautiful eyes.

  If she wishes
to be in the sky,
  tell her to go.
                              Take the sun ransom,
                              and replace its shining
                                    with her own.
                                                            ­          So you can see her every morning
                                                         ­                          and wish for her
                                                                ­                  return each night.

When you see her scars
  both visible and non-
    touch each gently.
                                             And remind her
                                       that each and every hurt
                                            she has survived,
                                                       ­                                 has only made her
                                                                ­                   that much more unique;
                                                         ­                              that much stronger.

  Show her that she
  is a special person
and is worthy of love.
                                     That she deserves the love
                                            she fears to give...
                                            show her so that
                                                            ­                     one day after you're gone
                                                            ­                      she can find the strength
                                                                ­                    to go on without you.

    Tell her that while
she might not be a goddess
far above worldly desires,
                                          that she is amazing,
                                         for just being herself
                                    for being that beautiful girl
                                                            ­                   who thinks herself damaged
                                                         ­                         when in truth she's just
                                                            ­                    a different kind of beautiful.

   And finally, love her.
  Like a boy loves a girl
Till she finally remembers
                                            that that's what she is:
                                          not a scar, not a goddess,
                                             not a star. But a girl.
                                                           ­                         That deserves to be loved.

They told me to cry
However I could
And I said your name into the floor
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
You have many names
To me
And I said that one to the smooth wooden boards
Against my cheek.
I'm sorry
Is what I call you
At night before I go to sleep
And when I wake up in the morning.
All of your names can pull tears from me
But that one
Works the best.
Sometimes you are god
And sometimes you are lover
And sometimes you are the universe
In its vastness
Brighter than all the stars
But always I can call you
I'm sorry
And know that you will hear me.
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
Sign your name into my ribs
So that it may touch every breath I take.
They asked me to cry
And I cried.
And when I rose
Your name sank through my chest and into my stomach
Like a stone
And it is still there,
Cool and unyielding
But solid.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"
A family member would ask
I suppressed a smile thinking of you
"No" I'd reply, my face a mask

"Mommy, why are they holding hands?"
A little girl would want to know
I'd pull my hand away from yours
And manage a timid "Hello"

"You're obviously in love"
A friend of mine took note of my bliss
I finally admit it but changed pronouns
Turning every "her" into a "him"

"I'm bisexual and dating a girl"
I'd tell the mirror 1,000 times
Getting the courage to tell my parents
Then turning around and changing my mind

"Are you ashamed of us?"
She'd ask tears welling in her eyes
"No" I'd hug her close because it was true
I was only ashamed of myself and my disguise

I will drown out
Their ignorance
With our love

And I will down
The bread and grape juice
Thinking only of us
Drinking champagne

And as the pastor preaches
I will smile, not frown
Because all I'll hear are your sweet
"I love you's" on repeat

And I'll perk up
When I hear the world "angel"
Because I may be an atheist
And thought I have no God,
I have you
And you're **** close
To an angel

And I will stand
When the band begins to play
Because I'll be thinking of you
Strumming your guitar
Because you're a symphony
And you hush all cacophony  

There will be no tears shed
When I leave this church pew
I'll pay no mind to the fact
That I'm surrounded by people
Who think I'm living in sin

My mom thinks she's "curing"
My love for you
As I radiate in church
But it's only because I'm thinking
Of that girl with blue hair
Who's there for me
When God isn't
And kisses my lips
In public
And her gray eyes
Full of life
Block out any ugly stares
When people look at us
They see two girls kissing
But I see two humans
Deep in love
But apparently it's sin
Just because you're the same gender
As me

And those people in church must think
I'm just like them
And I suppose we at least have one thing
In common:
We'd both fight for our love

He always told her
He liked the way
The moonlight silhouetted her face
And she always told him
She liked the way
He held the small of her back
When they swayed

And they had a hideaway
Where they always found each other
A park on a lake called Otisco
They'd walk and hardly notice the time
Gone by
And one day
He took a pocket knife
And carved their initials
Into the bark of a dead
Tattooed tree

They came every single day
And even though it belonged
To the community,
They felt it was theirs

And the sun rose and set
As did the moon
And they took time with them
And the soles of their shoes grew old
But this remained their spot
That they would always go
And they both wished they could
Freeze time
And lie on the grass
And memorize each line
On each others face
As they were now

And the wood on that tree
Slowly decayed
And the two lover's hearts grew old
But they were still every bit in love
With this park
With each other

And that girl
Now walks through the park alone
With tears falling down her
Wrinkled face
And she never notices the stares
And that tattooed tree had fallen months ago
She's beginning to forget
The exact lines in that boys face
Or the exact way he held the small
Of her back
And nothing scares her more
So she sits at the bench
She donated to the park
With the plaque that had
Their initials engraved
In dedication to the lovers
Who loved this park
As much as they loved each other
And she longs for the day
They'll walk beside each other again
When she makes it to the Pearly Gates
Until then, she'll just put one foot
In front of the other
Getting older with her shoe's soles
Walking in the echo
Of the love she once had

my coffee knows me best
today I've gotten more and more
familiar                 with Bishop.

Elizabeth Bishop
and I find myself sipping hot
caffeine          for the second time today

she was addicted to alcohol
just like I am to caffeine
her glass was filled with whiskey

mine is three quarters water,
one quarter cold milk
two teaspoon of coffee,

and one of sugar.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Today I got to know a perfectionist

a woman poet
whose main feeling was of
alienation         no sense of belonging.

Fascinating      just
like
me.

I refuse to stay silent
I've participated in the day of silence twice now
The first time in 8th grade
We got cards that explained why we weren't speaking
I stayed silent the whole day
And felt quite special about it too
Lunch was a long game of charades
And I thought to myself
"I can't wait for the next day of silence."
And I hardly thought about why I was being silent
To begin with

9th grade I did it again
I brought a whole pack of sticky notes with me
And by the end of the day,
I felt the need to plant a tree
To pay the world back for all the paper wasted
I broke my silence by lunch time
Because my friend needed to tell me
How much she wanted to ask this girl out
And I wanted to ask this boy out
And I went home that night
Hardly thinking about why
I was (mostly) silent that day

April 11th would be my third year
Participating in the Day Of Silence
If I was participating
Which I won't be
Not become I'm homophobic or anything
Oh, no
But I began to think about being silent
And what it accomplished
What does it accomplish?
I realize it's supposed to be symbolic
Of LGBT youth whose voices are forever silenced
Because they decided their life should end
On their own terms
Suicide is a taboo word
A stigmatized topic
I'm not gay, or bi, or trans
But there are nights
When suicide looks easier
But I can't tell anyone I feel like this
Because no one likes discussing ugly things
And we'd rather live with the pretty lies
And it's much easier to fake a smile
Than lose all my friends
So what kind of message are we sending
When we stay silent on subjects like suicide
And students stay silent
Because they don't want to speak in class
And then feel like they're doing the world a favor
Making some political statement
I want to tell the story
Of the girl who got kicked out of her house
For bringing another girl home
I want to share the tragedy
Of the boy, bullet in brain
Because he was born a she
I want to be the voice
Saying "It's okay."
Not censoring my words
Maybe I'm misinterpreting
What the Day Of Silence is all about
But at least I have the power to say
You will never silence me

"Let's make snow angels"
She said to the boy

"But there's no snow...it's summer"
She laughed and lay down in the field
Spreading her legs
And throwing open her arms
As the grass shuddered
And surrendered
The shape of heaven

"There," she said and
Stood up
Walking away into
Her own silhouette

Leaving the man to
Stare at her outline
In the empty field