i realized it 10 years ago today
that my heart doesn't follow the right cliche
i think the wrong things every day
so i feel guilty every time i try to pray
and i don't like it when girls walk away
but i like the way their hips sway
i mean i guess guys are okay
but in a friend sort of way
it's not something i planned to convey
because my parents dreams i tried to obey
basically what i'm trying to say
(if i may)
i'm...
not straight.

i know it's wrong
but that burning liquid makes me feel so strong
started out as a joke
now i think i might choke
how to describe the buzz
how to describe what it does
makes oceans roll in my head
as i lay still in my bed

i know what's right
sometimes i try to fight
hold the bottle above the sink
promise myself this time I won't take a drink
hand shaking
will breaking

and it's done, i'm so tipsy, my body is dizzy,
how do i keep away from this whiskey?

To some his arrival means a smile
but those are not the sane
he charms and whispers, promises of change -

He cures the pain he cuts the joy away
the smiles cannot stay
to fall for him is to commit great sin -

To follow him is to seek destiny
a fate found far too soon
she, yet too young, knows not what can be done
alone.

scissors in hand
i look toward my wrists but
turn toward my hair
each cut a temporary bandaid
on the urge to self destruct.

there is pain
everywhere. always.
but when the doctor asks,
i know what he means.
so i say (without guilty conscience)
there is none.

he was brown
i was blue
like the earth that the water flows through

he was soft
i was hard
like sand being sliced with a sharp ice shard

he stomped
i glided
like when muddy cliff and rain drops collided

he was solid
i was shaking
like rocks over which the river was breaking

he was brown
i was blue
if only i could like him too

you were my sunshine
i was your sunflower

i mean, you were my lifeline
and i filled you with power

and now that you've left me you shine just as bright
but don't you know that flowers die without light?

this life is a lovely layover

colorful things in my sight
there's a flower to my right
and into the grass I'm sinking in
and now the sun is licking my skin
i have given many hugs
and i have seen many bugs

i have never found a four leaf clover

i have never found a four leaf clover

and i have seen many bugs
i have given many hugs
and now the sun is licking my skin
and into the grass I'm sinking in
there's a flower to my right
colorful things in my sight

this life is a lovely layover

i remember being little.
i read and read and read
and the words came easy to my tongue
and everything that happened was a story.

i remember the world was poetry.
every breeze had a meaning
and i could descibe it perfectly
and everyone knew i was an artist.

i remember feeling.
every time someone hurt i knew it
and i was made of empathy
and i could settle them with a hug and kind words.

i remember fading.
i tried and i tried and i tried
and everything was hollow
and nothing was beautiful anymore.

i remember empty.
its here always every day
and i can't make it go away
and i can't remember where the words went.

I am floating and in my eyes and my mind and the leaves of a tree there are hands,
because hands are all we have,
because creation is all we are,
because everything spirals outward in the hand of our hands,
because fingers are too long but too short to hold everything we need in them,
because the leaves are many more than the palms but we pretend that trees aren’t real,
in our mass hallucination where you all call me crazy for putting my hands up,
and we pretend our lives are bigger and heavier than anything else when really we just need to look at the colors, when really we just need to experience, when really we just need to remember that curly hair holds all the secrets and all the eyes and watching really matters, and we’ll be freer once we’ve bathed in the sunlight and let go, dropped our hands,
and let the world hold us tighter.

teenage brains don't mix well with 1.5 ounce shots
but broken hearts don't mix well with these thoughts
and there's a bottle of ***** hidden in my drawer
but i see you every time i open my bedroom door
so maybe for now i'll lie and weep on the ground
and hope i get drunk on the tears your leaving brought around

lost little girl decides she can't stay
lost little girl stands and runs away

lost little girl gets scared all alone
lost little girl can't be on her own

lost little girl returns to her house
lost little girl as meek as a mouse -

lost little girl finds a thing called 'love'
lost little girl feels it rise above

brave little girl found not 'house' but 'home'
brave little girl has no more need to roam -

i have never found a four leaf clover

but i have seen many bugs
and given many hugs
and now the sun is licking my skin
and into the grass I'm sinking in
there's a flower to my right
and colorful things in my sight

and this life is a lovely layover

to hang around is hard you know
to face today when you know you have to face tomorrow too
every day the same
every set of eyes seem to see it all the same way
i don't need to be better than anyone else
i just want to be better than myself
the wasted days and disappointments pile up
the tomorrows always behind the todays always behind the yesterdays
never better
never new
me? i'm never going to catch a clue.
you? you're probably stuck in it too.

there’s this boy
and when he smiles or speaks or laughs i’m FILLED with joy.
he likes me and i like him
and i’m always JUST on the rim
of kissing him. or, crying.

it should be easy to feel this
i mean at the WORST you swing and you miss.
but i’ve never liked men
and i only JUST got okay again
after accepting my “gayness”. but, i like him.

I sat at a wooden desk next to an old lady who also sat at a wooden desk. I picked a dandelion, the biggest one I had ever seen, before coming to listen to the talk in the chapel of the brick built college building. It sat on my desk and splashed its yellow into my eyes and occasionally I’d twirl its stem and get the green sort of smell on my fingers. The old lady had picked a dandelion, the second biggest one I had ever seen, before coming to listen to the talk in the chapel of the brick built college building. It sat on her desk and dripped its yellow into my eyes and occasionally she’d twirl its stem with her fragile old fingers and scratch notes with her other hand. She smiled at me knowingly as we did the same thing in the same place at the same time. Did you know that we’re all the same?