I'm finding I don't
have much to say
anymore unless
the sentence starts
with your name.

Writing poetry is a lonely thing
It looks you square in the eyes, smiling
It asks you to write alone
Even in company
When writing poetry
You are alone

And even lonelier still
It asks you
To go inside of yourself
There are things there you must find

There is a man inside my body
A boy
And they look just like me
They each hold letters
I do not know what they say
I must find them

Poetry is love you want
Is someone you want to be in love with
Poetry is a child tugging at the pant-leg of someone
You want to be in love with

Poetry is the coffee stain on long sleeve shirts
Right over the wrist
Your mother called them chocolate stains
Never blood

Poetry is my drunk fingertip stumble
My white-boy wasted
My way of loving less awkward

Poetry is someone telling you they love your poetry
Poetry is loving someone for loving your poetry
Poetry is also kissing that person

There is a man
In mirrors he might be me
We have a letter we want to give to you
But they read like a feeling

We spend hours in solitude
Finding ways to step into the daylight

Poetry is convincing you
You need a reason to step into the daylight

There are words etched into your teeth
All white
No bling
The letters change with the shape of your mouth

Smile more often
Even when you don’t want to

Poetry is trying to teach you to speak peace
with the words in your smile
To people you don’t want to speak peace to

Poetry is an angry father
Is neck bruises from belt loops
Is rug-burn from being dragged across the floor

Poetry does not love you
It simply asks you
To find space inside of yourself
And then it wants you to give it to someone else

There are people inside of you
With stories

Writing poetry is a lonely thing
Giving it away
Until no one can be a thief to your soul

That too
Is poetry

I wanted to stop someone

on the street

and ask them.

I wanted to stop the next random person

and say, hey

can I ask you a question.

They would think

I wanted some change

to buy a little more alcohol

but I don’t really drink

and they would say sure you don’t, buddy

and maybe hand me some coins anyway

or just walk on

without another word or turn of their head

convincing themselves that my homeless state

is my own fault

and it is

but I am not even homeless

Not the way they think.



I want to ask them,

the ones reverently typing into their phones,

excuse me but what exactly does LOL mean

because I don’t hear anything.



I wanted to ask someone

but everyone seems in such a hurry

procuring caffeine infused drinks

with names that are so long

that you couldn’t fit them on billboards

but they rattle them off

with a fine, practiced precision of the tongue

to Baristas in green aprons

wearing Verona smiles,

their eyes glinting from farther away than

the place which the precious coffee whence came

and I want to ask

if this is maybe their own illusion,

one that mimics conversation,

making the five-something they pay

so ******* worth it.



I wanted to ask someone

sitting at their desk

incessantly checking their on-line profiles

and commenting on comments

made in response to the comment

they left on the post of a picture

that has captured a small snapshot

of some life

while they pretend to be working on something else

so that they can pay the ever increasing price of access

because its important to stay connected

and I bet if I asked them to list

six things they could never live without

surely Facebook is what they would list

right after water, food and God

but they just seem too busy which

I think is their intent.



I wanted to ask someone

but everyone seemed so focused

on getting home

so they could embrace their loved ones

on the sofa

and hold each other close

while they memorize the reruns of

some reality TV show,

while they don’t talk to each other,

being so engrossed, and

I would ask them

if I were in their living rooms

while they strain to hold their heavy lidded eyes

high

shooting their television with their ray guns

chanelling their TV gods,

chanting,

there’s nothing on,
there’s nothing on,
there’s nothing on.



I wanted to ask someone,

anyone,

if that girl was right

when she told me that

I speak too passionately when expressing a point

and if it really is good

to nod in agreement

with the things people say

like a parrot

as opposed to posing an argument

because she professes to know that

beneath my façade of not caring

that I do care if they accept me or not and

I really do want to know

if she is right and

I wanted to ask someone

but instead I decided to just keep it to myself

because deep down I do know

she was as wrong as

I always was

and if there is one thing that I did learn from her

it is that

if you cant fit it

in the one-hundred and sixty character space

of a text message

no one really wants to hear it anyway



so instead of starting a random conversation

with a stranger

I spent the morning memorizing acronyms

so that I might communicate more effectively

with people farther away than my voice.


Michael L Sutter

That lonely feeling i used to get
at 4 a.m. when the whole world
is silent
when my thoughts screamed loud enough
to fill the void with
anxiety
pain
and reality
ever since i saw your eyes
that feeling hasn't washed over me
4 a.m. is no longer lonely
and the thoughts that used to scream
anxiety
pain
and reality
now scream
you
you
and you.
*-s.k.

the thing about feelings
is that they change
yesterday,
  you may have been
   completely infatuated
    with someone  
     or entirely immersed
     in sadness,
   but that doesn’t mean
that’s how you feel now
or how you’ll feel forever
and i fear that people forget that,
  i fear we fail to remember
   that emotions are not permanent
    and maybe that’s why
     her stomach hurts
    when she thinks about
   the girls in his life
  before her
  or why i’m reluctant
   to share old poems
    because i don’t want anyone
     to think that’s how i feel today
    so maybe we should start asking
   “how are you?” more often
     and stop accepting
      the default “i’m okay.”
       and maybe we should start
      caring more about
    what people say now,
   instead of dwelling on
  words of the *past

First day of 8th grade ***-ed class,
Sitting awkwardly beside you in my seat.

Closing our math binders in sync,
The health teacher strides in.

"Take out your folders class!" a loud voice booms,
I scramble to find it.

Taking out blank paper to write notes,
The teacher launching into a fast paced lecture.

"Thistopicisveryimportantblahblahnolaughingblah--"
Losi­ng track of the words I stop and look to your sheet and copy,

To only see you have written one word--your name.
You notice me looking as I smirk at you.

I try to hold in the giggles,
Even though it isn't funny.
You reacting the same way.

I look up and catch your eye and I feel my tummy doing turns,
Why do you do this to me?

You look like your blushing but I couldn't tell as we both looked away,
Do I make you feel the same way?

We mirror movements without noticing it,
Life isn't making much sense to me.

I slump in my seat already bored of this lesson and let my hands hang loose,
I then realize how close to you I am, your warm breath blowing down my neck.

I can feel you look at me,
Me wavering under your gaze.

You do something surprising,
You slip your fingers through mine under the desk,
Hidden away from view.

I feel myself panicking my breath coming out faster,
Blushing like a cherry red tomato.

I readjust my grip reassuringly squeezing your hand in a friendly gesture.
They say your first love never lasts.

But a girl can dream.