Tonight’s the night
when your throat swells tight,
your breath falls short,
your costumes don’t fit right.

Tonight’s the night
friends will surely mock,
your hair’s utter chaos,
your knees nervously knock.

Quality is demanded,
perfection from each night;
it’s subtly commanded;
it solicits stage fright.

Hiding from view
behind glamour and grace,
lingers that time-tried spew:
“Get those nerves off your face!”

From backstage, a call:
“Everyone take your place!”
You’re not ready at all!
Just breathe, steady pace.

Silently whispered lines
across a tongue of cotton,
but then the spotlight shines!
And all these worries, forgotten.

Because tonight’s the night
when your smile will glow,
your beauty stun
and passion show.

Tonight’s the night
you’ll become like a star,
Creator-made,
perfect just as you are.

Nothing else compares,
not applause, not stares,
when you dance for your Savior,
who loves you, who cares.

Tonight’s the night
audiences will applaud,
but you know what they don’t:
it’s not you, but God.

A pretty girl smiled at me yesterday
and I thought of nothing cool to say.

So loneliness is the price I'll pay
because I just let her slip away.

See everyone I know is hurt, a little crazy and tired
but we smile like drunken fools
ignoring the voice inside that's begging us to scream

days they go by so fast
and we do not do the things we feel inside we should
We live a life based on hate because of laziness or comfort
We work the jobs we hate, we talk to the people we hate,
we live in the small rooms we hate

we sit like trees in one spot
with our roots planted so deep
we know we could never move

We owe ourselves travel, music, art,
we owe ourselves a fist in the air, kicking and screaming revolution
because we will not go down as a the sleepy generation
It's plain and it's simple
we are vital and we owe ourselves not to be the walking dead

Mrs. Boon, she is 102, she will be 103 next February.
She told me that when she was young a prophet told her she would
live to be 144
"104!" My mother jokingly corrected her.
My mother had heard this story many times before, she was her caregiver.
Mrs. Boon said "same difference they're both way too long."
I liked her she was sassy.

She said "My dear, never marry."
That was funny because I had an argument with my mother that morning
about that very subject,
my mom wants me to marry a clean cut catholic boy and
I want to...well...be alone and travel the world and
kiss handsome men with thick accents.

Mrs Boon complained about all her diminishing abilities and senses,
"I can't see, I can't hear, I can't think, I can't stand for too long! I don't know why the lord doesn't take me" she cried.
All I could think was that I was only 21 and felt exactly the same way.

She looked at me before we left and very sincerely asked,
"will you visit me again, I know I could get better if I had a good spirit like yours around"
I smiled and softly graced her hand that was swollen from the ivy.

I knew I could never see her again she reminded me of my mortality.
And that reminder weighed heavy like a rock on my chest

It was the reminder that most of us will end up alone
breathing air from a tank and watching
re-runs we recorded in previous years of The Price is Right.

ii
resting on the ground;

i left the best parts of me

in your tousled room.

like the trash, disregarded,
they sadly collect your dust.

iii.
if they call your name

slide them under the couches,

quiet them for now.

amongst your things they will hide;
erased from your heart and mind.


.

I am
an anchor
at the bottom
of this sea of people.

Sea - of - people,

funny,
the smallest things
always make me think of you.

Everybody drinks too much,
everybody talks too loud,  
everybody laughs at things they don't find funny,
and sometimes they dance;
bodies so close
I bet they could feel each other's heart beats.

Heart - beats,

Do you remember
how you laid your head on my chest
and claimed
you could hear the ocean?
When we kissed
you said our lips were the waves
crashing
against our body's shore,
over and over
and over again.

I can't believe
I thought this would
help me to forget that I love you
or maybe more so
forget that you don't love me.

With a drink in hand
I watch these fools
engage in one night stands,
and it makes me so incredibly
lonely.

I ******* hate parties.

I.

Your fingers danced on my knees so gracefully.

they knew their stage well,

the had danced there many times before

   but never so freely,

this was the first time we had ever been alone.

II.

There was a band aid on your finger and

you told me about some sander wheel,

or something or the other.

I showed you my scars from a previous job

but we only discussed the scars

that were visible to the eye.

I’m still convinced

you wouldn’t understand

the ones that lay beneath.

III.

The bar lights had a blueish tint;

while we waited for our drinks  

I watched them

gently grace your brow,

you smiled.

You have such a genuine smile,

it always seems to whisper, “come closer,”

even without a spoken word,

IV.

You pulled my hands into yours

and asked why they were always cold.

I thought it was because

most of my time, I spend alone.

So for just one cold handed, blue tinted moment,

I wanted to call someone mine

I kissed you,

and you looked at me

as if you could possibly love me...some day.

V.

As much as try to fight the idea of you,

and I fight it with both fist up,

as if to prevent you from hurting me

before you even try.

I’m starting to notice your absence

and even have come to detest it at times.

I laid on my side like a mountain that admires the city lights below.
Your gentle face, the object of my attention.

Last night,
our shadows on the walls
were giants dancing.
I let you come closer,
I bet you could taste the smoke in my breath.

You slept quietly and only made noise
when you would turn your body from east to west,
and like a child watching a wave unfold,
I would move back as if
to not let your ocean touch my feet or
catch me looking.

There's very little you reveal about yourself,
you're a mystery that I've known of for a long time
and I know that watching you sleep
is the closest I will ever get to you.
I'm okay with that.

Sometimes throughout the night our hands would interlock,
our legs tangle like vines,
and If ever you faced west you would kiss me softly on the forehead.
I would smile
but with your eyes closed, I'm sure you could not tell.