I am the bobby pins and hair clips you find in corners of your room, on your dresser, or behind your bed.

I am the pictures on your wall that I made when I was once manic.

I am the crumbs you find in your bed that was once my “three or four nights a week bed” which I used as a table.

I am the cafe where we met, and kept meeting.

I am day drives to no where.

I am the Middletown train station before the movies.

I am the mint lotion that keeps the bugs away.

I am the notes I would leave you, that found their way on your wall.

I am the bandaids.

I am that strand of medium length brown hair you will find in your shower

I am that guy, from trivia at that other cafe, that I wanted us to be friends with.

I am the hands that would unlock your locked pointer finger.

I am that key on your key chain.

I am the leftover tea that is always too hot for me to drink, and is left near your bed.

I am ice cream with CHERRIES, and edamame.

I am the sheets on your bed.

I am the downing film theater when you needed to feel better.

I am New Jersey.

I am the reason Netflix recommends Independent dramas with strong female lead. I am the netflix.

I am the stain on your mattress.

I am the drool on your pillow.

I am the sugar in your cabinet above your roomates whiskey.

I am all of the groceries and dates I paid for.

I am all those pictures of me on your phone which made their way to your computer.

I am the light wash boyfriend jeans.

I am that bottle of wine that sits with all other bottles, that you see when you walk out of your room and into the kitchen, and out the door.

I am the reason you once felt content.

I am the reason the corkscrew sits on that stool.

I am the reason why your toothbrush is wet, before you use it.

I am the two red sharpie marks left on those sheets that I got us.

I am mexico. The trip to mexico that could have almost seemed doable.

I am the sent of oils which remind you of hippies.

I am the shoes left at your door, or the teavana jug of tea in the kitchen right now.

I am the fourth of July. I am that pool we never swim in. I am the projected films on the fence.

I am the talker, the thought keeper, the fighter, the writer.

I am Sensual Amber

I am UBE

I am my legs on the wall when I dry them.

I am the tiny pills on your dresser.

I am just someone your next girlfriend will be better than.

I am the bobby pins.

this isn't a poem
it's just a thought
I was in the shower
thinking
like we all do in showers
when the hot water makes our pores and minds expand
wide as the universe and we're so small in our thoughts

and I realized something

I am no one's number one
in the long line of people spoken to
laughed with
sitting with
I am not number one

you see we all have a group of people who we would go to
when we're alone
when we want to be with someone
and maybe someone will come to me
but they won't stay
someone else will come along
and eyes will wander
and thoughts will change
and the world will turn to face another side
all but for my portion of it
until I'm alone again

it's not a nice thought
but I never said it was

for Barry and Tina*

Life experience is something I haven’t witnessed,
the fitness of waking up and going back to bed
50 years on the trot.

But I look to my father’s hands and see
all twelve-thousand morning mists
he has seen.

A gristmill heart, grained hands
and workshop walking feet are
all hidden from view.

He writes in capitals, written
with precision, and crosses the T’s
as he goes along,

So not to prolong the sentence writing chore,
making more time, conjuring up the minutes
to potter around and mend unbroken objects.
-
Life experience is something I haven’t witnessed,
the fitness of waking up and going back to bed
50 years on the trot.

But I look at my mother’s hands
and see remedies read about in those magazines,
all to look younger in the staff canteen.

A watermill heart, smooth iron fingers
and contoured, sculpted chiselled
corridor feet are all hidden from view.

She scrawls her sentences; they become the tide
hiding letters and numbers in the swell
of punctuation and dotted I’s,

The T’s cross themselves and she moves on,
another phone call to attend too or
a new BBC this-time-more-accurate historical drama  to view.
-
Life experience is something I haven’t witnessed,
the fitness of waking up and going back to bed
50 years on the trot.

But if you keep on going, stay out of strong sunlight
so not to rot, those years will pass
as a striking blur leading to coastal Big Sur
roads, where the next 50 miles
bring just as many smiles as the last 50.

"Thinner"
The ever-present goal
The cause of raging jealousy
The trigger of self-harm
"Thinner"

"Thinner,"* it's all they hear

Ad after ad, person after person. "Thinner."

Whispers followed by whispers all on top of whispers become
Screaming
"Thinner."

"One pound," they tell you, "it's equivalent to acceptance," and
"the smaller the weight," you see, "the stronger the beauty."

"Look like her and maybe you'll be satisfied."
"Loose the weight, then you'll be free."

                                                                But
                                                      OH, MY DEAR
                                                      Let me tell you...
                                                     It's never enough.

I hear those lies that have been disguised as encouragement and the blasphemy pretending to be wise.
But please, listen; none of it's true.
This worlds' evil, it has you hypnotized.
You're beautiful. Stunning. * You.
Don't listen* to the voices shouting,
*"Thinner"