She put her ears up in a
perky
quirky manner,
and smiled with a full tongue out at the purple clouds cast against the salmon sun.

Finally, we had found something in common.

We sweat and gasped together, but we felt beautiful together.
And I scratched the exact spot on each side of your face simultaneously
which cripples you momentarily as you fall over in excitement just to hear me say one consonant.

And for the two seconds we gazed, the leash in my hand became more than vinyl weave.
It was a connection we didn't understand, something money doesn't own, and something God never created.

We were us.


But peaceful bliss dies as quickly as the squirrel she smells,
had the leash not been wrapped around my blood-thirsty, suffocating forearm.
So back down the stairs we walk (run) as her smile tightens and mine fades like the pigment of my arm's skin.

I think I'm going to blow away
And see what happens as the moss turns into trees.

I think I'm going to run away
And watch each river incandescently freeze.

But when the time comes to accept the end of my mobility,
I will tilt back and wonder about all the other inbetweens.

I took fifty steps backwards when I decided to read the book I wrote you today.
You know, the ******* fifty page story of our love?
The one that I spent three months on?
The one that I poured my heart and soul into?
The one I gave to you on our one-year anniversary, the first of "many more"?
Ya, it ******* killed me to remember all the good things I forgot on purpose.
And then I remembered that I loved you since day zero, and then I got to thinking how I'll love you till the birds stop singing.
I managed to stop reading at page 3,
But up until that point was needles to my eyes, daggers to my heart, razor blades to my soul.
I managed to stop reading at page 3,
But tomorrow may bring page 4.

This was all after I looked at the pictures of your graduation day.
Remember I couldn't stop crying?
Remember how every day since then I haven't stopped crying, dying, trying to forget all the **** you left piled up in front of me to climb over, holding my breath and slipping.
It's become an downward uphill battle,
Because every step I progress you push me down twice with an invisible hand of dishonesty.

Something stopped my finger from clicking on the folder of prom pictures.
The one where we kissed always brought tears to my eyes,
But now I'm crying for different reasons.
When I look at you in still candid shots all the other colors fade into the photograph and my eyes dilate farther into the sea of "used to be".
I'm tired of my grey world without you.
I want something to make the world what I had before,
Before you piled the **** and left me to rot,
I want all of that,
But I want none of it.
And then I try to tell myself "no, *******" but you know it never works.
It never will,
Because then I start to think about being naked with you,
And the electric feeling that your bare chest against my stomach gave me,
And how your fingers tangled in my hair drilled me deep inside of you,
So deep,
So deep I need surgery for removal.
But any successful operation would never end in life.

For all the words good about you I've written, I can match them all for bad.
But you know it doesn't matter,
Because here I come climbing over your **** pile,
Because maybe
I still have a chance with you.
Maybe if I wade through the **** I'll reach you someday.
Or maybe it's going to keep growing in height and diameter till it reaches and pollutes even Heaven above.
And then what hope is there to ever live a life without you?
Because Heaven is the only possible place,
Since I know you'll never make it there.

Am I doing this right?
Do we punctuate in slow motion or should we scream with no meaning behind crystal words?
And how do we define good from great?
If we dream it, can we make it?
If we want it, can we get it?
Do my rhymes make ripples or meaningless disturbances?
And will these ripples even cause waves? Will the motion become an ocean?
To prove yourself is to move mountains, yet mountains come by so infrequently today.

We possess the story telling wiseman within us all.
He belly laughs and wonders at tales of great.
The music he produces out of his fingertips flow seamlessly within the words of old.
And we wish to tell the novels inside of us yet we draw into each other like hibernation,
And we ignore the signals written in front of us.
Forever shading grey the power of our thoughts and feelings,
Wiping our faces clean of originality.

Personally, I need the success I deserve.
There's something inside that pushes the letters through my hands onto paper.
The drive courses like hot maple syrup,
Accelerating the existing liquids,
Pushing my limits to get what I want.
I want to prove I have to do this,
But I was always caught wondering if these words I give were prescribed or abused under the table of lesser men.
There will always be the greedy, the skeptical who question my right, who question my point of writing these rhymes.
But I must keep going,
Or these words will raisin,
Shriveled and wasted in graves and ashes.

I want to free fall into the Mariana Trench.
I want to watch the world become darker and darker till light is not in the dictionary.
Forms of life will become less distinguishable with every meter.
Motel rooms and apartments litter the crevice's walls-"low" income housing-
Soup kitchens begin to occur less frequently-
Replacing them are drug houses and grimy gas stations with metal bars for windows.
Every creature notices my existence.
They dart their eyes just too much,
And I know they suspect that I came here to sleep. To be at peace with myself again.
To watch them, to hear them, to wander them.
In my mind, seconds melt like ice cream cones in July.
Minutes cut through the silence unnoticeably.
Time slips underneath me as the rug is pulled out from my feet and over my eyes,
And it covers my mind.
I remember nothing of past events,
They told me to leave all behind.


As the day grows darker into nothing but here and now,
My skin turns blue. I am the ocean in this divide of magnetic silence.
I am the fish who struggle to find meaning for themselves.
I am time which does not exist here.
I am the water whose stagnancy sinks me deeper into earth and beings of past eons.
My hair becomes the nutrients, the seaweed and algae that provide for the citizens of this primitive paradise.
My eyes are now seashells which house these forgotten creatures.
My arms stretch out towards surface and harden into coral shoots, but my mind is rooted into sea floor basalt and sand.
I will never leave.


                   An eel approaches me.

He welcomes me with a warm embrace too far up my body.
Not an under-the-arms hug,
A beating, lively hug around the neck.
It takes my breath away,
And so I cannot help but gasp with excitement,

And I find my peace.

Have you ever watched a face before you drip into itself? Imploding in slow motion,
Melting inside into darkness?
And watch each drop of liquid flesh melt the day away.
And the waxy ooze pools in staggering stalagmites, gathering till no longer can the mountain continue to heighten.
They seem to be tears,
But how can they be such things with no emotion inside?


Aren't we all just dolls?
Suspended until the candle gets too close?
Placed here to fill a space, fill a hole and make it "whole"?

Someday I want to know if I'm made of plastic, or if I'm real.
But for now, I know the answer.

I hate to write poetry
Because every one I write is about you,
Because every thought is about you,
Because you make me sad.

I love to write poetry
Because every one I write is about you,
Because every thought is about you,
Because you made me happy.

But did you know that every hushed slip of lips,
Every lust swept memory,
Every clouded sky daydream
Is nothing but you?

And did you know that my car seat is unbearable to sit on,
"Time Machine" is no longer listened to,
In fact every song
Is tainted like rotting flesh.

Even this poem,
Yes,
Is undeniably about you.
And so will be the rest of them
In eons,
In millions of words,
In kilometers.


       I hate to write poetry
       Because I love you.

       I love to write poetry
       Because you loved me.

The couch cushions buckle,
They want our shoulders to touch just enough
To remind me of sweet smiles and our unconventional love.
And for a moment I believe that inanimate padding, beckoning for soft skin to linger just a moment too far gone.
And for our mouths to come just too close, with only inches in-between innocence and ******.
For I know he is my brother,
The one who wipes my tears,
And who supports my head on shoulders of infinite granite.
I love him enough to call him,
But not enough to call him my own.
But the cushions see no difference as the black hole springboard ***** the edges down and we move on the track toward each other.

There will always be days I need you like oxygen,
And without you breathing is pained.
Jealousy will always burn inside like hot stomach acid,
Eating the ribs, threatening my heart.

I wish to quell the jealousy, but never the need.

There is a place I recall
Where flowers of neon fluorescence dripped fragrances of deep passion,
The kind only received in love.
Letters were not ended with
Sincerely,
My deepest regards.
Christmas trees became disco *****,
Beckoning dances of slow satisfaction.

I seem to have lost the light.
My friends around me teeter toward it,
Yet no longer do I step forward once without two steps
Back.
So faint are the feelings of warmth.
I wish only for luminosity,
But perhaps tomorrow.

How can I still breathe?
How do I still walk?

I go home

Grab Mom's knife

Slit

Crying, I hide the remains of my mangled wrist

Days go by like nobody cares
Nobody talks
Nobody loves

My Mom is home

An audience

As I grab the knife, she screams
All breathing stops
I lay on the floor

My Mom picks up the phone

The blood is draining
My life is fading

As moments go by

The radio plays

"All You Need is Love"

It will ring whether they want it to or not.

There's the day they will force it,
There's the day they will stop.

Yet She rings on still stronger,
Whether they want it to or not.

There is but one point where everything stands still,
And we can only create it, not find it in the natural world.

I find this fascinating


In a world of industrialization,
Timely schedules,
And 7 billion people,
Nothing ever stops.
Though I try to sit as still as silence,
I **** my breathing momentarily,
I resist the need to blink,
This does nothing.
My heart still beats,
My veins still pump,
And the hormones triggered by my brain will still be released.

The rocks will still shake at the molecular level.
Underneath the ice, the lake is still moving.
And the air, though no wind may be felt, persists higher up still.

Yet there is a joy that comes from watching everything around you,
As you freeze time,
And they continue on.
The river speeds on faster than was noticed before.
The people move quicker along the sidewalk.
The cars accelerate until the stop sign approaches, yet even then their engines still growl with a readiness to pounce.

But I sit here and wonder why more do not stop like me.
Is it cowardice that keeps them in constant motion?
I think it more to be blamed on an unwillingness to care.
Ignorance - there's a reason it's bliss.

Maybe if they did stop, they would start caring more about the river that runs underneath them perpetually.
Creating sanctuaries for infinite numbers of species.
Loving each one equally.
Harmonizing with the trees and flowers.
Caring for the muck and dirt with no where else to go, nothing else to be.

And perhaps caring is scary,
But peoples' lack of care, I find angering.

I enrage over how more people don't care,
And how if we all stopped just one moment each day,
Things would be much different.

If only my arms reached once around the world.

I would sweep them back and forth, combing each and every surface,

Until I touched you.

What was the purpose of difficulty?
Whoever wears the crown, I'd like to inquire them on that particular question.
And then the follow up:
Why give me so much?

I struggle to remember the reasons as to why I made the choice that I did,
And my head cannot carry this burden along with the other necessary parts of my life at the
moment.
I need the relief I deserve,
And I will fight for it as long as your arms are open.
But this might never be enough,
Your arms may have never been open to begin with.

Today was a necessity.
I think,

I hope you understand that someday it will all make sense.
I dreamt of the perfect world with children of ours running in a green field with a dachshund along side.
There was picture perfect walls of glass and my library that you discouraged, but cared enough to allow me.
There was the gaming room that I discouraged, but cared enough to allow you.
And each morning breath was an inhalation of your skin, so bare and intimate.
My hair would wrap around your fingers playfully and our legs would hug under blankets from when we still were virgins together, in multiple ways.

Those dreams pass quickly as does the pendulum of the clock.
The seconds quicken as it deceives us into believing this will work.
It was good at what it did, and we fell for it.

There was no time to change my decision, for the better.

Perhaps someday we may walk with our hands joined once more, but until then,

This is absolutely, irrevocably, necessary.

There was a way of the flip in her hair, with liquidity and lethargy,
That brought young men to their knees.
She walked with such lust that their hearts reached with open mouths.
They gasped in an effort to
Just for one moment
Breath the same way and in the same space.

In the light her skin shone like platinum in heaven above.
She magnetized the very molecules she made contact with, and the air bent around her like hot syrup.
Time slowed for her only,
Or perhaps she controlled time.
Every man's ring finger felt lost in a void of blackness. The small golden hoop was pocketed,
Play time for the masses.
If only for a second they may earn her attention, that second would become life itself
That second may end sickness, hunger, and poverty.
There was never a time of deeper betrayal when she came to town


And while the men swooned, the women cried, for
They could never achieve the beauty to be loved.
And the tears twinkled a deep blue,
As if stolen from the ocean directly.
There was never a time of deeper sadness than when she came to town.

There are the days that love swells and grows infinitely around me.
It will pick me up and throw me over its shoulder in bliss and sing me to sleep with harmonics so angelic my tears themselves begin to cry.
There are the days when love will never be proven wrong, when nothing matters but love.

         And then there is today.

I know this is right.

I know that soon, you will run again, pant with excitement, and retrieve hundreds of tennis ***** with your comrades.

I know, inside, I'm ready. I understand it's time, I can see it in your eyes. They are weary with age and eternal fatigue.

I know that I don't want to watch the days go by as you progress, progress, and suffer. I know you will thank us for the burden we will relieve.

I know that I'll miss you. I know that all I remember is with you, and all you remember is with me. But I know those memories will carry on, and not pass as you will.



But I still don't want it to happen

I wish dreams did not exist


The only place I could ever hope to escape you is the subconscious, and yet I can't.
I see you coming before I even recognize you.
You are a face not easily forgotten, yet you might not even look the same.
I can still smell your hatred from your rotten, putrified soul, decaying inside that marble sculpted coating.
The smallest memory, the quickest glimpse is a trigger enough to haunt me all night.
The vicious cycle continues, as dreams remind me more of your absence, and that remembrance catalysts more dreams.
I think that to be the reason you've never left me yet.
How selfish you are, to never let me go, to even grip tighter than before,
Like you want to **** me dry of all that is my own,
And leave me with nothing but an outer shell - all of the things inside that matter stolen under the worst intentions.

And the saddest part?
Whether it's through seduction or shear abuse, you will always shatter my heart in the end.
Kissing, touching,
Screaming, torturing. They feel no different now.
I never save myself,
Perhaps I'm waiting for that story book ending I never received.
Perhaps I just don't know how to not let you hurt me.
Most likely, it's both.


I wish that dreams wouldn't exist,
Because if they didn't,
Then you might not either

The lake is glass, the trees are still
And I, on the opposite side, will row this boat
My vessel of fear
Until the lonely shore becomes near
To get closer to thee

My oar is dripping
With the liquid gold of eons before me
And of the ladies past who made the same trek.
As I make it to shore,
Like never before I feel a stillness beneath me
And the steps I take to lessen the distance still become harder and
Harder,
Yet carry on I must, to progress my life much farther

The door creaks
And the windows squeak
As I enter through the way
Into the house of ages past and darkness never known
Where I will find you on my own,
An ending of beginning
A close at the opening of a door

It chills the marrow of my bones,
Rattles my empty chest with a whooping gasp.
We live in a mindset clouded by falsification, washed over by an image of perfection.
With their blinders on, the sheep will follow forever-Their shepherds will lead until there's nothing left to lead to.

There will come a day when the birds no longer sing, and their throats will no longer resonate with the comfort we cling to tightly.
I fear for the world, the Earth. I hear its cry and try to help.
But I am only one person.
I fear for the children and lovers, blinded by ignorance

There will come a time where forests may smolder to nothing, and the leaves will no longer rustle in the wind.
I long for a renewal, a second chance.
I may never live to see one,
Our planet spent to nothing more than a piece of astrological garbage

There will come a time when everything will go to nothing,
There will come a day when everyone will finally see what we've done,
And that day will be one day too late

The flame will burn still stronger
And the cheers will echo loud
If you, my dear, just linger
In my world till we find our ways somehow

I feel my heartbeat quicken
And my jaw clenches tighter each moment
As you kiss like years gone by
And we smile and laugh in rhythm
With the neurons, sending signals sky-high

We dance with the doves and daughters
With the trees and daffodils that sing
They enchant us with their canter
It rings in my ears till morning

And the drum rattles harder and faster
As you struggle to keep me on the ground
But I cannot stay here much longer
The clouds are calling my name, now

For how can I resist its beckon
When the heavens wish for comfort

Only because you want me
The lust yields too strong to divert

First love
So bright

Tongue held
Quite light

That step
So right

She fought
We fight

She thought,
"I might"

Then yelled,
"Go! Fight!"

And the play goes on in life

What does the painter do?
    When he finds his home empty
    Night after night after night
    An empty fridge
    An empty bed
    An empty heart

What does the window washer do?
    As he tends to his helpless mother
    A sponge bath and blended dinner
    To quell her terminal aches and cries

What does the mechanic do?
    As he beats his wife out of alcoholic rage
    And she prays for the husband she married to reappear
    But he won't come,
    Not until too late

I wish to be remembered as wise beyond my age
I wish to transfer a legacy of laughter and happiness
I wish to keep within my friends the originality I held in myself

That originality,
In a 5'1" woman it towers over McKinleys and Everests alike
It kept me from conformance
It shielded me from mainstream virtues

If nothing else, keep alive my ability to stand out
Through my laughter
Through my love
But keep in mind these things within yourself
For what be the point of my existence if I could not progress the world into a better state

As I dive into an abyss
And leave my kin
My soul missing its housing
And my fingers lose their feeling
My mind loses meaning
But my body never leaving

Just remember that as I lay dying
I wish only for my song to carry
As it resonates in liquid minds of children

As I lay dying
Carry on my verse
And recite the prose of my wisdom
For the sponges

Don't you find Christmas a little askew in its purpose?
We remember a man who, born on this day, walked the Earth some two thousand years ago
                   By burning pockets with gift giving,
       Decorating a door frame with a $70 wreath which will die in two weeks,
           Stuffing our faces with high fructose desserts and fat filled ham
   Competing for the brightest tree (also going to die in two weeks) and the loudest outside decorations
                                                     ­                 Did we forget the homeless man on the corner who can't even buy a sock?
                                       Who would give anything for that one sock, perhaps even another sock
                   Why is Christmas a competition
                              What happened to Cindy Lou Who, who asked where Christmas was and why she couldn't find it
                                                      I seem to think that Christmas should be much the same as Thanksgiving,
       But I am the only one,
  As we continue to spend thousands of dollars each year's end
                                                             ­   And soil what God intended originally for these twenty four hours
                                            Maybe, just maybe,
                      Spend a little less ******* money on your family,
         And spend a little more time with them
                                      It's all that homeless man could ask for,
                                      Besides that sock

Little tree,
You grow tired of creating mouse-sized shadows,
Lose hope when your leaves cannot cover a whole human palm,
Wither when your fruits are too small, bitter, and too unripe to stomach

As the other taller versions of you tower above, they steal your food and tuck you away underneath

It's hard to get noticed in a sea of fish so vast only the insects can fathom its size
It's hard to survive in a crowd of Darwin enthusiasts

Ah, so young, and so deprived of faith in success.
I have faith for you, tree. Brother, we are the same.
We all just want to make it.
We want to be one of the great Redwoods pictured in magazines,
They take all the credit from us

Don't worry, friend.
Together, we will break through the underbrush,
Show them what we can do,
Prove our greatness once and for all,
And stand tall with our comrades of the vast forests everyone knows by name.

You twinkle, and I admire the youthful colors, the whimsical smile you bring to my cheeks
You shine, and I reminisce on times of old, times of hot cocoa and Christmas music by Chicago
You glow, and I weep

**** you, O Christmas Tree

**** you for keeping these memories alive and lush, so vivid to the naked eye
I break when I think of pajama nights with lusted love making under covers of protection,
Silently loving underneath my parents' open ears
And the mornings with cuddling
And the nights with Elf and How The Grinch Stole Christmas

Why does my Christmas tree bring white hot tears rolling down my face?
Its beauty could make any malnourished child sing, yet it just withers me as I remember our first dance
          Yes, it was by the tree on that Saturday afternoon.
As I cry, I still cannot forget you, because you used to be there to catch these drops before they fell on my lap

After six months, you still haunt my every thought, in every waking moment I exist.
I am scared for myself-scared I will never go a Christmas again without the horror of our past-
          What will never be again,
And what was merely a Christmas wish impossible to grant


Is this how God intends to torture my broken soul?

There are dark times upon me,
While I stand here a victim of your unforgivable actions.
I feel the repentance of our love as a knife through my stomach, as it sinks deeper beyond the dermis- feel its blade turn horizontally whenever you return into my thoughts
I become nauseated by your presence,
Not of disgust-
Rather from the suppression of tears, fighting back weakness knocking at my chest cavity.

I'm angry,
I can't help but weep
I remember the times we danced, and we laughed,
And the aching feeling of confusion overwhelms my sanity.
I break when I see your unmistakable smile, your intelligent glasses I remember you despising but me adoring.
I swoon as you don your best clothing, for I remember you trying so hard to look your best
For me.

You threw me out like Wednesday morning garbage. I wonder if you weep as I do...
                  
                                           That's a lie,

I know you never would.
You have more important things to fill your head with-
***,
Beer,
Oh ya, and education.

Thanks for putting me second, you ******.

I totally understand after a year and a half that you would treat me the same as a disposable diaper.

I get it...