The pen
is not your friend
But you don't know that yet

You sit
clenched fist
looking nowhere
mind
going everywhere
or drawing
a blank

You've clenched
your fist
too tight

Blood is never blue
but if it were
it might look like this

Rivers cascading
down to your wrist
the ink
finding a home
in the crevices
of your hand

Your pen is not flying
the page is not splattered
with overeager writing

Instead
you're left with
a sticky hand
and a mess
to clean up

It's just one moment
of forgetting
and then suddenly
the world is ending

I have wanted you for so long
but pining is too painful
so now I want you gone

you won and I lost in the game that didn't exist

I saw you today
it had been so long
Too long? Who knows
but anyhow

Our eyes caught
Yours brown
Mine blue-green
Spinning an eternity
between us

You nodded, I think
didn't smile
I'm not sure if I nodded back
but who knows

Libraries are romantic
They are piles and shelves of words of love
and lust
Stacks full of secrets
a kiss discretely
Hands grasped
stories told

Could we have been that kiss, those hands?
maybe, but who knows

I have written your name so many times
Scratched you out until you are, were
nothing but words and hopeless yearning

and yet now, here you are
With your nod
Those eyes

an eternity between us

Broken
by the books
I still have to shelve

My skin is imperfect
My eyebrows uneven

But so what?

I am imperfect
I am uneven

You gave me every chance
and I burned them all down

I wonder
if she too
is looking at
the moon

But I’m pretty sure
no one
is wondering
about me

jazz downstairs
and quiet upstairs

that is just enough

I need you to tell me that I’m okay
I need you to tell me there’s hope
I need you to tell me that I’ll get better
I need you to tell me I’m not hopeless
I need you to tell me you will help me

With my broken soul
A star split in half and shattered

I need you to tell me that I’ll get through this

I either remember
Far too much
Or far too little
And there is no
In between

I realized just today
that we can never be real
that we must stay
imaginary

for inside my head there are no problems
within us
or in
our imaginary world
I only hear our laughter, see our smiles
in place of anger and tears

inside my head I'm never scared
for you or me, you and me
everything is flawless
we talk, and then we see

the truth
each other
everything clear

and in the real world, well
there are sharp edges on which we will trip
knives that we will create and use to cut ourselves
practicalities
of my fear and shame

things that would never exist inside my head

so thus, with a heavy heart
I must keep us imaginary
so that we
can
never
be

real

there wasn't something
but there also
wasn't nothing

and now the gates to my heart have flown open

I turned your letter away from me
I can no longer see the content.
All I have
Is a shell of your words
That I hope
to throw out
some day

Your sentence
Meant
The world
To me...
                                      
                    ­                 Yet it
                                     Was said
                                     So long ago

I know
I’m not supposed to
Cling to the past
But I can’t
Get ahold
Of the present

Sit in the back seat of the taxi
Keep your legs crossed
Or if you have to walk at night
Eyes stay wide, don’t get lost
Have 911 at the ready
Keys between your fingers
Walk fast, move quickly
It is best not to linger
Make sure you know where to aim
The eyes, crotch, and nose
When they shout
foul things at you
Keep walking, you know
where to go

Zip up that jacket
Tug down that skirt
For you are a woman on the street
Stay safe, and stay alert

You have no idea
How simple
It is to make my day

Perhaps you’ll ask me
Where something is
Or tell me when I ask

Perhaps you won’t sit
As far away from me

Maybe you’ll even
Sit close

Perhaps you will open
The circle a little wider
So there’s room for me to stand

Perhaps you’ll just look at me
Not over my shoulder
So our eyes catch
Our selves joined
For just a millisecond

Or perhaps
Best of all
You’ll smile
At me
(Not her, nor him)

And I will smile back

My poems seem to have been
torn
apart
the edges frayed
the phrases broken
unable to be put
back
together
again

Have you found your way
To your Garden of Eden?
Walking on the gravel
Of your self-made path

The stars have emerged above you
As you enter your land of joy
The voices of your future
Begin to grow in laughs

You will soon laugh with them too
Perpetually

And yet, what have you
left behind?
The echo of your past
My voice
missing you,
longing for you,
Fading into black
The tears forming a stream
That you can go across

And I, what was I?
A pause in your journey?
A consideration of your story
That was eventually pushed away?

And so
As you get closer to your Garden
As the cross-hatched landscape
is fading into mist
The colors will get brighter
And more beautiful
And I
Will be already

Gone

I know that
you will never talk to me
But I imagine us together
In order to fall asleep

First off, it won’t go away
Simple as that
It burrows inside your head
Like a Chinese finger trap
(I’ve never seen one but I know
what they are like)
Or perhaps a camel’s thorn
Another thing I’ve heard of

Occasionally you find relief
Maybe two minutes or even less
Maybe up to five hours
But it always comes back
At least for that day

You want to scream
To plead, to cry, to beg it to stop
But of course it won’t
It’s OCD, are you kidding?
Of course it won’t
No matter how hard you try
And believe me, you do try

You try not to compulse because
You know that’ll make it worse
You imagine a drill going
Through your brain, destroying your thoughts

It’s illogical, but that’s OCD
Normally, when things are illogical
You don’t trust them
You brush them aside
Knowing they aren’t true
That they can’t be

But with OCD you believe it’s true
And you don’t want it to be
And it might not be
But it also might be true
And as the day goes on
You’re more and more afraid
That it is

You live in fear of yourself
For you are hating yourself
Your possible truths
You tell yourself
That you aren’t your thoughts
Thoughts aren’t actions
But you can never be sure
Of what you think

It’s the doubting disease
Leaving scratches up your forearm
And that’s why
It’s ocd

Words spilled out of my heart
When you broke it in two
I take them to write poetry
Loving, hating, and missing you

We poets share
Not only our words
But also our hearts and hands

I know we shattered
because you moved away
and I didn't bother to call you

I know we shattered
because one day I came over
and you weren't the you that I knew

I know we shattered
because we drifted apart
and I don't know
what happened to you

I know we shattered
because I only texted
for me and not for you

I know that we shattered
because I f*cked up
and you are still a part
of my broken heart

and I am now surrounded
with shards of glass
and my hands

                                    D
                         ­           r
                               i        p
                             p          i
                                 n  g

blood
and staining the floor

You look at the text
With no reply
And part of you
Just wants to die

I know exactly
How we died
Because I
Was the one
That killed us

They sit in a circle
And every seat is taken
Except the one next to you

Once you reach
a certain age
you will wonder
which faces will fade
which friendships will die
and what memories
will become
only sparks

He sits across from her
their knees brush
but their hands don’t quite touch

Do you ever think
of a poem
that's amazing

and you're sure you'll remember
to write it down

but you won't

The best words
and lines
and moments
I cannot use

they are too personal
precious
private
to ever be heard
seen
by anyone


but me

Sometimes I feel
that Poetry
is the only one
that understands

you know
you're a writer
when the typing
inside your head
never ceases

If you died tomorrow
could I write your obituary?

It would start of course
with your name, birthday,
the day you died
what school you went to

I could say the Before
you had two dogs and a cat
you loved to rock-climb
and do logic puzzles

Math was your thing
it never was mine
your hand always shot up into the air
faster than I could think

You liked doing back bends, and flips
with me supporting you, on the lawn
we floated from friend group to friend group
not really staying, or clinging on

You invited me to a sleepover
just you and me
before our seventh-grade dance
sleeping on your floor
as happy as can be
we had no secrets to tell
as we fell asleep

we were that close

And then
came the After
now that I could not write

I guess I could say

"She got straight A's in high school
and had many friends.
She had inside jokes
with the people she met"

I think

Writing the During
would be just too painful

what could I say?

It was a text
then a letter reply
You couldn't "thank me enough"
For what we had

That's not an obituary
I can't write that

I could write the Before
and then pass it on
to your new friends, any friend
because for me, you are gone

except for the sliver in my heart

Survived by mom, dad, and younger sister

Which way leads to you?
Do I need a compass to find my way?
As if you are an island
from some far-away shore
that I spot but can never reach

I look at you
you are so close
Would a map help me out?
Tracing a line between you and me?
Finding the way
as the crow flies
so I can get to you
as soon as can be?

Should I use my heart?
it makes the most sense
but for almost
2, 3 years
I have already used it

and I've never gotten
anywhere  

I am forever
lost

and you are still that island
that I cannot
reach

you Wait
until you feel like you again

i'm still
Waiting

She sits in a
Cafe with her
Laptop open to a Page.
Plate empty with Crumbs
Coffee almost finished.
She ordered
a Cappuccino
not a Latte
wanting to watch her Weight
just in case

She planned for this Time
where she could wait for
Inspiration to strike. It hasn't Yet.

Ignoring her Needs
to finish that Paper
those Problems
take those Notes from the day she missed Class.

So this Window of Time
could be here
with the remainder of her Cappuccino growing cold
So she could be a Writer
and not a Student
a Worker
for this Window of Time

Yet now
it seems worthless
to schedule for Now
when the Inspiration still has
Yet
to Strike

The Heart
beats faster
than the Brain
knows
how to handle

in the streets there are
many people sleeping and
many scared to sleep

"Walk amongst the similes"
Or so her mother said
For there you'll find a garden
Which fosters, like your head

Ideas
Phrases

You'll find the dirt and grass
Of the words
"Like" or "As"
You shall see

Things
Grow

Fire, Earth, Water, and Air
can all be
comparisons there
to Life

Power
Emotion

Perhaps you'll find the people
comparing to each other
not necessarily fighting
just getting to know one another

She is like him
He is like her

I suggest you pick a couple
to nurture in your head
so when you wonder what to write
you'll look to those instead

Of
Nothing

Dear You,
If you are reading this
Whoever you are
I just want to let you know
I am so proud of you
you've come so far
and I love what you are writing

keep going

From,
Your fellow Writer

She said
that we
Were mean

She was right

I'm sorry

I met Ms. Brooks just today
Her voice sounded so bright
Filled with pain, and hope, and life
showing darkness, not just the light

She sat me down and showed me her tools
They had all kinds of names.
Like "Volta" and "Cacophony"
Not a single one sounded the same

Then she showed me "kitchenette"
Hammered, filed, and whittled to be
it showed a world that stifled any thought
of Hope, or Want-- It startled me

I shook her hand and took her work
Filing it in my brain
Trying to remember all those words
So that the power remains

He says he wants to be
A melody

But I think
I’m living
As a verse

She makes it through the day
and then she gets scared again

Remember
that the inside
is often surrounded
by the outside
that tries to hide it