I found myself
painting a picture of a cigarette
and I found it really strange
that I was painting on the smoke
with watercolors

I often begin my poems right here
directly inside of this box
this "body"
and I think that it's really the only way
to put out things I like
It's fresh and raw
and a little bit squishy
but that's okay
some people really like squishy
here I am in this squishy little body
this raw poetry
the only time I will ever like this poem
is when I can still feel the salt
crusting over on my squishy cheeks
and I've never found it so difficult
to type out the word "squishy"
so many times in a row
my face feels so crusty
but at least it will taste nice
to a passerby who may happen to lick it
I often regret poems
but this one is squishy
and some people like squishy
so I guess I like squishy.

Do not tell me I'm wrong for focusing on myself
I am the most important thing in my life
Without me I'd never get anything done
I'd sit in the corner and cry
like I had nothing better to do
So don't tell me to stop crying.
My tears can water even through the salt
the eye of my storm can soak an entire city of cotton
without my tears, I'd never see a rain cloud
I think that if the rain were salty
it wouldn't be so bad
we could hold our bowls outside for a moment
and never have to deal with the awkward
"hey, pass the salt please"
so don't tell me to stop crying
because my tears can salt the bones
of any animal that has ever had the misfortune
of not receiving proper information
on how to cross a road
salt is so pure
yet it stains the cheeks of the unwell
and the pure
and the *****
so don't you ever tell me
that I shouldn't be self centered
because at least I received proper information
on crossing a road
and I don't look for a light
in this tunnel.


I strike the match.

When I was 8, my mother tried to leave home.
I packed a trash bag holding only blankets
I was fully prepared to go with her
she broke dishes trying to get all her things into the car
when she was on the last bag, I wrapped my arms around her waist
and offered her every hug I had to give for her
but she told me
"Not a hug on this earth could keep me here"
but I knew I could do it.
I held her until my dad got home
they talked for hours
and my mother
stayed
I still wonder how my dad did it
I still wonder why I was prepared to go with my mother
I still wonder why I thought a trash bag full of blankets
was enough to live on.

I knew I had so much to see
when I saw the gutted homes on the outskirts of the city
I knew I had so much to learn
the day I asked my mother why there were so many tiny houses
and she told me they were mobile homes
I know I have a lot to learn
because my head is brimming with questions
my heart aches to know what else is out there
what lies beneath the foundation in that gutted building
and why people would ever want to live in such tiny houses
why the people of this world act the way they do
how many of us really do try our best
and how to be myself when we're all everybody else
I have so much to learn.

I spend too much time
engraving spirals
into the edge of my desk
I spend too much time
doing things
I don't have time for
I don't have time