A paper bag, an old woman’s hands, the obnoxious gap between my teeth;
Art, if you will.
Hearts racing, ***** gym floors, crying so hard you lose your breath.
Art.
It pumps thru our veins, wakes us up in the middle of the night to haunts our thoughts: its the reason I can never blow bubbles with this now tasteless piece of Trident.
That first tender kiss.
The missing sock, forever gone.
Its something about life.
That  holds us like that glue you used to put your mother’s favorite vase back together when she wasn’t home.
Its not knowing if you’ll have a place to lay your head down at night or when your next meal will be.
Real and raw.
Wide eyes and white smiles.
Art of wrinkles, art of death, art of hotel mattresses.
Art of this life, and your next one.

They look at me and say
"What a funny girl."

They look at me
and
look away.

So when you look at me
honest and true
don't be surprised
if I don't believe you

I have hazel eyes:
they are brown with
hints of
brown

but my eyes are hazel

365 days in a year
seven days in a week

two days for fun,
until our time in the sun

Oh, summer, can you hear me?
I've been feeling kind of weary
My friends say I've been acting dreary

Help me out, help me out.

Ups and downs all around,
trying to turn this frown upside down

Oh summer, can you hear my cries?
These helpless pleas?
These dying sighs?

Look up, look up
The sky above
Tonight  I'll pray summer feel my love
sand between my toes,
my freckled spotted nose
whatever
            else
              goes
All I know...
there are 365 days in a year

She walks into a room like a hurricane of confidence
While others, slump in, afraid of drawing attention to themselves.
Its not like that though.
She doesn’t cry out for attention
Rather her personality demands

She isn’t the kind to waste away
Her laugh demands a reply of a smile
and
Her eyes demand yours

She wants and works and receives

She’s like mother nature, the way she moves
She rooted to the ground, like an old oak tree:
swaying in the wind, with a breeze of a smile

Sometimes I think she most have not been raised like others
Its like fear was never installed into her mind
and
faith was always on her lips, since the day she was born

When other inquire about her:
who she is
and
ask why
and
don’t understand

I reply:

“Though she be but little, she is fierce”

We pretend,
We do it all the time.

Happy, aren't We?
We laugh:
big teeth, tight smiles.

Alone, aren't we?
Huge crowds:
masses, claustrophobia.

But who knows the truth
Our truths

Wide eyes, white grin

think for a second

I've wore a hole in my mind from thinking

Happy, aren't We?

I fell in love with someone who couldn’t remember my Birthday.
I fell in love with someone who left the state for a month without telling me.
I fell in love with someone who didn’t believe in love.
I don’t believe in love either.
Now.
I fell for the man with the dark eyes and a carefree smile.
I fell for the flat foot, curly haired drunk.
Crackling voice chilled my bones.
Mother said I was too young to “know” to “understand”.
I agreed.
I was young.
This pain, however, did not come from being naive
of knowing when you’re falling for someone
who doesn’t believe in love.

He fell in love with me.
Hair brained, wide eyes. Me.
I wasn’t sure.
Surprise parties and kisses for my Birthdays.
Late night talks and late breakfasts.
He pleaded
and
I wasn’t in love.

I have this dream:
and You
are in it.
Yes, You.

They are beautiful
and so very alive

So it must be You.

We make eye contact and suddenly we are kissing
well, we kiss
one kiss

Then I wake up
and
I want to rub the dream off me
and
avoid the thought of you

So I write and "go for a walk"
and make myself "busy"

in the end its just me hiding:
back against the wall.

Thinking of how you still you believe in me
and this makes me sick

So I go to sleep with tears on my pillow

and

there You are.

I wake up
and hang my head over the toilet

Books, papers and pens

building the stability of society

"the norm"

I do hear your words, as my eyes glaze over

I want to be crazy,
not just crazy
insane

They'd lock me up

oh,
I'd be glad

I don't remember when I learned how to speak or even
drink

Yet, these thirsty lips always run to their words
-clinging to each syllable like a child to it's mother

But this time it's different

I'd whisper how while we kiss
but for the first time I have no words.

I don't remember the first time I heard your name

maybe, I just knew...

Funny,
it seems these days and long nights its all these love drunk lips are stumbling on.

and that's why
this time it's different.

I must be Schizophrenic.
There's me
and then
there's my heart.

She's the one who kissed you,
and
I'm the one who panicked and said they had to leave.

She's the one who doodles your name in her journal,
and
I'm the one who turns off their phone to avoid contact with you.

She's the one who can feel this passionate, sap dripping love.

I'm the who's tired of picking up the pieces and pretending to be alright.
I'm the one who can feel the potential pain of losing you.

Maybe one day you can love us both.

I want to have ***.
Not like how you think.

I want someone to cling to me
Need me

People say great things to you
when you're having ***

They encourage you

“God, this is great...”
“You’re great...”

I’d imagine them staring into my eyes                                                             ­     
“You are a champion”
  
“You have your life in order, unlike what your mother says.”
“You got this.”

That encouragement would rock our bed
and
make the neighbors jealous

Too bad I’m here

Sipping some cold coffee
with two lumps of sugar
and
a broken heart