i look at that girl and i wonder what she is thinking.

i wonder if she is happy,
or if she ever will be happy,
or if happiness is even a plausible thing anymore.

she doesn’t seem unhappy,
but even appearances can’t be trusted these days.

i search for clues in her darting eyes,
and her fidgeting hands,
and her eyebrows;
furrowing and unfurrowing incessantly
as if she can’t make up her own mind herself.

looking at that girl,
i can not even seem to realize that she is me.

is that my heartbeat
or thunder eating its way
through my bedroom walls?

I thought for maybe a fleeting day that I liked you.
I knew it would never work.
You and me.
Me and you.
It's just not possible.
I'm nothing compared to you.

Your talent flies to the stars above,
While I sit on the grass at night and gaze in wonder.
Your passion for life shines like the sun,
While I dance in the warm light laughing with joy.

I do not love you, or even like you more than I show.
It's the thought of you that makes me smile.
It's the thought of you that makes me wonder how you are doing each day.
It's the thought of you- nothing more- that makes me want to be your friend.

I hero worship you.
I need to stop.
You are human like me.
Nothing more.
And you should be nothing more.
You are my brother that I look up to,
That I secretly admire from afar.
I am a small child in need of guidance,
A lost heart searching for a close friend,
But you cannot be that person.
You have your friends,
And I mine.
Even if we meet tomorrow,
We'll be friendly but nothing more.

Admitting I hero worship you is uncomfortable.
Convicting myself for being weak enough to do so hurts.
Convincing myself love is not an option for me is a battle.
Punishing myself for liking someone is unbearable.

I cannot love.
I must not love.
I am not capable of love.
And if I do love,
I would be better off dead than with a broken heart.
It already is fragile as glass and as worthless as fools gold from the first time I liked someone.
Again, it was the thought of him,
Hero worship.
I barely survived that.

I must never love again.

Those starting over points,
        when we need to try,
                  something new.
We didnt even know what that meant,
             but we still tried.
And when the combination of friends
      that we spent
               every
                  waking
                     moment
                         with
                             got old, we decided it was time,
                                    time for that something new.
We were like bad 90's T.V. shows to each other.
  We would laugh and feel that bitter sweet sense of Nostalgia,
       but when we parted ways we would all just realize,
           that we were just trying to make the past real again.
Make those endless nights
    linger a little longer.
Make the kisses
    mean a little more.
       ......
All we were ever doing was fooling ourselves,
        into thinking we were alive.
           Into thinking we were in love.
                Into thinking we were friends.
And when that fact became too noticeable,
            we would switch,
                 rearrange,
                        and trade each other for another,
                             hoping that the one that left took the loneliness that haunted us all with them,
                                  and the one that arrived brought the love we were all searching for with them.
                                                      .....­but is always came back.....
For me,
            I would notice when they started looking at me different,
                      as if they knew something they thought they shouldn't,
                               knew something that I didn't know.
And responses
           would get short,
    conversations
          would cease to be interesting,
and then one day I would come by unannounced,
                just like all the other times,
and find everyone there,
       laughing together
          looking happier than they had in weeks.
In that moment before I walked in,
       everything was okay again,
           everything was normal,
               the loneliness had left.
Then when I walked into the room,
  it was as if I I had just caught my love in bed with someone else,
         a 'hand-in-the-cookie-jar' kind of moment.
I had become the bearer of all of their loneliness,
     I had become the mirror reflecting the empty room
               that they were always trying to fill.
So in this moment,
     I would make one of two decisions;
                 leave
                   or sit down as if nothing was wrong,
                       and spend the nest week proving my worth
                            to a tribe who had already voted me off the island.
And part of me wants to say it wasn't just me,
               that others would know exactly what I meant,
                       what I had felt,
          but for the sake of the feelings,
                 of the reality
                       of
                         that
                             moment,
            when I was the only one,
                  and no one else wanted to feel it,
                       that is where I want to be right now,
                            so that it can be felt,
                               so that after this,
                                    noone and nothing
                                          can ever trap me there again.

Maybe if I lose some weight
Maybe if I put on more make up
Maybe if I buy nicer clothes
Maybe if I get another hair color
Maybe if I do something about my face
Maybe if I just try a little bit harder

I wouldn't be so ugly
I wouldn't disgust you

And maybe just maybe I could be the girl someone
Would look at and think
I wish my girl looked like that

And maybe you would fall for me
Just as hard as I fell for you
Maybe just maybe
I would get my brown eyed Prince Charming

But to be honest
I don't think there is anything I could do
To make you want me the way I want you

I'm hopeless

Seven New Poems For Seven Days # 5: Summer Girls In Their Summer Clothes



Oh yes!

The streets of Manhattan, jewel dusted,
Summer girls in their  summer clothes,
Bedeck the streets and make men say, Thank You!
To their creator.

Little black dresses, previously immortalized^,
Seasoning and sauces, halter tops and jeans cutoff,
Give thanks for the tanks, revel in the revelations,
For God created man and women in his/her teasingly bare image.

*Yo! Dude!  This is number 5 in the series,
Of sad and somber, re dad and mother, ***?
Have you lost perspective, not read the directive,
You're in mourning, time to be introspective,
Not dis-respective!

My mother was a beautiful women.
Till the day she died.
Yes, physically beautiful at 98.

She, was a poem.
For her exterior was suffused, burnished,
By the spirit residing within her body

I ask myself, why not judge a book by its cover?
Her cover was exquisite, but what gave her a glow,
A radiance, was her modesty, her love of humanity.

What's under our cover?

I must not gaze at them although
Your eyes are dawning day;
I must not watch you as you go
Your sun-illumined way;

I hear but I must never heed
The fascinating note,
Which, fluting like a river reed,
Comes from your trembing throat;

I must not see upon your face
Love's softly glowing spark;
For there's the barrier of race,
You're fair and I am dark.