she says it's unfair,
she says that bad things happen to good people,
she says that as each day passes
she dies a little more inside.
she doesn't remember telling me these things,
ya know she wouldn't never tell nobody
if it wasn't for the drink in her hand.
i know i'm not supposed to hear these things,
but i quietly listen.
i don't have no words for her,
on the count of i ain't never experienced nothing like that.
i have a feeling she wouldn't want my words anyhow.

she says that people are always tryin' to tell her
that she gonna be okay.
she knows she's not.
it's unfair that they all gon' lie to her like that.
she don't want my sympathy she says,
but lord i can't help but feel it for her.

there's things in life that just don't make sense,
i say.
but i don't know much about anything,
so i just make eyes like someone who knows
a lot about everything,
but i don't say much else.

she looked at me,
took a swig a her whiskey sour,
and told me that when i can look at the world
through eyes that see
and not watch
then maybe someday she'll tell me a thing or two
about life not makin' sense.

One day, in early September,
is a day I will forever remember.
The day we had a secret love
hidden within us,
we were in my room and you
bent down and kissed me;
when you stopped I just lay there
and I looked above,
I looked to the celling that was bare.
and you turned around and let me be
the kiss was so out of the blue
and so full of love.

I slowly turned over to you
and made you look back
into my eyes,
which did not hold back.
There were no lies
no secrets within,
they were all for you,
as they had  always been.
They were full of empty ties.
When you kissed me, i knew,
that was my que.

(unfinished adding rest later)

If i was drunk,
I would sleep and not care if i awoke,
I would buy another bottle,
Then put my nose in your business and meddle.


I would waylay you,
on your way to the loo.
Tell you how beautiful you are,
Perhaps convince you to sit with me here.
I would tell you how awkward it is,
For you to be sitting there alone at ease,
While all the men admired your gait.
I would tell you i like your smile, wait.
Would you ask if am always like this?
I wouldn’t tell you it’s because am drunk.
In fact i would tell you i don’t usually do this.

I know i would see those curves turn up,
I would feel your coldness melt,
You would be glad we met.
If i was drunk, and i know i might look crazy.
I might walk out in a frenzy.
Perhaps to take a ***.
Then come back and join you.
Buy a Margarita for you to sip,
Or a cocktail for you to dip,
Maybe a whiskey for you to down.
Perhaps you would take one of those,
You usually can’t pronounce.
Plain Baron de Vaals, Chamdor, or one from Champs elysees,

Money wouldn’t be a problem,
That’s my emblem.
You would tell me you like me,
They always do.
and i would too.
You would leave for the loo,
and that would be my cue.
Ready to make *****,
Your carefully woven fabric of dignity.
The last thing you would remember,
before you fall into a slumber,
Would be you liked me.
It would be a pity. But final.

A skateboard,
Really?
A ******* skateboard.
It's faster, sure,
But I do not have time
To gather the courage I need to say
"Hi"
When you're already booking it
Down the side walk.
Chick with the purple head band,
Slow down
So I can get to know you.

Take a word.

Take any word,
write it backwards,
say it with a smirk.
Take a word and then
take another.
Roll them across your constellations,
tickle them 'til they squeal and surrender;
take your words and breathe them,
against them,
through them,
with them.

Take a word and peel it apart.
See if it floats.
Unravel its nucleus and strip it of charge.
Pound on its door at three a.m.,
yell its name against the grain,
don't stop until it comes out and steps on you.
Take a word and marry it.

Take a word and make it bold.
Sleep with it on a drunken Tuesday;
leave before it wakes up.
Handle it differently.
Write poems about it,
write essays that don't fit,
write like words are all that matter.
Use few.
Use far more than you could ever possibly need to explain what you're trying to say.

Take a word and beat it to death,
nurse it back to health.
Show it to your friends,
hide it in your freckles,
live like it's not judging your movement.

Take a word and never give it back.
Take it hostage,
a pet for a game you haven't named yet.

Take your words and coax them into order,
let them fall apart.
Rearrange and unscramble your words,
forget about their meanings.
Use them for good and evil,
a sword to smite ignorance.

(But for the love of god,
speak up.)

Blame your desperation on the weather
             Match the gray with gray
Allow yourself a smile or two
Don’t overdo it
          Don’t force something like this
                             Try to make this all less crazy
Wash your face. Tighten up.
                                             Forget the blade, the poison, the stars
You overhear someone tell someone the time
              You’ve let that slip into
                                                   the background
in the spaces where the unseen meets

Blame your low-key troubles on the
                                                     T.V. shows
              Watch the skinny giants starve
   Someone’s changing the heat up and down
                                      in the pearl-sized world
And someone’s taken all the colors out for
                                    some other playground
those invisible hands, it follows, have too much
              pull and force on the everydays.
                  Keep yourself alive with twice strained coffee and sunny days
Cut your hair with the kitchen knife
                              Grow a beard, fake an accent,
                       Fake Silence.
Pretend to make it mean something, the collapse, the choking
               Clean the living
room
                                 wipe all the fingerprints
No one’s coming for you but you’d take a hug from a hired assassin
You’d sympathize with the serial killer about his sin
           You’d be impressed by his breath which smells of green mints.  

Blame the sickness in your blood
             Which warns off love with sores and fevers
                     On boredom and hunger
Make something of yourself, make yourself last
Peel off skin and let it dry like *** pourri
              Forget how to love the ones that hurt you
              Forget to how to hurt the ones that love you
Bite your lip to keep it all in
                     Bite to the bleeding, then
        Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh
Build fires out of sofas and the kitchen table, make a vacancy of home
Laugh at humanity stuffed and suffering on its stilts
           Smile at the honey moon you’ll never get to
Show your teeth at the ***** Death
             Make the damage worth the price.

I had broken my promise
“I’ll write you every week.”
It’s been 3 years since every week
Became every other
Then every month
Then never.

When I saw a horse
With a brown coat
Speckled white
Like the one on your jacket
I knew never had to end.

So I wrote.
I wrote about everything
And about nothing
And all that came between.
I wrote about insignificant things
Things you wouldn’t remember
Things I can’t forget.

I wrote about our past
My present
And what might be in our future

I didn’t know you no longer had one.

I didn’t know that you were already gone
That life had been too much
And you mind had become a war zone
With every thought falling,
Dying one after the other
As though to some macabre rhythm.
I didn’t know you had stopped watching horses
In favor of watching trains.

I wonder if you were as beautiful
As you stood on the tracks
Arms thrown wide
As you were when I first saw you riding.

And now, as I look back
Over the year since I learned
Since I wrote
And I can’t help but wonder.
Would anything be different
If never hadn’t lasted quite so long?

She isn’t in denial.



She knows fully well, and accepts the fact that she is in love with him; it is trying to keep this information to herself that is overbearing. The atrocious thought of being considered weak, vulnerable, hormonal…. But the truly heart-wrenching fear that hangs over her, in her, through her, is that he may not feel the same way.



She knows he loves her; they are the best of friends, knowing everything about the other, saving each other. She also knows that he loves her romantically too; the way he talks to her is enough evidence. But it is the way he looks at her that gives him away. The mixture of love and lust and caring and understanding resides in those pools of deep hazel. There is always 100 times more said in a look than in a conversation with them.



They are absolutely and completely in love with each other.



She knows this, and it only makes her heart hurt worse.



Yes, he loves her, but does he want to? Does he want to cross that line between friends and lovers? Does he want to start something, something that could be blindingly beautiful, but also a place of no return? Does he want it?



Sometimes, it’s better to sit back and wonder of what could be, instead of finding out that it can never be.



So she watches him from a distance, even though he’s right in front of her. He will always be there, next to her, for her, never leaving. But she can never touch him, hold him the way she really wants to; the way she’s always wanted to.



And the most ironic and pitiful part of all, was that he shared her thoughts exactly.



They live everyday trapped, trapped within themselves. They do not know that they can open up, reach out and grasp what they are both dying to reach for.



But they do know what it’s like to always have…and never hold.