What are you thinking?
What are you thinking,
You kid
Who shakes between breath and rifle?

Answer with
Your disgust
In the this order:
Bullied,
Outcast,
Solace in the dark.

Let's rephrase the question
To help me understand:
Between your breath and the rifle
Are you even thinking,
Thinking while you tremble
Within 50 yards of more youth
Buried in your darkness
Remembering what was taken
From your youth,
emotionally charged
And confused more so
Than your family,
Your family whom loves
Could have ever dreamed of?

I remembered
I promised you a poem,
In fact one a day for our love-
There's a problem though,
I can't seem to get them out:

   Because your presence
   Is like a million words,
   A thesaurus sitting right
   Next to me,
   And what you are to me
   When you are with me is an
   Eternal sonnet.
   But when I tried I began to
   Understand something that brings
   My understanding of us clearer,
   That we are the same in separate
   Places, in the same solitude
   Without knowing each other's
   Pain or fatigue.
   That we are both not people,
   But the wind freed in our selves,
   A gale freed from the conventional
   And we become a sudden verse,
   Nostalgic and naive,
   Stubbornly young and hopeful,
   There in that place,
   When we are together,
   I cannot write the poem
   That has not yet finished
   Being written.

There are emergency vehicles screeching
down the inner city streets of me
sirens blaring, civilians cramming their
cars along the curb in a polite form
of avoidance
and you are speeding through the yellow-
lighted intersections of my broken heart
busy with the thought of rescue
because all the aching parts of me have convinced you that it is necessary
and you are my only hope.

Concept.
I am stopping in a parking lot to pick up a penny - heads up - and wishing that you, wherever you are now, are happy; that you are safe. I stopped wishing for you to be thinking of me too many moons ago to count successfully. You are scrambling through the empty pockets of eternity fishing for loose change.

Concept.
You are thinking of me. I am taking an afternoon nap and you are thinking of me. You aren't exactly sure about how long it's been since we last spoke but something about the swirl of your fingerprints says it's been a while. You think of me once, just this once, and I laugh in my sleep; as if the thought of you isn't something that consumes me every cognizant moment of the day.

Concept.
We are still together, only we're different people now. My head rests in your lap and your fingers ballroom dance through my hair. We are laying on a couch in a room that is much too plain to belong to either of us. You are watching something on TV, and I am watching you. I was always watching you.

Concept.
Everything is different, but nothing's really changed. Your hands have always been a bit too big to belong to my own. My heart was always the one getting sucker punched. I was always a *******. And you always loved to see me bleed.

Concept.
I say that always is a big word, and you say it isn't big enough.

You never answered my question*         2:51 AM

2:51 AM                           What is your question?

Are you happy?                                       2:53 AM

2:54 AM                                                          I am,

Good                                                     ­     2:55 AM

I want to open up my bedroom window and listen to the warm summer rain and call you and tell you I love you. That this morning I remembered how I'd try to massage your legs and you'd laugh so hard because your legs were ticklish and how I could never actually massage your legs and I love you. I want to ask if sometimes all these memories wash over you unexpectedly too, pulling you under, drowning you. I want to tell you that it's okay to call and tell me when it happens and that I love you and we can teach each other how to swim again. And I love you.