There is something that has been bothering me almost all summer and I didn't really know what it was until I spent the day with Claire, the girl who has been my neighbor for the past six years of our lives.
It wasn't even until after the fact that I realized what it was. We talked about a lot of things as we went to hit the town.
She told me about how she would be leaving and headed off for college. Then she told me about every friend she had, and how excited they were to get as far away as New York City.
All of these people that I had known, but not really KNOWN, were pushing and packing to fit every last thing they could into some bags, and onto a plane where they could FINALLY sit down in a seat, release a sigh--because the day is here, and get as far away as they possibly can.
They are droning on about the here and dying to get to the the there, wherever there is, insistent that life is better and brighter somewhere else.
At first I felt so left in the dust, but I realized that wasn't what it was.
I felt offended. I love Austin, every spec of it.
I love it's grasses both green and yellow that smell like cinnamon when you breathe in deep on a hot day.
I love it's hills, it's plains, it's rivers, it's lakes, I love the puddles that pile up in downtown's pottholes on a beautifully rainy day.
I love it's trails, it's sunset, and it's moonshine.
I love every race runner lizard and every single summer night.
I love the subtle breeze, and the slow moving trickle that comes with a Texas creek.
So I just keep on asking,
is the grass really greener anywhere else?

I still repeat words you said to me over in my head.
And now I only speak in tongues,
For few understand the ramblings of a loveless madman.

I was running,
You were chasing,
You ran out of breath,
I never realised you'd given up.

We are hopeless lovers
Distraught in worlds of unimaginable alone-ness
And I only want you.
I only want you.
And you are not here.

“She’s dead.” 

Just like that:

two words cause an eruption; 

A dam break. 

She was alive, 

and laughing, 

and smiling, 

and doing her job

(and doing whatever it is —

important or not —

that a person does 

when they’re living 

and you’re not thinking about them.)
*
“There was a gun,”*

they said.
*
“Her boyfriend is dead too,”* 

they said. 

“It was a parking dispute,”

they said.

And no amount of explanation 

could take the air that escaped her lungs

and put it back

to restart that beautiful, 

big,

loving heart inside her. 

And then you think, 

Man, if I had picked up the phone. 

Man, if I had made more effort. 

Man, if I had been a better friend. 

But you know you can’t change the past, 

and even three hours ago
when you were folding clothes, 

and she was sitting in that house

is the past. 

And now she’s gone and you don’t know why. 

“Everything happens for a reason,” 

they say. 

But they don’t tell you what the reason is.

And sometimes, you never figure it out. 

Then comes the candles, and the funeral.

And an eighteen year old ray of sunshine
is being put in the ground. 

And you’re here. 

Living, 

and breathing, 

and folding clothes. 

And you wonder why her 

and not you. 

You’re surely not deserving enough

to live 

while she can’t. 

And her family; 

All you can think about is her mother, 

and her father. 

And you remember watching TV, 

and riding the boat on the lake, 

and the cookouts, 

and even that time she was sleeping
and snoring a little.

You can still hear her voice. 

And remember that week before Christmas
when you saw her,
and she was really busy making coffee? 

But she sad hi to you and mom anyway. 

Nothing is the same anymore.

The world just isn’t the place it used to be.

Things like that just don’t happen where you live. 
Maybe in Los Angeles, 

or Florida. 

But certainly not in Maine. 

Not to someone you went to high school with. 

And certainly not her. 

No, not her. 

But it happened. 

A 74 year old man 

shot and killed your friend. 

Stole her life, and her light. 

And the worst part is that the world
keeps on turning 

even thought it feels like it stopped.

Perfectly painted
Oh so white
Those boys just fainted
Keep those **** tight

Perfect skin
With the perfect tan
Keep up your chin
They'll become a fan

You don't need love
Only fame
You'll rise above
They'll know your name

Bat those eyes
Watch them fall
Hear their cries
You make them crawl

Just remember
The Hollywood Pose
You're the next contender
Teeth, ****, and toes

I am a peripheral *****.
I brandish my notebook
Like a chef brandishes his dish-rag.
Where do wizards keep their wands?

I build worlds out of words
Universes out of silence;
Universes that can be destroyed
With a single eyebrow.

I am a calculator.
I am a thermometer.
I am a clashing painting on the wall.
I am a question.

I am as much as my pencil.
I am as much as my frame.
I am as much as my stains.
(I am as much as the buttons unbuttoned on my shirt collar.)