Time is truly an illusion.
these minute, these hours
don’t actually matter
if we choose to ignore them.

When you first kissed me
time didn’t stop
it just swirled and twisted
morning went back to sleep
the Earth’s rotation faltered
and the glass face of a pocket watch
shattered

we laughed at the world
and their silly clocks
we screamed we are tenseless
from the all the mountain tops we climbed
as we burned every last american spirit
and listened to the absence of time
I whispered
Baby we are the now and the now is what all we need
we didn't care about our future or our past
they were occurring all at the same time
we lived in the waist of an hourglass

when we laid in bed
I forgot that time ever moved linearly.
I forgot that outside of our little world,
clocks were ticking,
days were passing,
and snow was melting.
we were encased in a moment
we lived in every lapse of time.
where clock hands stay fast to their post



I didn’t expect things to last forever
because forever is a unit of time
but i've seen the sun set and rise 62 times
since i saw you
      with your watch wound
and ready to go forward

"Hey babe :)"
I said
And "Hey baby"
Said he
"Heyy"
I said
"Oh well"
Said me:
"Maybe he's busy"
"He always is"
Said the voice, taunting
"Maybe he's working"
"Isn't he always?"
Said they.
"He's too busy for me."
On the depressing, I feed
"But he loved you."
Their words flew
"Shut up, mind. He doesn't anymore."
"What a ******."
"I have Nick."
"And you're sick."
"No. I love him."
"And so do we, that's why he wins."
"You aren't even real."


*"But we're what you feel."

you are essentially an object to me.

no one dare invent words that pick and **** and litter our ears
with shards of doubt, dismissive declarations.

the victorious are those who cover their ears and screen their eyes from
someone else's misery: bruised knuckles and a wall that wouldn't budge.

but all I see is a woman crumpled on the floor, her pride
posed like a crow on a branch in the open window frame,
mocking her failing strength and shattered resolve;
someone's fist tingles with accomplishment
for putting that Thing in her place,
close to her true place,
on the shelf
she dusts and polishes fastidiously,
lest he call her out on her "half-assed attempt,"

no one dare invent words

that limit little girls to the plastic boxes
for their plastic dolls
with plastic smiles.

when the seed grows buds,
that become flourishing leaves on a solid stem,
reaching up, up, up
can they see me yet?*
but all they want is the fruit.

who are you
but a few molecules
of the universe
stitched together

what is your voice
bur a single vibration
lost within the echoes
of a thousand more

you tell me that i matter,
that i am different,
that i am special,

but what am i
but a single
strand
of endless DNA
that could still function
after the death
of my chromosomes