I never liked biology.
Not because it was boring.
It was fascinating.
But everyday I was reminded
that I am nothing more than
layered tissue.
And I have so little control
over how wide my eyes open
My thoughts are nothing more than microscopic zaps
criss-crossing tirelessly around in my head
I can't stop
hearing and
seeing and
feeling
and
I'll never
see my own heart.
I liked it better
when life was magical.

i love
volcanoes

even mighty man
cannot halt the flow
of molten earth
the plume
of ash and fury
no roads, no condominium
will be constructed
on the pile of
untouchable mountain

I do not wear dresses very often
so every dress I've ever owned
is still hanging
in order
in my closet.

The first,
whimsical and red
a crimson corduroy triangle
green ribbon
yellow flowers
it was for the first day of preschool
but it was also for every other  day
whimsical and red

The second:
Nutcracker pink
for days in San fransisco
when the matching coat
was necessary.
I used to dance.
Nutcracker pink.

The third:
Barefoot lavender
not the color, the scent.
Blue and french
avec des fleures jaunes.
we caught fish with brie cheese
Barefoot lavendar.

The fourth:
Navy blue didn't match
but we sewed the straps anyway
i made the first mistake
you forgave me for that one
thank you
Navy blue didn't match

The Fifth:
White Surrender.
sprinkled with turquoise
I surrendered
I didn't have to
I didn't want to
I'm sorry.
I don't usually wear dresses
I hope you still realize that.
White Surrender.

Whimsical, Red
Nutcracker Pink,
Barefoot Lavender,
Navy Blue,



White,
surrender.

Back then nothing truly mattered
because we were sitting on cloud nine
years old
and stepping on a sidewalk crack could break an elephant's back
but you stepped anyway
because from way up there on your cloud
elephants were like ants
and we stepped on those too
we were big fans of stepping on things
we stepped on twigs on mud on trees on dirt on carpet on sidewalk cracks on ants
we were too busy stepping to realize that soon
we would become the ones being stepped on.
Because at three feet tall we were so busy playing with the world at out feet
we didn't realize there were worlds worlds above us.
because we were sitting on cloud nine years old
stepping on ants and sidewalk cracks
never bothering
to look  up.

"Alright y'all we're going to do a show for you"
clap clap clap the twelve year old boy gives it all he's got
jumping, brushing the passengers
a last ditch effort to eat dinner
don't look, don't make eye contact.
I think about why,
why not?
Ignoring the orders I allow myself to enjoy
the hungry boy's dance
hip hop music playing from a toy boom box
no eye contact?
I look right into the brown eyes of the hungry boy
a mutual smile forms and that's
all
I didn't have any money
I was twelve, too
all I have is a blue monkey backpack containing a rubber duck
and some toy sunglasses even though it's pouring rain, I always carry them
The Subway screeches to a halt at the next stop
the hungry boy swings smiling out the door almost knocking someone down.
I snicker, it was funny
shhhh don't look
but I just put on my toy sunglasses
strap the monkey securely on my back
and smile at strangers.

I have so much to say
but I can't write it down
thoughts are spiraling through my ears and into
my eyes but my hands
cannot translate
the murky, opaque chain of consciousness
weaving in and out of view.
I'm frothing, bubbling
ready to burst, to sing to something.
I'm trying to write words I know but
is a name
a word.
My rule is that I don't write names, it's cheating.
Names are far more powerful than words and name has a story
a background a connotation an emotion a lump in my throat when you stopped staying.
And if "you" is a pronoun and and a name is a proper noun does the extra "per"
mean the name takes up more percent in my mind?
I have so
much
to say.
Nothing is working just words, no proper ones.
I see it. I see what I feel and I feel it. I feel what I see.
I can't write it.
It feels like a warm ocean, unexpected, nice, then suspicious.
It feels like someone took the blood from my veins and replaced it with liquid doubt
now pulsing through every artery.
It feels like a favorite toy being glued back together. Still beloved, but never the same.
It feels like drowning.
It feels like falling.
I have so much to say.
Take my hand.
And help me.
*please

Dandelion braids
     watermelon picnics
bees in our bandanas
      and toes in the mud

bicycles at dusk
sailing down paths
built for fireflies

out feet have grime
            because who
             wears shoes
in the summertime

this place really ***** your soul out
it leaves you so empty that there is no room for more empty inside.
it leaves you broken down on the side of the road with a broken down cell phone and a broken down heart.
it kicks you in the gut and expects you to continue breathing just like nothing happened
it throws people and places and words and numbers at you and expects you to somehow make sense of the nonsensical string of thoughts tossed together in a stew of confusion and hair-pulling-graying stress.
it gives you a person who leaves you the same way it left you, empty without context or direction
it's magnetic
it causes the compass in your heart to spin wildly out of control leaving you lost and alone
i shows you jealousy and envokes hatred that you never knew existed
but you realize it's not the place at all
it's the people
and you.
you.

A purebred lunatic
that's what the girl in the purple tights
was called.
Laughed at for wearing three braids
because one just didn't seem right.
And ignored because English
didn't come first.
She danced through the halls
walking hurt her feet.
Purebred lunatic, they would say.
Thank you, she would reply
a smile, a pirouette,
and the girl with three braids
would disappear.

My head is encased
in a web
of thoughts
that thrash with cloven tongues and silver lips
at my battered brain.
clearing my head is futile
for every time
i attempt to break free
the web of whispered rumination
tightens its grip.

tu es le vent.
le vent qui cherche
le vent qui me regarde
le vent qui vas quelque part.
le vent éphémère.
le vent dont je peut écouter.
Mais, pas le vent qui est visible.
pas le vent qu'on peut toucher.
Et ça, c'est d'accord
avec moi.

Driving along an empty street
at 6pm you
reach the beach.
The sun is halfway set.
You sit there and watch it sink into the ocean.
you think it's gone but then you remember
something you read a long time ago.
You run up to the lifeguard tower
and climb to the top.
When you get there, you can see
a sliver of the sun, setting again.

Nothing is ever gone if you remember
to change your perspective.

A princess in disguise
kept her mask on too long
and became the woman on the sidelines
she was never meant to be

I have read poems about springtime
everything they say is true
the whole season explained in rhyme
every detail uncovered,
except you.

In a dream I drove a motorcycle
through a hoop ablaze with
dandelions
and as I passed through
each exploded in a cloud
of white seeds
drifting around me
I extended my hand
they danced this way
and that
as I swung my fingers through
the cloud
i wondered how many wishes
I could ask for
But a seed landed
kissing
the tip of my nose
This was far too wonderful for wishes
The white wisp tickled my face
awake.



I saw a little girl today
holding a pure white sphere bloom
she closed her eyes as she blew, wishing.
She missed
the show.

Two marbles roll down a plank of wood
they begin close, but without contact
the marbles roll down, opposite directions
all of a sudden the wind changes
they roll side by side scraping each other
a knot, they separate, continuing, both going the same direction
in different paths
their paths never cross again,
they both end up at the bottom of the plank individually
but without that period of togetherness,
without their paths having crossed
they would be where they were.

dreams swirl, tranquil in my mind
sharply interrupted
denial, snooze
realization
chomp chomp chomp
ziiiiip slam
clink beeep
rattle rattle rattle
STOP REQUESTED
groan, unload.
walk fast
eyes low
12...click...13...click...6... open
slam
walk faster, required smiles
ffft jot jot jot
retain it retain it
gone
who is there? oh, you again.
you again?
you...
again.
swallow
walk, slower.
bonjour, ça va et toi?
memorize
mesmerized
click click
rattle rattle rattle
sigh
unload.
saunter and release.

sidewalk cracks and jumping jacks
exploring our backyards
overalls and backpacks
making houses out of cards

when we fell down we stood right up
because six-year-olds can't die
so when Ruth wasn't at assembly
we never wondered why

we figured she was sick
had a fever or a cough
she'd be better really quick
she just needed some time off

But Ruth never showed up that year
or the year after that
They told us that she moved away
We knew that wasn't fact

Because Tommy saw something
a familiar satin bow
right under the climbing tree
where young Ruth used to go.

The tallest branch must have
been at least twenty feet high
and to a six-year old that's
high enough to try to fly

But flying's meant for angels
not for children on a bough
and Ruth's no longer on that tree
no
she's
much higher
now.

Longing
for the days when I didn't know what sad meant
when serious was an idea used only to describe a teacher who didn't joke around.
when I was going to write the next great novel, the next hit musical
when friends were in high supply and it didn't matter that my hair was never brushed
when I played an instrument taller than I because I could
when I cried when I missed the second day of school
when the grass was my favorite place to sit
and moving our legs was more important than shaving them
when i didn't have to watch my words because everything was perfect and what could i say wrong
when the only pain i felt was a skinned knee
and the only loss was of a tooth.
simple is better.
i wish we could all understand.

A day will come when
gravity will have been long forgotten
and whatever exists will no longer have started with star dust.
and whatever mark you convinced yourself you made
will have to fade.
A day when the spirals in the spiral galaxies start spiraling out of control
because they will have forgotten what held them together.
Gravity will be long forgotten one day.
Star dust to stars
stars to chaos.
chaos to empty.
Gravity
long forgotten.

I had so many plans
I thought it would all
be so different
the people would look different
the sky would shine bluer
I would be more experienced
and less curious
but it all remains the same
things come and go
but it's all the same
I have different plans and expectations
that will only be met if I let them
and in three years
the doormat will have four more holes
the windows will collect more dust
and my hair might be longer
but the mat and the windows and I will be the same
we are.
we just are.
and at the end of the day
there's nothing I can ask for
and nothing I can do.

" I like coffee. "
I say this all too often when the truth is
I like the way it makes me feel.
I like the sugar I add.
I like the cream and the way it swirls.
I like that it is more sophisticated that hot chocolate.
I like the way it warms my hands.
          all these things go away, though.
I do not like the way it makes me crabby after an hour
I do not like the way it tastes without the extra sugar
I do not like the still blackness when there is no creme to lighten it
I do not like how it doesn't remind me of childhood
I do not like how cold my hands feel when you--
when it is taken away.

living on two hours
of "sleep"
groggy doesn't even begin
to describe
the disorientation.
how do i walk
It's midnight!
not noon!
Someone get me a latte.

There will be days.
There will be days when the person you most want to see is right in front of you.
There will be days when that person is miles away.
There will be days when you accomplish little more than a quick nap.
There will be days when you fail.
There will be days when you succeed.
There will be days when you need people, and that's okay. Because one of these day's they'll need you too. Just wait.
There will be days when the very uttering of their name will send shivers down your bones and blood to your cheeks and the tips of your lips will curve up without you even trying.
There will be days when the tips of your lips refuse to curl up even though you are trying very hard.
There will be days when you don't want to leave the comforting pillow that finally fits your head just as you have to leave.
There will be days when you have to leave.
There will be days when you have to leave behind.
There will be days when you have to forget. try. to forget.
There will be days when you try. to forget. but are reminder over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. there will be nothing you can say. it's okay, I've been there, too.  
There will be days when the feeling is just out of reach and taunts your desperately clawing fingers like a grass seed.
There will be days when you forget about the grass seed.
There will be days when it floats in between your fingers and lands square in the palm of your hand and those are the days you need to day thank you and remember remember. try. to remember.
There will be days when it's difficult to breathe.
There will be days when breathing seems to be the only thing your broken body remembers how to do.
breathe. it's what you're built for. breathe.

Each day passes
in front of out eyes we wait
for the minutes
but remember the hours

Our moods do rise and fall
faster than the    sun    ever does
but we have some bad days, some   good
we measure our moods with the          stars

Frequent walks are less frequently followed
by memories of the road
we remember we walked
we wonder where we went

And so it is that we read a poem,
the words tickle our tired eyes
yet when the words come to a hault
we are left with a feeling, no recollection of     punctuation.

Enjoy the days
remember the minutes

look to the sun
remember the earth on which you stand

walk for hours
remember your route

read until your eyes drift closed
remember each comma.

the average lifespan of a butterfly is one month
but mine have been in flight for five years, now
they must be composed of some kind of magic
they skipped the cocoon
started flying the moment i heard you could
dance
i always thought
my butterflies were fluttering to escape but
maybe they just want to
dance
too.

Right place
Wrong time
needed space
      not mine.

couldn't talk
too scared
didn't knock
         I cared.

your eyes
blue, clear
in the skies
     I'm here.

my fault
but i
shed salt
wonder why.

Can't say
everything
please stay
let's sing.

Circle round the flames.
Watch as they warm us all in a dance of light and energy
and not much else.
Join me in a campfire song that makes us smile
and not much else.
Sit in entranced silence, sit
and not much else.
This is all we need, the fire
and not much else.

The proof is all here.
Circumstantial evidence, but no fingerprints
yet.

The cherry left in the corners of my lips
reminds me that nothing lasts as a whole
but drops of cherry juice get left behind.
And the drops are sweet.

Red.
The proof is all red.
My cheeks, flushed with summer and something else
Red shoes that leave behind a certain springtime.
My cherry creases.
But no blood,
never.

The circumstantial proof,
in this circumstance
may lead to a different conclusion
than it would have before
because circumstances has changed
along with the seasons
along with our hearts
along with the projected path in my mind.
A hologram of the futures
and pasts I am still waiting for.

The fluidity of a dancer
and the the eyes of a distant star
the seamstress in the knee length hoop skirt
weaved through the galaxies
leaving a path of shining
thread.

We were going to fly to planets that didn't have names yet
we were going to dig a hole and swim in the core.
we were going to sink hawaii, but keep the volcanoes
and we were going so settle down
on the side of the moon that only we would see.
we were going to do ballet on top of the pyramids
and wait for the planets to align
so we could **** past them one by one.
we were going to sing in space so nobody could hear us
we were going to invent invisibility
but not tell anyone.
we were going to grow a garden where all the plants had bow-ties for flowers and spaghetti roots.

we were going to slide down the biggest slide
we were going to swing the swings all the way around
we were going to build camelot from the sand in the backyard
we were going to make potions out of dish soap and dish soap out of vegetable oil.

we were going to bed
you were supposed to wake up.

You tell me to
let go
let go
let go
but
my fingers are paralyzed, clenched, holding
onto something I'm still trying to wrap my head around
something I'm still struggling to forgive myself for
so, tell me
how do I release my grip
if my brain has forgotten
how to
let go.

sit criss crossed
the back of a station wagon you've known
for as long as you can remember
a backpack perched on your lap
because it's comforting
a shield of sorts
the radio whistles with you
and hums
the sun is at such an angle
it's only sometimes blinding
out the window are the same trees
and they remind you of the same people and things
nothing really ever changes
this used to frustrate me
but things can't change until you appreciate them
i think
taking in the sights i've already taken in
taking in the sunlight really
i've never done this before
no one has
we're taking life as it comes
and, now
my life is at such an angle
it's only blinding sometimes.
i need to open my eyes for the rest.

We're dropping like flies out here and it's only been a few weeks
but already I'm over my head and that's where my heels should be
I'm not an expert in things I've never done and everyone says things
that make sense but that's where it stops. Nothing makes sense except for words.
And by words I mean thoughts because goodness knows the sentences  in my analytical
essays have horrible syntax and my calculator seems to be having problems with that too.
I get through everyday because of the people but the people also make it worse.
Everything is a dance and one wrong step can send everything spinning wildly out of
my control and into the hands of whatever powers compel people to label themselves and others.
Not those labels. the good kind. but the ones that tie us down so tight that if that rope is frayed
everyone knows that something is amiss. And I'm still figuring out if it's possible
to have too much empathy. Because putting people in front of me is the right thing to do
but I'm getting nothing in return and I thought putting people in front of me would
give me a shield when all it really did is let them get a head starts and I'm not selfish.
But I need to put myself first and if that means fraying the labels then so be it but frayed rope
is still made of the same material and though it points out in every direction it is still there.
I hope you know that.
And by you I mean me.
We're dropping like flies out here, all for different reasons. All for the same one.
I'm going to get through the days and I'll try not to keep track of the minutes.
Because flies have a lifespan of three days, and I've lasted years, so what use are minutes
anyway.

I have gotten goosebumps many times but up until now I thought I was just getting cold.

I thought the shiver down my spine was ice, not fire.

And I thought the feeling in my stomach was something less beautiful than butterflies.

Up until now, I didn't realize what wonder smelled like. Smoke.

And until I found that goosebumps came as a side-affect of awe I used to grab the nearest blanket to warm up when I really had a flame inside me, not a snowstorm.

for her birthday
she requested a rose
when all she truly hoped for
was a sunny day
but after years of clouds
a rose seemed
simpler.

days   words   things  
eyes   just   away  
day   heart   stars   time   years   forget   people  
know   sky   ones   really   worlds  
realize   better  
need   way  
cloud   tell   thoughts   try   look   wanted  
like   thought   star   trying  
sit  
big   hand   different   head  
remember   want  
feet   sidewalk  
lips   wish   cracks   feeling   closer  
break   little   right  
leave    think    broken    fingers    
leaves    place    used    expectations    stepping    holy   sun  
ruth    face    smile  
stepped    old    
lost    wishes    hear    end    
simpler    real    makes    heavy
    change   doesn't  
plans    reach    ants    faster    
touch    
watch    
make    gravity    long    forgotten    
difficult    sound  
light    breathe    okay    holding
  meant    mean    tips    
inside    beautiful    white    hours    
person    sad