Am I so committed
to being a scribe
in my beat up denim
and faded sweatshirt?
On the fringes,
cleaning the corners
of my story,
wondering if I'll ever
get *****
in the middle
of it,
or remain relegated
to the seams.
I want so much
to be in the textiles
but I get bored
of the pattern.

Rhythm has always been
difficult for me.
Strumming the strings
so meticulously
I nail the meter,
but butcher the groove.
Or catch the groove, and
miss a beat.

I'm land-based,
but am jumping
like a dolphin
to catch
every breath.

A misanthrope,
a mirror,
a life well-lived?

What a strange dream
I had of us
on the beach.
Gritty and grimy
you pushed me into the
sand and I loved
how I sunk so
deep into it
the waves clapping at my legs
almost halfway
the coolness in this summer
heat tickling
getting wet
and drying off so
slowly.

The goat cries
and cries
and cries
and cries
Everyone says shut up
but it still cries.

A copy
A vacant
A hollow
A skeleton.
A shallow
A decoy.
A dupe.

This is existence.
Entangled in knitted sleeps.
Red and warm.
When will the brains
fall into the wake
wading far far far
to lap, lap, lap
hints of silence
blue and cool
glimpses untold
but felt.

I quietly experiment with my life.
No one needs to know.
The feeling of the glowing light
in a dark room all alone.
Wishing for you.
Wishing for exercise.
Wishing for inspiration
outside of the frame,
the page,
the screen.
Anxious about my shaved head,
my protruding ribs,
and childlike body.
Anxious what you'll think,
what they'll think...
afraid to go outside;
afraid of nothing.
Manic.
Afraid to talk to anyone.
Suddenly feeling the urge
to email my grandmother
and ask her about
the anonymous weight of people
who refuse to get off me,
and then hate myself
for sounding like a
hipster war-victim.

I stand still,
and they push me in circles.
Circles of friends, lovers,
and kindred spirits
who think I'm too much.
I hold hands and look away.
Close my eyes while they **** me.
Avoid their kisses and remarks,
devoid of attachment.

Ambitious
Always looking to improve
Follows through on what he says he will do
Patient and kind
Loves my body
as much as my mind
Looking for a partner in life.
(not a token, soon-to-be wife).

Serious, passionate,
but knows when to let loose.
Makes me laugh,
his personality
eager and endearing;
his humor
absurd and sarcastic.

He doesn't ask what I want to do,
but if I ask
he'll be down to do it too.
He wants me to be apart
of his friend group.
He's charismatic but grounded.
My parents and extended
would adopt him in a second.
He helps my dad in the yard.
He helps me when I'm stuck
in a broken down car.

He's cute and insanely smart.
His kisses leave me weak from the start.
He always honest and upfront,
reflective about any harm he's caused
to anyone.

He's everyone's doorman,
but no doormat.
A attentive confident.
A best friend.

He is well-read
but can see
what's missing on
the page.
He isn't afraid
of what he hasn't read
or what he doesn't know...yet.

He's not a hipster
or pretentious
but isn't against kale chips
or anything equally ridiculous.

He has a passion,
maybe two,
but isn't so absorbed
he forgets
there are other things too.
But isn't just floating either.
He has some direction;
He is looking to inspire.

He's a feminist
and not because
it's PC and cool.
He empathizes
with the issues
and is interested
in talking WITH
women about them.

He's comfortable
chilling with my friends.
Even the most
difficult people
don't bother him.

He is healthy.
Does some sort of physical
activity. Loves getting physical
with me. Is not opposed
to going down on me.
But isn't like obsessed with it.
That's just weird.

Interested in actively
deepening our
physical and emotional
relationship.

For him,
everyday is an adventure
he'd love to spend with me.

He plans at least half our dates.
He rarely complains.

You pulled my heart
Out like a wrench
I just want to
start over again
Build something
Kind of different

Am I:

enlightened or crazy?
eccentric or weird?
self-aware or selfish?
insightful or long-winded?
introverted or isolated?
passionate or obsessed?
conservative or *****?
minimal or drab?
organized or ****?
alive or hyper?
wise or clever?
careful or worrisome?
powerful or power hungry?
meek or subservient?
good or bad?
here or there?
right or wrong?

Guess it depends who you ask.

the blue light on the black screen
tells me it's not worth it,
rehashing his ill-considered verbiage.
i'll slash his discourse dead
until i see a period.
it's unfortunate.
overzealous.
anti-buddhist.
even though I'm not buddhist,
i wear a buddha necklace.
people compliment it.
the coral and gold chain
is attractive.
i don't need to be buddhist to wear it.

They say never stare directly into the sun;
It will burn your eyes and you'll go blind.
But sometimes when I stare into the sun,
it ***** the sickness out of my mind —
and I have been nauseous lately.

The worst part is that I don't know why.
It could be the food or drink,
or the lack of food or drink.
It's bad, but,
not enough to complain,
just lingering,
annoying,
though it makes my throat close up sometimes.

Maybe I'm allergic.

Regardless, that's not what I'm writing about.
I'm writing about the way the clouds hang in the sky at sunset.
How their underbellies darken and grow more dimensional as the sunshine dissipates.

As if everything has come into focus.

So effortless, yet so heavy,
like a woman's breast hung over an anxious mouth.
A vague feeling of before...trying to remember how and when,
but the feeling is not as colorful as when.

Something like how silent the city feels.
As if we're all alone looking at the sky.
It's quieter than 3am or any other hour.

It's calm.

Before  I was anxious,
but the anxiety has melted away.
This day relieved of atrocious puns^

To make room for poetry,
one hundred feet off the ground,
in pink light,
on two feet,
with chest open,
absorbing everything,
in spite of everything.

I turn back periodically to see how quickly
the blue and the purple and the lavender are becoming more vivid,
as the sun dips behind the valley and just glows there.

It's almost all gone.
Evaporating more quickly than spilled ink on paper.

Miniature lief.
A pixel. A byte.

She is in the department store
rifling through the clothing rack,
inside the dressing room,
at the makeup counter,
purchasing something,
holding many bags
minus the ones under her eyes.

She is orange, with hard rocks
as ****, and curled straws as hair.
She crows like a baby,
someone please help me
swipe my hubby's credit card.
Her breathe precipitating
the bottles of wine she'll drink later,
after complaining she doesn't
look like she's 20.

I want to save him from her,
throwing her hands up scaring everyone.
He is kind and calm and doesn't deserve this.
I wanted to save him years ago, but it wasn't my place.
Now he won't leave.
He'd rather drain his retirement than leave.
He'd rather listen to her blab and watch cable tv than leave.
I want him to leave, but I'd also hate to see him alone.
She makes him happy, even if she's ugly.

He is at the bar
flirting with the girls she hates
staying out until 8
A.M.
double timing with her bestie.

He is scraping by,
stuck in a college town,
the scent of whisky on his breath
as he crawls into bed with her,
apologizing.

I wanted to save her from him.
She is strong and he is weak,
crippled by too many drunk nights
turned into vice.
She is sweet,
her history of
revolving hospital doors,
has mellowed her,
at least someone loves her.

For seven years she didn't leave
I wanted to save her,
but I didn't know how.
She loved him and it wasn't my place.
An outsider, I couldn't believe
the intricacies of their chemistry.
He made her happy, even though he was ugly.

I heard him take her
against a wall.

I was lying
on a mattress
on a floor.

I was sure it was fine.
And I was tired.
Drunk.
Embarrassed
to be in the same room.

I don't remember her calling
out my name.
Her muffled mouth
smothered neath his sweaty hands.
I didn't hear anything.

At least I don't remember...
hearing much.
I didn't think...
My head in the pillows.
Face down.
Dead to the world.

He said he loved my body;
then i felt satisfied.
We had only talked of fruit
all dinner for christ sake.
In his studio:
white walls; white sheets;
french romance novels
stacked beside
bright sneakers.
A shell; no story here -
just objects sorted in
nondescript piles.

Lizard kisses,
soft moans and
pathetic utterances;
chest puffed
neath my palms,
riding him half soft,
barely penetrating.
He fought his eyes open;
mesmerized.
I came bored and empty,
validated; ****,
waiting for him to come
and ask me to leave.
Instead we showered;
he was all over me,
after all.

The child points and says,
"Look, mommy, look!"

The poet points and says,
"Look, world, look!"

The collective groans,
then sighs.

Mommy
responds after
a long pause:

What?

Hookup culture
was raging drunk
but has since
calmed the **** down.
It's too easy.
We don't have time
to do easy things
anymore.

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.

The fallen flag of inspiration
is stained with passions.

Connection to family
friends
getting to know
someone more deeply
meeting new people
seeing new places
seeing old places
experiencing new things
experiencing old things
feelings of bliss
feelings of love
feelings of self sufficiency
hearing music that inspires me
seeing or experiencing art that inspires me
creating without an end in mind
walking without a destination
being surprised
Eating pizza
Doing yoga
Meditating.
Feeling the sun on my face.
Sleeping deeply.
Flipping in the air.
Remembering that it is amazing
I'm inside this body
and could of been inside others.
Being myself and being
accepted for it.
Long hugs.
Touch in general.
Feeling enough to cry.
Taking a leap of faith
and it working out.
Taking a leap of faith
and falling on my face
and learning from it.
Harmonizing.
Feeling deeply engrossed in a book
or documentary.
Understand the world
just a little bit better.
Knowing I have options
and vetting them.
Letting someone else
make a decision for once.
Doing what I feel
and not necessarily
what I should do.
Being nice to strangers.
Feeling like I don't have
to protect myself or my feelings
or my thoughts.
Other people thinking
I'm cool for things
that come naturally.
Laying in bed
And staring at the ceiling.

All we want is to swing
until we want down
down mommy down.

I wonder if you think of me in the night
I know it's a waste of time
Even though I think
I can read your smile
I can't
get over it.
I tell myself
I won't be broken
if you decide
I'm not worth it
or just want to
dip your toes in.
I want to fall forward
go all in.
Be your new best friend.
I want you to hold me.
My eyes roll back
and imagine...ughhh
I'm feeling weak just thinking
about how you'd touch me.
Pardon me if I shake.
I'm just so excited
trying to tell myself it's ok.
It's ok.
It's ok.
It's ok.

I  l i k e
             p
                l
                 a
                  y
                   a   r  
                            o
        w o r d s      u
                          n
                       d.
                          l e s s
                          t a l e n t
                p u r e
   s o l i p s a r y.

Sometimes I sleep with my guitar

||||||
||||||
||||||

it fills the space.

It is always
beautiful
behind you.

Yes,
there is wisdom,
but it's endless.

Look forward.

It is also endless, and hilly.

Your knees ache to extend.

Don't worry,
the resistance
is good.

Pleasant views
will exist,
when you decide
to look back.

It feels like it will
never end with these friends
until it does
until we barely
keep in touch
until every inside joke
or hug
I can't remember
how did it feel
to be apart of them
wait I'm alone now.

In the canopy
we reach for branches
to hold on to.

A pang in my chest
says don't pursue
him he'll be just
like the others
patting you on the head
and telling you who you are
until its bored into you.
You'll leave looking
for strangers
to surprise
someone
who doesn't know
your favorite wine
maybe he'll choose
something refreshing
that you don't like.
At least it will be
different, not the same
until he walks away
and it's over.
And you suddenly
miss having someone
who knew you that way -
so we'll.
oh well.
So you'll take some time
to stretch yourself
and then you'll be ok
and then you'll start looking
but find nothing and quickly
spiral into a depression
because no one wants
to know you like he did.
So you'll call him
and complain
about your lack of options,
feel guilty for oversharing
then send him
a naked pic for listening.
And the you'll go on
a date with someone 'great'
and then they'll disappoint you
because they seemed spontaneous
but aren't really or are
but don't have their **** together.
And then you'll...
**** I can't do it anymore.

We woke.
Ants had invaded my kitchen.
We parted ways,
I mortified.
Then a genocide;
the queen drowned.
Her colony mourns
their loss.

They cloud my view
until I can't see the sun.

I've been in these situations
too many times
gazing at a pretty face
seemingly stunned by
a perfect beauty.
Everything I would
say in response
an attempt to alleviate
the awkwardness.
Every pose I'd
try inspired by
ones before.
I'm jaded.
I'm afraid
to move.
I don't know how to touch you
in ways you'd find stimulating.
I don't expect to be your first,
or even the best,
although I'd hope for the latter.
I just want to be a different flavor
you haven't tried before.
Not just your new girl.
Not just a blur of blonde hair
in your face.
I want to be...
bold.
I want to be
deep.
But I am timid and shallow.

I'm not disappointed.
I'm just confused
when the hands on my hips
are disembodied.
And the excitement of the thurst behind
diffuses into a dull pain in my right side.
The lip exchange...
a requirement.
Anything
to escape this display
I can't do justice.

I am a little disoriented
I get lost sometimes
I dream of grandeur
Of you holding my hand
there in the moonlight
we walk.
We have smart conversations
marveling everything.
It's never time to go.
We're too slow with our meanduring.
We read each other too thoughtfully.
Adoring, not owning.
Remembering, not anticipating.
I love you
I love you
I love you
I don't need to date you
because I already love you
dear friend you know don't you
the secret smile
your embrace
your conversate
its obvious right.
I'm not going crazy.
Please tell me I'm not going crazy.
Just hold me until I'm worthy.

The exclamation.
Then lack of
salutation,
or signature,
signifies loudly.

I get it.
You got your message across.

Even though I asked for no response,
you responded out of politeness.

So I responded.

But a conversation
was not what you wanted.

So you shrugged email
ettiquete off and sent
back two lines of text,
almost like a text.
It wasn't even formatted.

Do you hate me?
I dumped you a year ago,
so you must hate me now.

There is no room in your new room
for our fond failure.
Only success happens.
Mistakes are holograms
we can't change yet
linger over
again and again.

Perhaps for you,
it's just easier to
sprint through
hey! hi! how are you?
Finish,
and move on.
But I can't.

I loved you.

I am not just an ex;
I gave you the locket around your neck;
I don't want you to forget
me.

I want you to remember
every moment in 3D color.
Be the intermission
to your originally scheduled programming,
the star of your dreams,

I want to be that girl you think about sometimes.

The one that got away.

I mean, not in a torturous way!

Just someone deserving
of more
than bitterness and blasé.

It makes me crazy,
Those knawing pops of color.

Welcome distractions!
Abstracts.
Plentiful letters stuck
To loved ones.
Characters
With layers.
Annoyances
to empty minds.
Friends,
Faithful and familiar.
Electric acquaintances
Jolting perspectives.
Careful and considered.
Almost silent.
All purpose.
Niche.
Violent.
Hypocritical.
Invaluable.
Unnecessary.

­Soft.

Solipsary.

I keep it to myself
and I keep it small
little mentions
here and there
enough to intrigue
you to want more.
I'd never bore you
to death I'd ****
myself first.

Blue light,
night sky,
quick write
before my phone dies.

A fly flew directly
into my eye,
drowned,
surprise!
suicide.

she learned the words
anarchy
and
freedom.

I am inspired generation,
expired dislocation,
tempered,
satistify
me,
atleast,
for
saken
pespir
nation
allities,
and tea
shirt
and jean
kings:
holdin'
shiny
pennies.

a way to purge
on paper,
truths.

i read a catalog
of 1000 sentences.
there were too many.

none gave me a lover.
all just went
forward.

I let him **** me
until my stomach
was twisted in knots.
I laid on his bed naked
for the next hour,
writhing in pain.
Everyone told me
it was supposed to hurt.

You loved who I once was
I'm not that girl anymore
I'm not a girl anymore
Sorry to break it you.
You can't see it can you.
She's gone.
Get over it.
Find someone new.

I bought a book
and read
half of it

I'm shy.
I'm tongue tied.
My hands struggle to type.

My bottom lip quivers.
My body shakes
(and not in the good way).

I can't eat,
tie my shoe,
just relax or
make the first move.

I'm always first to text you

with shame,
but masquerading
and gray.
A noctural opportune,
cold,
******,
bound,
seduced,
a freak —
your flavor of the weak.

I'm just
a bag of skin,
whirling,
in the wind.

I'm plastic
on the beach,
out of place,
and not unique.

I've been stabbed,
and ripped in half,
by some homeless man
picking up trash.

I'm submerged,
underneath,
unwanted things
that rot, that stink.

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.

Pain
is complacent
to things
you blame.

Bliss
is tenacious,
despite things
you change.

I don't have time to write you a poem.
I have to leave in 20 minutes and I
CANNOT
think of something clever
to say
in that space
of time.

I wanna share
all my poetry with you
but then you might
think
its
stupid
trivial
short
and
unremarkable.
Just like me...?
An insecure 'artist'
with too many
feelings.

in deep end,
dance!
free dominating
for sis.
chain germinating
per spec i've
been leaning in.

I follow you
to the places
that are good for me
more frequently
than I would normally.

There is where you are.
And,
I want to be there too,
admittedly,
more than I want to self improve,
but somehow that happens too.

It feels like we took
a shortcut together.