In the pit of my heart,
I yearn to learn
your not dead.

Even if I'm dead to you.

People are always dead to you
if they don't exist in your life anymore.


I was a girl
with paradigm abreast,
shared world hater, lover,
frolicking in the clearing of disenchantment,
pleased beneath your rounded shoulders,
our first breath together
was dark green water,
and I was parched,

and I feel weak,
when I think about
the shadows of our feet,
frozen to the pavement,
that cold California February,
your fingers opening my pilot jacket unabashedly —
my soft belly exposed and stiffened —
a waste to hold on before you leave.

Men who ruin my night:

All I want is to be free
without having to coordinate
an army of women as posse.

But invitably, you will approach
and interrupt any attempt
at a private one woman show.
I will play nice,
an actress to backhand
compliments about her casual appearance
or whatever the ****
you strike up and serve my way.

I will anxiously look
for strangers to talk loudly with,
avoid your gaze, your funnel,
your "friendly" back pats.
Just because we have a mutual friend
doesn't mean your relevant.
But you don't know that.
You don't know me.
The girl inside, just a social
butterfly flying away from
your outstretched hands
into the night, into her lonely bed,
no dreams of hopeless men.
Excusing herself with period cramps.
No one can fault a girl for hiding
with such pain. It's the ultimate way
to get stupid to turn away.
And nature's way of telling her,
let's not fight those men tryna
cramp your style.
Just stay inside.
Sorry girl, another time.

I notice the difference
moment to
moment
less, and my
purpose seems to change as
quickly as the palms
blow above me -
this strange wind.

Shouldn't I write it?
Or is it decided?
Or is it too sacred,
never good enough,
scattered,
and self-deprecating
like my thoughts.
A comedy hiding
the tragedy I feel;
I feel too much.

Like the times I just
felt tired and tied,
alone, listening to Coldplay,
and crying, yearning
to remember shades of
yesterday with the same
bright sun.

In the past,
I have yearned for
profound knowledge,
to understand
intense sensation,
general contentedness,
direction and beautiful places,
meekness and worn out spaces.

But I'm tired of contemplating,
the grass green, blue air, slight breeze.
I'm just hacking
incongruent chunks
of increasing size,
left with divets,
and a dull knife.

Draw me into a poem and paint in all the dents the world has left within me.
Feeling your hands on my skin, caressing the inside of my thighs, moving up
Has me questioning how the roughness of the world hasn't corrupted such soft hands
Your eyes linger on my chest, and it feels like your gaze burns through me, seeing a glimpse of all the ache I feel
You run your hands through my hair, and your expression becomes much softer, as if holding a precious gem and being so afraid of scratching or dropping it  
You whisper in my ear how you want to protect me at all cost and how the world does not deserve me
How I'm so pure and unscathed by life's many hardships
You promise to wrap your arms around me every night,
When we're lying on our crisp, white bed sheets
Reminding me how much the world is lucky to have an angel walk among them
Yet, I can't help but feel like I put up a front of being something I'm not.
I am nothing
My heart is stained black.
My thoughts are usually clouded
If i could describe them as a season, it would be fall,
Because they're always causing me to breakdown Into pieces
I am soiled with pure hate.
The rage fills me and all the love dissolves
If the world hasn't worked you into roughness, maybe my soul will
I think it would be better for you to leave.
But maybe you see the potential of what I can become,
Gentle, soft
Adoring
Something so much more, than I already am
My eyes follow yours and we lose ourselves in the moment, putting aside all of our do's and don't's,
Forgetting that love never plays fair,
And soon, one of us is bound to get hurt.

Lately,
just the bumps
and the grind
no outlet anywhere,
just outlets everywhere.
turning everyone off,
please let me just focus
on the brightness in the dark.

Its lonely here,
and stifling sometimes.
speaking in brief
interjections,
my voice grows stronger.
no release of inarticulate
thoughts in small talk -
just dealing with them.

Waking up with
no aftertaste of moving
at someone else's pace.
barely noticed how I
was trained til
re-lax and just be me,
that extraordinary feeling
of being me,
in that place where
there is no try,
Just climbing,
just a smile
at sentiments
similiar to mine.

And my,

We're all just dropping in
and saying goodbye.
wondering what each other's
private life is like.

This is mine.

the arpeggio of strings,
a distant voice sings,
for pleasantly contained spaces,
in far away places.
somewhere sweet
and safe, with
sorrows embraced,
far in the distance,
neath moonlit plains,
white stars,
wave crashing and
undeveloped terrain.
the cool cast of a fire-y past,
riper, wiser, and
unaffected by change.
looking black,
at looking back.

I can’t seem to get this thing started
But I know I can find my way home
I can take you to where the ice melts
We can follow it until it turns to foam

How long does it take to gain your confidence
I need the key but the puzzle is in your mind
All these complications for such simple things
Like your cheek rubbing your tears on mine

You're like a home without a door
Nobody knows where to begin
The curtains are shut
And the lights are dim

I know you’re still thinking about him
I would come calling but he got to you
He’s moved on but you can’t come clean
I don’t care about your past but you still do

The path is covered with red leaves
The way you were once loved has fallen
Stop looking at trees that will never live again

I think about the past but you’re not in it
Tomorrow is the only place I can find love
I can’t begin to build a bridge all in one day
But when you cross you’ll know what it’s made of

You're like a light without a switch
Nobody knows how to turn you on
The shadows live a long life now
And your smile runs away from dawn