I want to write again
I want to feel
Like I did back then
When my day depended
On the words I had chosen
-- The life I put
In my poems

I want to write again
I want to feel
The thrill of the pen
The delight that rushes through my veins
When the right words blend
The pain I endure
Once my thoughts
No longer make sense

I am exhilarated
When I start
Scribbling on paper
My heart at peace
As soon as I polish it
On my typewriter

I write again
I write
Like nothing ever happened
Like not a thing prevented me
Months at an end

I write again

I write
Because it is who I am
Because in time,
I always return
To my essence
-- That in the end,
Nothing feels quite right
Unless I am writing.

I’m going to live life until it bursts—
softly place it between my teeth
and bite down until it pops
so its juices flood and trickle
out the corners of my mouth.

I’ll revel in my sweet, sticky mess—
stained cheeks, glazed chin—
leaving my mark on everything I touch.
Others will insist I clean up,
keep my hands to myself,
act
act like
act like a
act like a lady.

But as long as
there is life to taste,
I refuse to chew
with my mouth closed.

I find solace in the clouds
-she brings rain
to cool my brow

tranquil in my fever-
I close my eyes
and leave here

solace in tranquility.

r ~ 9/4/14

Tonight I turned on my nightlight,
In hopes of it being able to lull me to sleep.

Instead, it reminded me only of you,
And all my memories were horribly
Bittersweet.

Aujourd'hui
                                                      today
J'ai trouvé
                                                      i found
Une lettre d'amour
                                                      a love letter
Que tu m'as écrite.
                                                      that you wrote me.

J'ai pleuré
                                                      i cried
Parce que
                                                      because
Nous ne parlons jamais
                                                      we never talk
Et tu m'as aimé.
                                                      *and you loved me.

when he dies,
you shake.
completely swallowed with the horrifying
realization that he's gone.

you sleep,
only to dream about how.
you wake up,
only to dread the reality of why.

the fact is,
he's gone.
he didn't feel the need to stay here,
so he left.

without a word.
without a trace.
gone.

and now,
all of a sudden,
now,
at this moment,
people express that they love him.
now,
of any particular moment in time,
he matters.

i can't help
but think
that maybe if he knew
that even the tiniest person
acknowledged his existence,
or maybe if that cute girl,
with the brown eyes
and pink headband,
had told him she liked
his shoes,
maybe he would still be here.


with me.