reading through my poems
I want to throw away all but a dozen
out of the thousands I’ve written
and maybe
that’s the way art is:
a process of creation
and then
destruction,
over and
over and
over
until the making
outweighs the taking
and my vision
can be
achieved.

or maybe
I just got lucky
those dozen or so times
and the other thousand or so
is really what I’m capable of
and I should probably
realize what that means
about
me.

or maybe
I’m just looking
for excuses to quit
because I’m so close
to being as good
as I dreamed
but now
the true sacrifices
must begin.

drive a knife into my hand
and I couldn’t tell you
if the blade
was sharp or dull,

if the pain hurt
or just sat there
existing,

if you should stop
or just go ahead
and try
again.

look into my eyes
and I couldn’t tell you
if I was looking back.

my mind is drowning
(nearly blacked-out now)
and everything’s deafened
(both the good and the
bad).

I can’t see and
I can’t hear and
for all I know that hand
you just stabbed could be mine
or yours or someone else’s
entirely.

please,
wake me up.
the knife didn’t work.

I stand dazzled,
like a child,
at the brilliance of the world.

but,
I have never been
so stumbled before.

this is odd, concerning.
what now is different
that has left me
so crippled?

what has changed?
the world
or I?

are things brighter
or is my vision
darker?

though I cannot see
I can make out
those around me
moving away
further each moment
so far
I cannot even hear their voices
laughing and talking
and enjoying life

and just a few questions
run through my panicked mind
like horses through a battlefield
screaming,
“where are they going?”
“what is going on?”
“where am I?”
“who am I?”

“why is this happening?”

but the world cannot reply,
for the answers were never
within her.

Collin has developed a new love for salads.
I could not be more pleased.
He does have to cover them in cheese,
But ghosts can't really become obese...
So I will take what I can get.
There is another ghost boy in our building.
His name is Jordan,
He is five and he has lived here for two years.
They play together when I'm busy.
Jordan is very tough,
So I have been teaching Collin to hold his own.
No one will push my baby around.
He's too special for that.

Sleep eludes me in the presence of these sheets
No matter how I force myself to forget your scent, they keep reminding me
As the table reminisces of the conversations that accompanied our every meal
The brass door knobs always tell me how they miss the way your soft hands would feel
As your eager fingers twisted them quick upon your arrival home
The wooden floors creak and moan
Forever mentioning the lightness of your step
The pillows talk about the warmth of your breath
Even the switches speak of how you would turn out the lights
Before you tucked into those very sheets and kissed me goodnight
Laying still, alone in an empty room
I gave everything away because it would remind me of you...