She donned the hats of worlds
that she so was desperate
to be part of that she became lost.
Flipping through the delicate pages
of lands so thin that if you looked too closely
they would break like a spider’s web.

She became entangled in the web,
drowning herself among the worlds
which she dissected so closely,
that from the outside she might appear desperate
to blend herself into the pages
a new piece of herself each time lost.

To everyone outside she was lost
caught up in her web
of what seemed a set of carnivorous pages
biting off a new piece in each of the worlds
she visited, desperate
to keep her there and watch her closely.

In her life they watched her closely
making sure that she would not be forever lost
and because they were desperate
took the blade of reality to her web
tearing holes in her worlds
ripping apart pages upon pages.

And as each of the pages
that were tied to her so closely
were torn away, so were her worlds
the pieces of herself left there were lost
still entangled in the shredded web
hanging limply, she was desperate.

But when they saw that she was desperate
alone surrounded by the pages
trying to sew together the strings of the web
they watched her closely
as she stumbled around, lost,
without the pieces of herself she left in those worlds.

Feeling so desperate, she examined them closely
pieces of pages, all their meaning having been lost,
trying to weave together the strands of her web wide worlds.

We don’t usually see each other,
I’m asleep, dreaming myself a superhero, or a maybe a victim
You creep around, so as not to wake me,
envelopment in the warmth that comes from the layers and layers
I have stacked on my body
gently rippling like a sheet in a warm summer breeze.

But occasionally we meet,
my tired eyes still open wide searching for a focus point
my fingers moving lazily across the keyboard
drunk from a mix of one part darkness, three parts chill,
hitting letters to form words in a language I can assume is only understood by gods.
In you creep, slowly growing as the twinkling lights on the sidewalk
blink out,
one
by one,
hiding whatever the darkness holds.

You lose you warmth,
become a ghost passing through and chilling my bones
putting knots in my spine, hunching me over,
my legs become twisted and contorted under me
as you slowly **** the life out of one foot
sticking it with a million little needles

This is your invitation to sleep,
by making consciousness so unbearable
that every blink becomes longer, as if trying to escape whatever reality
I’ve been forced to stay up with this long.

You lay me down, pull up the covers,
holding me gently like a lover
letting me rest
letting me escape
letting me sleep.

Sometime years from now,
the last grains of sand will drip slowly from my hourglass,
and the clanging sound of the bucket I have kicked will resound across the nation.
But before then I want to say that I existed.

I was there when the world cried for the lives lost,
and I was there when just my family cried,
in the small cramped kitchen of my grandparents house,
waiting for a call from the mainland,
sunk down, resting against the red cabinets.
And at those times I had nothing to say.
The words and letters never came together
to form coherent sentences.
So I kept quiet.

But now I have something to say.
I've finally been able to put together 26 letters to form words.
And I want you to know what I've held in,
over the many years that I've been silent.

I want to tell you about how,
when I was younger, I never wanted to turn 10
because that meant growing up, and growing up mean getting old,
and getting old meant giving up childhood.

I want to tell you about the times when I cried
in the middle of the night
because I was scared about the oblivion that is life and death.

I want to tell you about the dreams I had
when I was little. The ones where my mother left me,
and about how I would shuffle down to her bed,
and crawl in because that's what I did whenever I had a nightmare.
But I never told her what I was actually scared of,
so that she wouldn't worry,
and because I was scared that if I told her,
she might actually leave.

But mostly I want to tell you about how great it was.
We all grew up in a whirlwind mix of tragedy and wonder.
We jumped in pools, and baked in the sun,
and danced through summer storms,
and stayed up late into the night,
sometimes talking, sometimes sitting in silence.
The world moved around us,
and we were swept up in all the wonderful chaos,
we held the hands of angels and devils,
and never let either of them go.
That's what I want to tell you.

Phased only by the
Evil
Around us.
Crying out for change with
Eager hearts and eyes.

I don't believe in fate,
I believe in chance.

I rest my life in probability,
in the ratio between what could have happened,
and what did.

My mind centers itself around “what if's”
and “if only's”
Situations that may have been
if one thing had been changed.

And while you might pride your good luck,
or praise God that you were not fated to be somewhere,
in a certain place,
at a certain time,
I thank history.


I praise my past,
the events that have lined up,
perfectly,
it the one pattern,
the one ,
certain arrangement,
that produces a happy ending.

Or,
at least a happier ending,
one in which all of my self,
remains intact.

But,
I suppose that's just the chance I take.

I am stardust
I am full of not bones and tissues, but stardust.
If you were to cut me open from neck to naval,
out would pour dust.
And it is not the dust that is wiped off cabinets and from under beds,
but the dust from the sky,
the dust that doesn't know where it's been,
or where it is going,
but it knows one thing,
I am stardust.

And this dust is mixed,
mixed with lust,
and not with lust for you, or you,
but for there,
wanderlust,
I am dust and I am lust,
and I don't know from where I came and I don't know where I am going,
but I do know one thing,
I am stardust.

And I am settling.
For sixteen years I have settled,
but when the countdown ends,
when the caps fly up,
so will my dust,
and I will scatter
and I wont know where I am going,
and I wont remember where I'm from,
but I'll know one thing,
I am stardust.