i come back to my room
and there is no one
beautiful
waiting for me.
there
never is.
the singular blanket
amplifies the loneliness
of my
singular
body,
and my
singular
heart
beating one
singular
lonely
beat
at a time
goes on
anyway.

they say
plant your fingertips against something
solid and concentrate on what is at hand
but all I have been able to see behind my eyelids
for many months is your face
and the wood resounds with the beating of your heart

love is a sad kind of trouble
for, knowing what its like to
exist unwavering in perfect happiness,
I have the days I have to fake my way through it.

Plant your fingertips against something solid and concentrate.
I put my hands on your heart, I focus on your rhythm.

Tigers, he said, and pointed a shaking hand
East and off into the jungle where
Through all the darkness shed by trees,
Emerged the tigers, their bodies cast
In regal orange, black and white,
Reflecting over shifting sinews.

The could have taken the village easily-
Any man could have. But they didn't.
Instead they lived among us, like some kind of protection,
Sleeping across our doorways and leaving in twos
To hunt. They never attacked us though,
They seemed to understand this place belonged to humans.
I don't think they wanted it anyway.

They didn't stay long, the tigers.

I guess they missed the jungle.

If life is enjoyed,
does it have to make sense?
So much of what we do
is done in order to give success
to reap what we sow -
we never plant flowers
just to watch them grow.
But we should.
So much of life we spend
working hard at things
we don't really care about,
so that we can be rich,
because apparently
money buys happiness now.
There is nothing wrong
with working hard,
but ask yourself
what are you working for?
Me, I want to change the world.
Yes, I am young,
yes, there's a thousand things
I haven't yet done.
I'm still in highschool,
I can't legally drink or drive;
I can't vote or even travel,
but I've stared down both life and death,
and hey, humanity in all its misery
makes some kind of weird
depressing sense to me.
I've never even kissed a boy
but I want to change the world.
I'm socially awkward, I think too much
and don't read enough of the classics,
I've got zits and scars and freckles,
I've got skinny limbs and glasses,
I kind of do my makeup weird,
I've got issues and questions,
I make loads of mistakes,
I think I'm failing chemistry-
I don't even think I could pass anymore if I tried-
but I'm confident and unafraid,
(and believe me it doesn't
have anything to do with my age)
and I want to change the world.
In almost-sixteen years I've had every reason
to just give on up.
I'm not all that pretty, I'm really only
kind of smart,
I can't play sports or instruments,
all I can do really is hold a pen.
I can make ink talk on paper,
and I'm not scared to let words spill on out
my somewhat weirdly shaped mouth,
so if I'm gonna change this world,
I've got to do it the only way I know how.

I think that people are more scared than anything.
They say they're happy or
Pretend everything's alright
And even normal
But I think that when you are alone
You curl up into a ball and try to avoid the universe.
I think that pain scares us
And reality scares us and as a result
We avoid attachment, we avoid things that are real.
The hard things mostly.
I think that the reason we are so distant
And so shallow and distracted
Is that we want to ONLY be happy
All the time - we are terrified of the day when
Someone, anyone - a stranger, a best friend-
Asks if we're alright and we just can't lie
Through our teeth anymore.
And more than that, we are afraid that they
Will hate us or reject us for it - that,
Having recognized us as a broken, bleeding
Human they won't love us or even like us anymore.
We tell lies because we are frightened to death
Of the truth that is ourselves.
We are glued to our lies
With that wicked, freezing fear
That keeps you chained and sweating,
Huddled under blankets
Cursing the monsters in the shadows.
In the end we've created our own monsters,
Built our own prison walls and forged our own chains.
I don't know how to fix you.
I can't even fix myself.
****.

let me fall silent
with your silence.
as you fly down the
dreamscape mountains,
as your skis whisk you
away
from the real world,
away
into the snow-world,
let me fall silent
alongside you
as you fly.

your dreams
wear clandestine wings
and you soar
across the worlds
in your head
in your heart
let me be here
in your dreams,
secret
and silent
and hidden away
safe within you
as you soar.

let me fall silent with you
and lapse into
that dream
and we can drift away
and slip away
and melt away
into snow
into sunshine
into the eternity
that finds its resting place
in your soul.

It was summer in California and life was perfect.

        “I’m starting to understand what it means to really live,” he said, breaking the noon silence.

She stirred against the rough wood of the dock.

“I mean…” he cleared his throat. “I don’t know. I feel alive right now like I haven’t in ages.”

Her clear blue eyes stared up at his tanned face.

He hugged his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his scarred knees. “I love this place so much.”

Sighing, she pulled herself up to stare out across the water with him.

“Look at all that ocean,” he said. “You could just sail forever across all that ocean.”

She looked away and rolled her eyes.

“I want to someday, you know,” he continued. “Take a boat out there and just sail…” his voice trailed off, heavy with longing.

She sighed again. The sun was too warm on her skin. The sea was too much salt and water for her. He was too much of a dreamer. But all of the west coast was like that. Too many dreams, not enough reality. After summer break was over she’d go back east and finish school and get a real job as a lawyer and win her cases.

“I don’t even know if I’d ever come back.”

Picking up her shoes, she stood and started walking towards the car.

        He turned slightly when he heard the engine rev and pull up the street, away from the dock.

“No,” he said, after some time. “I wouldn’t come back.”

He stood. Then he began to run. In his t shirt and board shorts, he plunged head first into the sunlit sea. The wet cotton clung to him as he swam. He kept going until he couldn’t go anymore, far away from the shores of Coronado and its people.

The sun was high, and finally he realized that he could not go back if he wanted to. He hadn’t been paying attention and didn’t really know which way the beach was. He drifted with the Pacific tide, treading water gently. He realized it could never have been any other way but this - there was nothing left for him back on shore. His parents were both dead, his sister moved far away long ago. Everyone he knew wouldn't really miss him. And living on the beach for the rest of his life, no one wanted that. Even taking a boat out there like he had said was impossible, as he had no money and was too lazy to pursue any of his dreams. No. This was the way it had to be.
        
        Eventually he passed out with the simple exhaustion of staying alive and the water closed over his head.

It was summer in California and life was perfect.

I don't know how to fight you.
I don't want to hurt you. I don't want
To argue, or even to be angry.

How do you do it? How do you
Take all my scars, all of them,
And rip them open like that?

But the worst part is, you bring me
To the verge of all my secrets, till
They're on the tip of my tongue
And dying, just dying, to be told.

You're my brother. And you are
So completely evil. Such lies should
Not have to live in one human being,
Not one so young as you.

You could have been like me. We
Were born with equal chances in life
But where it mattered most, you
Chose instead to take the easy way out.

You might think you're a rebel.
Because you drink. Because you smoke ****.
But it's just what everyone expects, all over again.
A broken record.

So why is it that we are so different?
It's because I grew up without a shadow
Cast over me by you, but rather in the light
That you refused to even see.

The difference is you fight against
The sense of justice in your gut,
And I fight for it.

I can't sleep
when the stars aren't out
so instead
of lying awake
300 nights of the year I
put glow-stars on my ceiling
thinking it would help

But these are
poor replicas of real stars,
dishonest reproductions
of the wild and infinite
cosmos.
I sleep better now but it
is the sleep of a liar:
I awake often and know
that above me
is spread a false sky.

some people
(like me)
don't necessarily expect
an ending. we just
write and write
and figure we
probably won't ever
run out of words.

other people
(like you)
put an algorithm to it
write an equation for it
comment on style
and tone and metaphor

i know what those words mean
and how and when and why to use them.
i just don't give a **** about stuff like that.

i open my brothers door
silver hinges creak against white wood
earlier today a girl broke his heart
or what was left of it

Hey. (i say)
Hi. (he says)
Are you okay? (i ask, stepping forward, breathing in)
Yes. (he does not seem like he is lying)
Are you sad?
Yes.
Do you need a hug?
No. (he is lying now but i let it go this time)
Okay. (i don't hug him)
Okay. (he turns away)
Goodnight. (i love you)
Goodnight. (i love you too)

softly the silver hinges let the white door click
into place in the white doorframe in the white hallway
in the neat white house on the snow covered hill
where a feeling like sin seeps through all the white cracks

You hate that this world is so fake
Hate all the people who make it this way
Hate that it's the poor that give and the rich that take
Hate it cause you know you'll have to pay
For the things you've done and the hearts you break
Still you say you only care about today

Well in the end I guess it's all the same
Whether you live or die, you get to choose
You understand that life is really just a game
And in the end, you don't intend to lose
It's all about the money, the girls, the fame
If it's not your dream you're chasing, then whose?
Soon you're gonna have to spark your own flame
Before the people rise to tighten your noose



Everything's becoming artificial, we light fake fires to keep our children warm
We manufacture our emotions, speak fake words to guide us through the storms

This was us,
Back before the world turned to ****,
Before high school invaded and told us
We probably wouldn't ever be happy,
Back before that long cold November,
In the days we were sure she'd come home,
When we thought everything would be fine;
Before the sickness claimed another
To come and take her place in the ranks of the dead.

No. This was the day when
We placed chains of daisies on our heads
And declared ourselves the kings and queens over everything,
Said we would rove the world over,
Then raced, screaming, into the Puget Sound,
And laughed as the freezing salt flooded our lungs;
The day we lay in the firelight and toasted Starbursts
And let our laughter loose to join with the smoke and float
Up through the hole in the roof of the longhouse to mingle forever
With the naked San Juan summer.

This was us.
Back then, we could've lived forever.

Indescribably brilliantly unique, that's you.

Racing through your veins is a something,
A liquid fire,
The spark of newborn infinite life.
Here, you say, here is where I want to live, pointing to a picture in a magazine.
Even though you know it's not
Realistic, you still dare to dream.

Like a song born of the stars, like
Opening my eyes to moonlight, you've given me
Very little and yet
Everything my soul needs.

You and I are not forever, I say. You know. You know
One day we'll die, one day we'll make our homes
Underground.

The dreamers are here again, they say
They see our eyes drawn open, they see us blinking in the sunlight,
Taking tentative steps towards each other, away from the walls and into the fields
Where off come our shoes, and we run, barefoot,
Into water splashed with sunlight, and through the sky the great golden orb arches,
Spinning summer into the north.

I know what they're thinking. They think we've stopped dreaming.
Because we open our eyes and laugh with them,
Because we're consciously reacting to this reality,
They think it's the only one that matters.

They think that somehow, being awake means we're not asleep.

You'd have to be one of us to understand how many worlds you can coexist in at once, without losing sight of ourselves.

I do not know how the fashionable people of the past did it.
How were they able to sit still for hours on end?
Shouldn't having money mean doing more?
For I've found that if I sit around for too long,
I stagnate like water, I thicken like blood.

I need to move, need to run in order to breathe,
Need to laugh in order to feel like I exist at all.
Without the confirmation that is my own beating body,
My own moving heart, I might as well fade away,
Might as well be a pixel of static on a TV screen.

In the early morning hours as I lie awake in bed,
I can feel myself slipping away into nothing.
I know that if I lay there long enough I will melt
Into my blankets, and cease to exist.
Most mornings I force myself to move,
Force myself into movement, back into existence!

But some dark rainy day, too soon I fear,
I will lie back on the pillows
and let the sheets take their toll
and I will die even as I live:
stagnant like water
thick like blood.

This isn't the world that you once knew
The grass isn't green and the sky ain't blue
No waves come crashin' into the sands
There's blood that stains your pearl-white hands

You're afraid that you're not human, that no one else can see
The things that you have done and the things that you will be
There's fears in your eyes when you look in the mirror
Swimming round thick like they're gonna appear
You had your reasons for the things that you did
But you're scared that they'll discover it, well God forbid
You traded what you'd taken pound for pound
You wish stress'd curl your hair, wish Death'd come round,
But it hasn't and he won't and there's nothing you can do
You take the good with the bad and keep right on through

This isn't the world that you once knew
The grass isn't green and the sky ain't blue
No waves come crashin' into the sands
There would be blood on your pearl-white hands

Well you knew you had it coming and you knew you had to choose
But you didn't want your fingers to tie that noose
You didn't want a blade, you didn't want a gun
But you didn't want to wake to another sun
You had your reasons for the things that you did
But you were scared that they'd discover it, well God forbid
You had hair that lightened and skin that browned
You had a soul weighed heavy and a heart ran aground
You thought that you could end it, now there's nothing you can do
Just take the bad with the good and keep right on through.

This isn't the world that you once knew
The grass isn't green and the sky ain't blue
No waves come crashin' into the sands
There will be blood on your pearl-white hands

I bet you wished for something special to save you
Bet you wanted an angel to pick up his cue
But I was all you had, and you'd take what you could get
And I was there for you, don't you ever forget
You had your reasons for the things that you did
You were scared that I discovered it, well God forbid
I wish I could say something wild, something profound
To make you see again and let your love come round
I thought that I could fix it; there was nothing I could do
Just took the good with the bad and kept right on through

No, this isn't the world that we once knew
The grass isn't green and the sky ain't blue
No waves come crashin' into the sands
'Least no blood stains your pearl-white hands

Now you're somewhere out East, but I don't know where
I hope to see you again but I think you don't care
I hear you every night in the falling rain,
And remember your fear, your sadness, your pain
You had your reasons for the things that you did
Well I hope they don't discover it, yeah, God forbid
I've got hair that's lightened and skin that's browned
I've got a pocket full of stones and a heart full of Sound
I've got a soul full of questions and a stomach full of bread
I've got a heap full of trouble in my old grey head
I don't want summer to be over, but there's nothing I can do
I'll take the good with the bad and keep right on through.

I think they've got it wrong.
I don't think the point of life
is to be productive. I think
the point of life is to live,
and if you can look back on
what you've done and say "I
changed that," if you can say
"I opened their eyes," if you
can sit there and not give a ****
about productivity and your
titles then I think that just
maybe you're doing something
right.

I am pretty sure my heart is breaking.
Things are worse now than ever before.
Everything. Everything is worse.
I think I'm losing my mind.
And people are dying, left and right.
Not just physically, but their minds,
Who they are is being lost, is dying.
And I'm suffering under the pressure
Of the secrets that I keep.

Who would I turn to anyways?
There's no sense in crying into a phone,
And all my friends are away.
My family, their hearts are breaking too.
We're all splintering, leaking.
And you thought you could buy wholeness
But no. The more money you have,
The less of you there is, the more broken you are,
And I am surrounded by the rich.

I am pretty sure my heart is breaking,
And there is no one I can tell.

had a dream a couple nights ago.
was lying in a pool of blood.
and o, god, the pounding in my head!
was bleeding from my head.
could feel the hot sticky blood pouring out.
watched as it pooled about my body.
your body lay twisted across me,
constricting my breathing.
and o, god, the tightness in my chest!
could not shift your remains away.
lay there for a while, dying & unable to die.
moved finally, tried to stand.
standing proved impossible.
freed right hand, touched your face.
noticed hot tears pouring out of closed eyes.
woke up much later, after hours of darkness.
could not forget the dream.

and o, god, the pounding in my head;
o, god, the tightness in my chest.

they all wanted me to start playing.
i've seen so many peoples' fingers dance with such fire
across the keys. it's inspiring.
and my teacher said
i have good form for it, and good posture.
learning to read sheet music was easy,
and notes and rests and tone was somewhat harder
but still, just kids' stuff.

i couldn't make my fingers dance, though.
they tapped out rhythms and melodies,
but never flowed together as one,
never made into an art.
they still can't. and after years and years
of lessons and practice, i just gave up.

maybe it was strength on my part
to recognize when i wasn't getting anywhere
or maybe it was weakness to dismiss it
when it began to get difficult.
either way my mum always said,
"when you're older
you're going to wish you'd learned to play better."
seriously?
if i'm ever eighty-eight, sitting in a chair somewhere,
thinking, ****, i really wish i'd learned to play that piano better,
i will have completely lost my mind
to honestly wish my younger self
bound to something so utterly passionless.

there are
a thousand pockets
of wilderness 
in my city

where 
the thick evergreens
almost
drown out
the sirens

woe to those who live
without passion,
who their whole lives have walked
inside the lines
who live in one, straightforward
black and white world;
who, even in their rejoicing,
wear monotones on their breath;
who have never wandered
and have not found their way;
who have never fought -
they must not have anything worth fighting for.

today was long
and full of
wonders:
a sky, a mountain,
technology, a dress,
a photograph.

I breathed
deeply
of the air and sun, and
out there
among the trees,
I felt strong
and real
and alive
for the first time
in months.

it is not
man alone
in nature: the Romantics
had it wrong.
when we walk
into the woods
we do not walk alone
for we are part of it,
part of the earth
breathing in time
with the trees,
hearts beating
along with rivers.
no. we are not
as alone as they would
have you believe:
there is earth
and mud, grass
and dirt and mountains,
and us.

I thought I would have more time than this.
But hey, life is short. Life is short and goes by too fast.
Recently, things have been rough.
The world's been rushing past us and it hasn't been kind.
In the background, memory is playing its bittersweet music.
There are too many times I didn't love you when I could have.
I thought I would have more time than this
To spend with you, to tell you I love you
That's all I ever wanted, you know - to love
And love and love and it didn't matter what anyone thought
Because everyone deserves to be loved. Everyone.
No matter what **** you've been through,
No matter what you've done, you need to be loved.

For everyone out there who's feeling the ache,
Who's spent too many nights alone and awake,
I swear to the stars and I speak the truth
When I say that I will always love you.

o how difficult the years
that weigh on
without you,
the endless nights
with emptiness
my solemn
singular
bedfellow.
what a treachery
is every sunrise
what a regret
is every breath.
and i am sure
you don't feel
this way.
i am sure you
are far away,
in some paradise,
and have found
someone better,
someone new,
someone to
not be alone with.

o how impossible
to explain
the pain of the left
to those who are
leaving.
i would trade
a thousand worlds
that i could
go back in time
and beg you,
don't go.

i wanted so badly
to not be alone
to curl up safe
in anyone's arms
but i never did

did my fears
outweigh my wants?
did i think that
it was wrong
or too selfish
or too childish
somehow?

from now on, when
i don't want
to sleep alone
i will find my way
into anyone's arms
i will seek out safety
i will seek out rest

dream your beautiful dreams bread cat friend

and when you wake upon the morrow,
find that all the world has lost its sorrow
take to the day with a spring in every step
and let the long-awaited joys you’ve kept
inside your heart come streaming out
till with sheer wonder you must shout

and may you grow and love and be
in every abstract aspect free
and in the earth plant seeds of hope
that will help you in the future to cope
with all the anger, pain and fear
that will afflict you in the coming years

this i want for you, o breaded cat friend;
let the platonic love we share know no end.

Huddled deep in the dark quiet of the ever-turning earth
Like a secret kept for years, a secret kept from birth,
Taking the form of sorrow as it slides down your cheeks
And shattering simply against the hospital sheets.

It doesn't make sense, you don't understand
This was not what you'd hoped for, not what you'd planned
You thought there'd be life, thought there'd be breath
But what you see before you is cold, silent death.

It swells up inside you and bursts at your seams
Invades your thoughts and twists all your dreams
Till something inside you first cracks, then it snaps
You don't know what can fix it. Nothing, perhaps.

You can pretend with a day of words unspoken
But the noise is still there-
Lingering beneath your skin,
Running through your veins like electricity.

You can think that you are silent
That they don't know your name (brother, sister, friend)
That they don't notice you (you're not invisible)
I? I am all of these things
And none of them. I am silent,
I am invisible, I am alone,
I am words unspoken, I am names unkown.

You don't know me, know me at all
Until you have climbed your mountain
At sunrise and breathed in
The whole world stretched out before you
And sighing and singing with you.

You don't know me, know me at all
Not until it's the silences that whisper in your veins:
Blood hidden under skin, breathe it out and let it in,
The morning tainted pink by your breath.

Most of what I write, no one will ever read.
That's because most of what I write
Is complete and total *******.

I often find myself lost in my own words.
I have to describe everything just right.
The night must be something-
It's gotta be shadowy or lonely or starry,
It can't just be night.

But why not? Why as poets do we let ourselves do this?
We're supposed to be different.
We're supposed to challenge the world we're faced with
From day one. We're supposed to break all the rules.
That's why they made the rules in the first place.

So let go of your descriptions. The night is the night,
Whatever that happens to mean to the reader,
Let it mean just that. My writing is *******
And so is yours. Let the night be the night
And you'll find yourself much better off.
Unless a word is absolutely necessary
And a simpler one will not suffice
Don't use it. Your writing will sour with too much description.

It only took a couple cuts, a couple hits in the right places,
A few diseases filling the right spaces
To end his life.

It only took a thousand years, a hundred love letters,
An entire movement born
To describe it.

It only took the first glance of beauty, first flash of light,
First footsteps forward
To convince them to tears.

All dressed in black, there they stood,
The formal entourage for the dead,
As in their eyes the rain-beat mud
Wrote with explosions what no human will read.

there was fog
outside the window
yesterday that i meant
to photograph. here
in my parents' house, big
and empty and warm,
my mom tells my brothers
to swallow vitamin D
but she doesn't have to tell me.
most days, where i live now
the sun shines. most days
there is no fog, no forests,
no rain. i miss
the wilderness of this city:
the way the weeds
force their way through
the asphalt, the way everything
in spring is a cavalcade of green,
the way the clouds turn
the whole sky white
or shine gold, the way the hidden
mountains show themselves,
shining silver crowns
on the horizons, gifts
of a sunny day. where
i live now the mountains are
huge and stunning
and obvious: like big
dumb desert teeth, cacti bloom
and the trees they claim are tall
are ancient, there is
no height reached that is
not surmounted in my home,
there is no fear that is overcome.
here everyone is lying, i can
see it in their eyes, the sun
makes them feel safe
and invincible and detached.
where i am from the rain
wears you down, beats all
the summer strength out of you.
you must find something
to cling to, something real
to hold on to with all your might
when winter comes because
otherwise down falls the rain
and washes you away. in the desert
there is nothing to cling to.
there is dust. there are palms
that sway in a sun they weren't
born under, there are cities built
over deserts, but the deserts
are still there. where i am from
we know that this land was forest
and river and field: the rain washes
our illusions of civility down
the drain. in desert the dust that
sneaks in is a slower kind of
reclaiming: it will collect, it will
fill our lungs, but it does not
shout like the rain.

imagine,            just imagine;       it says,
                                                                   it calls, it cries
against               the                             magnificent                                                                         vacuous
                          everything                 it echoes and                 whispers
            with the                  voices of                          the mind.
but no one                       strains to listen,
                not one                        thought             in its head                                                            will unwind.

                                                                         we                cannot      convince ourselves of life
beyond what we see,  we do not think
in                          concepts                                    of                                               infinity.

and here we find                 the             error       in       the        humane-
  here lies our great struggle,                                   here our great pain-
                                  we don't want to let go of what makes us unique,
                                                          don't want to     l   o    s     e       ourselves to the concrete
   the cities will rise up and the nations will
                                                                             f
                                                                                a
                                                                                    l
                                                                                        l,
                                                                                                  
                                                                                            but we can't find the method in the madness of it all.

Truth of the matter is, I never was one for essays.
I can insert quotes like mad, I can, but the words
Don't sing for me in papers like they do in poetry.
I can't paint you a world cause you're already
Living in it and you already know it well.
The only gift an essay has to give is analysis and
Let me be honest with you, my opinion
Ain't worth as much as my heartbreak.
Essays don't let me talk like I want,
Don't let me layer in the truth behind a lie.
It ain't fair to kids like me that we get graded
On how well we use big words.
I wanna be graded on a scale I can't trust,
I wanna get credit for making you cry my tears.
Maybe it's hard to be an artist so that
No one will half-*** it: only the idiots who
Wasted art class making cartoons,
Failed English for the sake of their poetry,
The idiots who can do nothing else,
Will be the ones to do nothing else.

they are men who
looked out into the
edge of space and
saw nothing
and it
drove
them
mad.

you took one look
at infinity
and you never
stopped
running.

i heard all the men
who had been to
outer space
all those great
astronauts
are crazy now.

what do you see out there
in the blackness
in all of time and space
what terrifies you
about it
what about the stars
and the nothingness
is so horrific
that you never
stop
running
that you
go mad

why are we so afraid
of the infinite
is is because we see
reflected in it
again and again
our own mistakes
that one little
tiny
inconsequential
thing
we wish we could
change
is it because
we cannot wrap our
minds around it
are we afraid of ourselves
or are we afraid
of the something else?

Years later what you will remember most is the sunshine
And the way it pooled in the streets in the summertime
Pulling colors off of buildings like taking washing off the line
Painted bodies everywhere, laughing as they waltz through the city
There is no difference between red yellow black white or grey
It’s all just more color, people splattered with diversity
Climbing the trees to decorate with rainbow streamers
In their doorways stand hesitant half-believers
Pass me the pipe and count me with the dreamers

And the rest of the world, they call us freaks
We might as well be hipsters hippies jocks nerds geeks
Here definition is something no one seeks
Children at play is all we have ever been
Hoping our mothers won’t catch us fighting again
Let your hate go, let your mind heart and eyes open

Love is what ties us together, what makes us strong
You don’t have to prove that you’re right or I’m wrong
Just raise your voice and join in the throng
We’ll climb through your windows and through your walls
Claiming plaster back to nature, painting flowers down your halls
Planting trees in the classrooms and the public toilet stalls
We won’t rest, no we won’t wait until every stretch
Of old stone house and weathered park bench
Of city block and building’s been covered in some colorful sketch

Say what you will, we are who we are
It's our hopes for the future that have led us this far
We're not afraid, not alone, though the lines may blur
We stand for a future with no hate at all
We stand for human rights and we will not fall
We're the people of Fremont and we stand tall

She reads the works of other poets as she lies awake in bed,
And she wonders if this is who she is. She thinks
She may have seen a little of the truth once or twice- but
She's not sure. She will know when
It happens, or perhaps doesn't happen,
But either way, she will know.
It's after two in the morning and slowly
She closes her eyes and slips, without forewarning,
Into the future.

on New Year's Eve my nail polish
chipped and for brief moments I
suffered that familiar fear but
I broke into the new year screaming
at the top of my lungs all my friends
gathered close around me like a blanket
to keep out the restless wind and
it was not in that moment that I chose
to be strong but it was in that moment
I began to leave my fear behind.
maybe not today, and maybe not this year
but I'll get there someday and won't it be better
having been so low, really knowing that I tried
and I made it, I did it on my own
no one's hand to hold
won't it be wonderful
when I no longer feel alone
I know I can make it, and til then I can take it: all
the bitter self-doubt, all the cynicism that should
not accompany my youth, and yet it does
I can stand the lonely nights and anxious days
I can sleep with no one to share my space
knowing someday it won't be true
I've done it all my life.

now I refuse to be afraid
I refuse to believe that I'll always be alone
I have to be somebody to somebody, someday.
and one New Year's Day
I will look back and say:
look at where I am
look at where I've been
isn't the world such a beautiful place?

i've got a new life coming
tomorrow will dawn bright
and i will awake with breath
in my lungs as i have never
breathed before. future's closer
than ever now, who i could be
is becoming me. but the heart
beats in my chest flood me
with blood too warm, pumps
me full of strange adrenaline
to fight monsters that are
only memories. the phrases
the words you write to me
now are so strange i read them
and glean no meaning, my stomach
leaping into my throat, my
hands maybe shaking, maybe
holding still, i can't even tell.
i don't want to go back, i want
more than anything to move on
and every time i see your photograph
your name, your words, i am
****** back into summer, all my
regret and my mistakes fill me
up with hot blood, make me
want to drown. hell is where
everyone is disappointed and my
tongue is nailed to the floor
when they expect me to speak.
i don't have any words for you now.
i don't have anything to say.
i don't think of you, but involuntarily,
momentarily, heart beats and it's gone.

in a car
in a parking lot
wrapped in a grey day
I too am wrapped,
curled against seat
under blanket,
as comfortably
as in the cloud that
holds the sky in its palm
outside somewhere
there are voices:
high with laughter
drunk on company
a car thrums past,
musical heartbeat pulsing

I could be plugged
in too; I could be
out there with them
but I am a cloud
in a sunset yellow sky,
a wave
on the rolling sea,
a red star hiding
beneath the skin
of the cosmos
my eyelids blur out
the world and become
the canvas for a new one

here I nap -
and I want to carve it
in stone,
let it tumble mountains,
HERE I AM,
the idiot child of reason
and fate,
drenched
in hazy past
as futures crystallize
before me
my body confined,
my mind transcends

I see all,
know all, be all:
I awake
and find myself
nothing, just
wrapped.

If the words really mean something to you, you will try to push them away.
If in the lines of the painter's strokes or the lyrics of the musician;
If in the actor's cry of pain or the writer's printed page;
If in the eyes of another or the pastor's sermon on Sunday
You find yourself looking into a mirror - a mirror into your very soul -
You will scramble backwards. You will look away.
You will try and try to push it out of your mind.
You will resist changing for as long as you can.

But eventually something inside you will truly snap.
Eventually you'll find yourself in tears on someone's bathroom floor,
Hating who you have become, who you have let yourself become.
Eventually, you will become someone else.

You will allow yourself to give in to the inevitable change.
You will think of nothing else for a while but how to be better.
You will seek it out. You will walk towards it open-armed.
You find your reflection shifting and changing to something beautiful.
If in the eyes of another you find yourself again, you will smile.
If in the words of an author or the smile of an actor,
If in the drumbeat you find your heartbeat, in the paint you find your color -
If you pull it closer to you, it will begin to echo you out.

it has been a long time
since i was happy
and
where did
those summer hours go

where did
the freedom of
the sunshine go
where did
the freedom
of my innocence go

why does intellect
hold hands
with monsters
and why does maturity
walk
side by side
with corruption

do not expect
some kind of answer
because
i have none

i can feel my heart beat
but
there is no
rhythm
anymore.

i go to bed
later and later
every night
memories
of people
with gorgeous
eyes haunt me
and fill my head.
i want to be them
to someone else
i want to
haunt them
the way they
are me, hang
around in
the back corners
of their minds
some beautiful
memory, some
kind of vision
that just won't
leave them alone.
i want to keep them up
later and later
every night
i want them to see me:
to see me as i am,
as i want to be.
i want them to see me
whole
and broken
and loving
and hating myself.
i want them to see me
like a schizophrenic
and their shadows,
like a wild hallucination,
like a beam of sunlight
falling fleetingly
perfectly, sad & lovely,
falling into their eyes,
waking them up
from the daydream,
letting them know
that they are alive.
if i am going
to be brief i want
to be brilliant, if
longevity is my destiny,
i will refuse redundancy.
i want more
than anything to be
unique. i want
to haunt them
in their sleep: i want
to live forever,
i want
to be able to sleep again at night.

For all your versatility, though you change more constantly than I do,
There's a heartbeat, smooth and steady, running through you.
You take my compass and spin it round.
Now South is up and North is down.
Winds from nowhere lead me on. I cannot turn my sails away.
My heart is rooted to your earth, my feet will go no other way.
So forward into you go I, and never to return,
Though always I loved to wander, it is now for you I yearn,
And bear upon my shoulders the heavy yoke of destiny
Which my forefathers did not accept so readily
But turned from love and light and hope
To deep and dark and turn and stroke.
Now in the heavy earth they lie,
Observe and laugh at all that has gone by.
Six feet under does not bury their love for the sea,
Six feet under cannot bury me.

Part I
i wake and turn over in the night
as i do
and i can feel my bones stir, feel
the restlessness just under my skin.
i gotta get out of here, but i am
so afraid of what's coming next

in daylight i walk
the same hallways as always
i love it here, i love my life
i love being alive, i love the people i know
i can't imagine living
any other way.

but i gotta get out. my feet itch
my skin don't fit right over my bones
my mind wanders too far
too quickly, i gotta follow it
even though i don't know what's coming
next, even though saying goodbye
is so **** hard.

Part II
i have finally done it, i have done it
moved out moved away
moved on and
i sleep as i haven't slept
in years.
and it's surreal being here,
like i'm living in a dream
and i don't want to wake up

everything is so much better
than i thought it could be. my bones
are resting for now, i can stretch out
and feel free for the first time
i've ever known.

time runs in slow circles
on this lazy island and i've been here
for weeks but it feels like lifetimes,
and i never, never want to leave,
and if it was my choice,
i wouldn't. but it's not,
and i have to be going again

Part III
culture shock
all over my body, shaking me
awake all night, and i never thought
being home could feel
so strange, like i'm a stranger
like i don't belong.

the faces of my family
are memories, stolen
from photographs. i don't
really know them, i've changed
so much, and they haven't.
i don't know who i am here
and all my friends are ghosts
trying to convince me to stay.

but it won't work. in the morning
i'll be gone again, like rain
always moving on, have to go again
have to get out get out get out
of here, this place is too lethargic,
too much residual fear here, i

loved the time spent here,
but i'm too far gone. i love my
friends here, love my
mother and my brothers,
my father and my teachers,
and all their voices
crying out as one
wouldn't get me to stay.

Part IV
it's not really leaving. it's not really
wandering, as much as i'd like it to be.
but if i left, if i really truly left,
i might never settle down again

if i scratched my bones and picked up
and left every time i felt that itch,
i don't think i'd ever come home
i'd never be anywhere at all

i haven’t seen you in months
and your memory causes
heartbeats to flood my chest.

who you could be,
who you are, causes
symphonies, causes
thunderstorms in the chambers
that lie under my ribs.

i can imagine growing old
with you, old like oak trees,
stretching and wrinkling
till we touch the sky and fall,

but i would be happy knowing
that you are growing old at all.
i am so in love with you
that your life, happy and long,
with or without me,
is all that i want.

You're always running away from something, aren't you?
I mean, all of humanity is constantly trying to fix,
To solve, to make right. We search in these nearby places
For the answers, and don't tend to realize that yes, the
Answers are out there, but they're on top of that mountain
Or over that hill and all the while your heart's saying,
Why don't you look there but your head says No
No no it has to be this why on earth do you listen to it?
And you run and you hide away in that laboratory of yours
And mix together this amount of comfort with that amount
Of painkiller and think that somehow it has to be complex,
It can't be simple. I'm here to say that yes, yes it can. It really
Can be just that simple. It doesn't have to be long and
Drawn-out and rewritten and careful. It can be something
Short and sweet and spontaneous like a first kiss or a
Mountain flower, something alive and growing and changing,
And not concrete; not once, not now, not ever.

I stared at city lights tonight and I wanted to die.
The distance laughed at my eyesight
Like I didn’t deserve it.
I’m sad, and it’s not beautiful.
It’s messy. It’s tangled wires in my heart.
It’s crossed communications in my brain:
When someone smiles and I want
To cry and scream and rip out their throat.

More and more, people make me shut off.
They flip the switches that have held light
To the dark corners of my heart.
Children make me want to cry:
What are they going to grow up to be?
When I was seven I didn’t think
I’d be this **** sad.
What wars will they fight, with their friends
With their family, with the world, with themselves?

When you are depressed, or anxious, or bipolar,
Or have another one of
That host of mental disorders:
You cannot control it.
Just like you can’t make your blood
Flow back into an open wound,
The feeling doesn’t fade
With positive thoughts.

I wanted to die tonight, like I have
Wanted to die before,
And it was not beautiful, and it was not
Something I wanted to be feeling,
And it wasn’t under my control.
I was just really **** sad.