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

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

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

I have a picture of you
plastered on the inside of my eyelids
I thought I would see you
whenever I closed my eyes
But it's just really
dark.

Before the days of modern science
the sun
was a pure white ball of light
when we fused the right filters, though,
we saw the dark spots
the spots hidden by the brilliance
the spots that were there all along
the black blobs of no lights masked by the fire.

And It's the same with you.
For years I saw you as a perfect sun.
A flawless orb of life and light within my grasp.
But I just bought my first pair of sunglasses, polarized, with all the right filters.
You've got more dark spots than I thought.
More tears in your imperfect photosphere
than I could have possibly imagined.

And don't mistake dark spots for scars because scars are places that once were pure
a dark spot
was always missing.

You're missing a lot of pieces.
I'm glad I see that now.

I am too often consumed by a cold blue light
  illuminating my blank stare
  and expressionless face.

The world in front of my eyes draws me in
  but does not exist.
  We see it, but it's in our heads.

I spend too many hours
  checking tiny inconsequential dots
  of light.

We laugh as our cats and dogs chase a red spot around the room
  but are we
  any better?

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.

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.

I really do love everyone
really,
everyone. I hope you all know that.
Because love is not in limited supply and that is one of the greatest things about life.
We can love whomever we please whenever we please
Because our hearts may be the size of our fists
but they're bigger on the inside.
Infinitely.
And they pump blood through
and pump love out
So if we all have this well inside of us
why not use it.
I love all of you.
Why shouldn't I?

It is a spiral spinning down
a marble at the top
a gentle tap
a long way down.
It the journey, they say
it's in how you interpret the abyss.
We're all spinning, though
the sun in its place
the planets elliptical
the tears soaked up by your pillow
are spreading with equal velocity
as the earth.
When things topple down, the rest follows
things that you thought you didn't care about
things you thought were forgotten
people, friends, could-have-beens,
cardboard crates labelled "future" get lost in the storm
entropy, really.
Meaning the pieces are of a puzzle made to be destroyed.
And the ephemeral nature of the future
is something we have to embrace,
for, though it is a long way down,
there is no abyss here.
Just damp pillows and a lost soul clinging to a marble
just like the rest.
Pining away
yearning for a gentler tap.

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.

Why did you go?

Answer, please... answer.

Go on

why did you

go?

Why did you leave

you left so suddenly the leaves

were still drifting in the breeze

falling leaves falling down while I fell

for your unanswered questions as you darted under the falling maples.

Leaves falling while I fell for you, leaving.

Why did you leave me to fall behind?

Come back... the leaves have fallen.

come back, please... come back.

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.

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.

Sometimes
things are so overwhelmingly beautiful
that feeling  of being swept off your shoes envelops your being
lost in the moment, mind whirring and a little tingly
and you wish you could be there
for the first time
a thousand times.
But you only see something for the first time once
and by definition, a moment
doesn't last forever.
So make most of your moments
ones you wish you could
relive.

He slept in that bed
long before I came into
the picture
navy blue sheets
golden brown bedposts.
I could always run my fingers
along the wall that connected us at night
his steady breath a steady
reminder
that all was well,
all was normal.


He came home from school
my parents around the dining table
shifting weight, waiting.
A letter with letters, words
of navy blue and shining gold.
Congratulations we are pr…


Smiling, embracing
          mind racing
We still had precious months…
Until liftoff.


Gazing at the bed
tired eyes
foggy with 3 am,
now foggier with tears.
His steady breath
a comforting metronome
lulled me to rest on the cool
hardwood floor
The room was warm,
full, occupied
with steady breaths,
cardboard boxes and love.


The car flew away before I could put my shoes on.
through the dust
“I couldn’t see the permanence.”
I waved
I waved until my arm burned hot
enough to evaporate the falling water from my eyes.
“If I closed my eyes
I wouldn’t see him go.”

Gazing at the bed.
tired eyes.
foggy with 4 pm
now foggier with emptiness.
He left a dent in the mattress
a comforting mold
I tried to fit
Tried to fill the space left behind.
The room was gusty,
empty, vacant,
with distant breaths,
dust and new negative space.

He slept in that bed
long before I came into
the picture
navy blue sheets
golden brown bedposts.
I could always run my fingers
along the wall that connected us at night.

The wall has swelled, hallowed.
I still trace it
listening,
waiting
for the void to narrow.

I knew a someone once
who walked into and out of my life at leisure
few words exchanged,
knowing glances made up our strange vocabulary

but lacking words,
our language was limited
no glance translated to goodbye.

not because goodbye wasn't important,
but because we both would rather do without
that certain finality, it wasn't how
we wished
to part ways

and in that emptiness where goodbye should have been,
was the goodbye that could have been

The waves of the ocean
do not compare to the tides in my heart
Gravity is so forceful
that I see stars grow closer
and then slide away
in a fraction
of a heartbeat.
I can move stars closer to my heart
but you stay put.
Perhaps we're from different worlds
different stars.

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.

you see,
my poetry
is written by hand.
and my hand
is an extension of my heart. because I can find no other way to express how it
continues to beat day after day without fail than to move my pencil to the same rhythm
and no
I don't always keep perfect time
but neither does my
   heart.

The tips of my lips curve toward the stars
but the words on the tip of my tongue
and too heavy to bend upwards

So that's where they remain
at the end of a thought but never
floating to your ear
because I can't let you hear
the things I've been holding, saving
for a time that I realize now
will never come.

Because they were heavy before
but now the dust they've collected
has nearly tripled their weight
and though they try to break away toward the sun
it is a futile to try to break through
years
of bottling up.

There are things that will never be said
some things are impossible to understand
with or without words
and we must let them be.

Here on Earth
a shrine may be considered holy
there are things we cannot touch
cannot touch, because we are not allowed.
But to have been created by man,
they must have had contact at some point
and that's where the stars come in
because nobody has touched a star
nobody has seen a star face to face
the atmosphere is a veil shielding us from the eternal infinities
just out side our reach.
We cannot touch the stars
but there is no priest, no holy man telling us so.
Nature forbids us
and that makes stars
the most holy.

The universe is speaking
it's speaking very fast
and I can only catch the occasional word
I'm not sure when
Ill be able to catch up.

It's more unlikely to the others
but you are the one
whose mind is slipping
forgetting
the times we had
that weren't defined in anybody's heads but ours but clearly
the grooves in my mind
are deeper
because you walk past
and on a good day you smile
maybe you think the same
but when you didn't remember
yesterday
i knew this was mostly me doing the missing
and maybe you have a bad memory
but i forget things everyday
and i still remember the words
the conversation
the day of the week
feeling my heart pounding in my fingers as i typed
"hi"
two letters that led to two years that led to one year of
something
and we didn't even talk
we laughed we joked
we never talked once
and that's still how it is
nothing has changed
everything is different
and I don't know how I feel about this because I try really hard
but you do not care
maybe it's me
maybe it's my incredible anxiety
keeping me from smiling in your direction
but you
could smile
too.

It gets sad here.

We wallow in our inconveniences and forget
to celebrate the clouds and the birds and the sun.

It's hard to forget things so instead of trying to wash away
the sad,
-because it won't go away-
create better
memories
cancel out the unhappy
and replace it with bliss.

Ten Words.

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.

I wrote your name
and it burned through the paper

I whispered it
and it pierced the thin air

I used to think
that you were my savior

But now I see  
you were never really there.

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.

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.

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.

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.

We fool ourselves into believing
we can see without correction.
I tried to look too far, my eyes strained,
and it worked, but in seeing ahead, in seeing distantly,
what lie in front of my squinting irises remained a blur

"If you keep your face like that it'll stick that way."

I've been looking at the same flower for years now.
It looks the same but there is some aspect
which my squint cannot determine, it seems,
that changes after every passing blink.

Having eyes locked on a flower is a funny business
it first shone by its beauty, but, a short blink later
the petals seem to fall under their weight
as if taking a periodic breath, and releasing into a calmer state.

Looking at something for long enough stops hurting after a while.
It becomes symbiotic, the flower seems to stare back, even lacking eyes.
And that's where the crack in the wall begins,
believing a flower to have eyes.

It goes wrong when the flower appears to be looking back
It seems real in thought, but reality tells a different story,
as it always does.
thought and reality are not closely linked, unfortunately
and this makes flowers somewhat fantastical.
and of course it is easy to enjoy their fragrance, or rich color,
but once you have locked eyes with a flower, once your face gets

stuck that way...

you can't look away
and it will wilt, imaginary eyes and all.

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

I'm not a selfish person, but
For too long now
I've been smiling for you.
But I've been smiling without showing teeth.
Because my lips are sealed shut not by a secret but by a promise
to always be there.
And I've forgotten that I need to be there
for myself.
For too long now I've been smiling, lips shut, for you.
I like my teeth now, though
and I think it's time
to show them.
I need to smile with you.
And I need to smile for me.
From now on
I won't smile in pity
or to make you think that nothing is wrong
when I show my teeth
the only person I will be showing them to
is myself.

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

There's a buzz about the place
an energy radiating from the neon signs, the stone step stoops.
Even the locals
have so much too look at
and more to see.
Being tired is not an option
but on the subway some look as if they've never slept,
the city hasn't either, after all.
It's a place where the avenues are wider than the sky
and the sidewalks all lead somewhere.
People walk fast, and you fall in and out of love in seconds
you notice their glasses, their coats, their shoes
their eyes
darting from building to building
brick to brick
trying to absorb the huge buzzing energy.

We are so intent on figuring out
what we are going to be
that we forget to focus on what we are
nothing can change in the future
if it doesn't change now.
And it's okay to have goals
but don't think of them as plans
think of them as a command, a calling
and start immediately
the first few steps are always the most difficult
it
will
be
difficult
that's right
but once you find your footing, the path will start to look more level
so when someone asks you where you want to be
in however many years
tell them what they want to hear
but know
that you're already on your way.

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.