Today,
at a street festival,
I watched a girl I have never met,
have never taken notice of before,
dance for about an hour.

I sat there,
begging God for the courage to get up
and dance alongside her.

After more than a few chance eye contacts
I decided to not look away when she looked at me.
Not missing a beat or a step we held one another's gaze
for a while.

Spinning and smiling she motionlessly
and wordlessly
beckoned me forth.

Denying myself a simple pleasure of
human interaction
and dancing, I remained seated.

After everyone had left,
and the band had stopped playing,
there, in the middle of the street she stood standing.

There, under the orange glow of the streetlights
atop a small coffee table
I sat, imagining her reflection in my eyes.

If God would ever be so generous as to allow it,
I would do it different.
I would dance next to her and then with her.

If God would ever be so generous as to allow it,
I would do it right.

I don't know how I feel about all of this
anymore.
I don't know what to think.
I hardly know how to think.

I only know that you kissed me once
and that you are moving many miles away.

Recently, I have fallen asleep desiring never to wake up.
Recently, I have been waking up desiring going back to sleep.
Recently, I have found myself thinking more and more of you.
Recently, I have discovered that I think less and less of her.
Recently, I have wondered what it would be like, to be with you.
Recently, I have dreamed of you and I of you and I of you and I.
Recently, I have not been as sad.
Recently, I have been happy.
Recently, you.
Recently, you.
Recently, you.
Recently.
You.

I used to lie in bed at night thinking about the time we could spend together.
It soon switched to thinking about the time we had spent together.
And somewhere along the line it changed again,
this time into negative thoughts.
Resentful thoughts.
And recently, I'm not sure when
they became fond memories.
I could see passed the fog of loss
and into the ocean of happiness that we swam in together.

There still is that fog, I guess.
Somewhere along the line
I saw only your flaws.
I saw all the things people say when they talk about you.
I see the lies but I also see the fun.
And I'm not sure, I haven't decided yet, but I think you used me.
I'm not sure why you chose me,
or why I chose you,
but we chose to use each other.

Recently,
I can see everything clearer
and recently I've been seeing things in a brighter shade of orange.

I remember waking up very early the next morning,
maybe three hours after I fell asleep on the bathroom floor.

I tiptoed through the house, careful not to wake anybody up,
even the guy who kept telling you to drink
even though you very kindly asked him to stop.

I'm not sure if you ended up drinking,
I forgot most of what happened that night,
but I remember shouting from the tire swing
that I loved you and that I loved you
and that I loved you.

I found where you were sleeping,
relieved to find no body next to yours,
and calmly placed a hand on your forehead.
You stirred, before gently grabbing my hand as it pulled away.

Eyes still closed,
you asked me how I felt.

I feel okay, nothing appears to be broken.

You said nothing and went back to sleep.
I said nothing and sat there for a long while.
I watched your chest rise and fall with each breathe,
and I loved you and I loved you and I loved you.

After a time I stepped outside to smoke a thought,
and the thought I smoked was not of you or of the night before
but of my mother.
She told me,
after I brought home my first date, two months into my freshmen year of high school,
that just because I desire somebody's love,
does not mean I deserve it.

I loved you and I loved you and I loved you
but I did not deserve your love.

Blue skies
and not a cloud in sight.

and whisperings reach far,
mocked goodbyes
and the scent of pine.

connect
with nature,
disconnect from your heart.
we come from dust and to dust we return.

oh! did you skin your knees?
no? just one?
that's OK, brush it off,
return to dust.

lying beside a fallen tree,
flowers grow from your mouth,
your brain; the perfect nutrient
for a sappling.
return to dust.

feel the dirt in your fingers,
feel the sun on your face,
feel the wind through your shirt,
return to dust.

no rain for California,
no relief from the relentless,
we owe gratitude to the dinosaurs
in this age of gasoline.
return to dust;
fuel the next generation's gasoline driven engines,
return to dust.

You're cute
and you're beautiful, and while these may be mere words, they are true.

I want to hold you and squeeze you and kiss you forever. My favorite place is wrapped in your arms and my favorite plant is the one you gave to me and my favorite kisses are the ones you give me and I'm not sure why I'm saying this. Maybe it's because I haven't today, or maybe it's because I'm aware that I have an audience. I know you'll read it and I know Kota will read it and Liam will read it and so will Chloe and so will strangers in Florida and strangers across seas.

I want someone I've never met halfway across the globe to know how much you mean to me and how sweet your kisses taste.

I'd trade your meaningless existence for a pack of cigarettes.
Don't think my hatred for you is anything special.
You're not special.
Just like the **** ups you hangout with.
Just like what you stand for.

I hope I'm coming across as rude because that's what you deserve.
You're a miserable ****.
The best thing you've ever done in life is inspire me to write.
And I thank you for that.
I give you a standing ovation.

Unlike at the theater, no one is yelling encore.
The hallow applause is nothing but good manners.
Something you were born without.
Never taught.
Never cared to learn.

Just roll over and die already.
It'd be the second best thing you've done in your worthless existence.

The cigarette burns aren't fading
only become less painful and more scabbed over.
When I first saw her, I was happy, please understand.
I saw her entering the cafe from my position opposite the door.
Brett Shady was playing the center of the room but my attention was not on him, not entirely.
She and her boyfriend took the only standing room still available in the far corner.
I'm not sure if she saw me but I think she did.
I think she kissed her boyfriend after she first saw me, which is fine.
I would have done the same, had our rolls been reversed.
After a few more songs I could no longer bear it. I stepped
outside.
I walked two blocks up the rode from the cafe to Bonanza Market.
I bought a pack of cigarettes and walked even further up the hill.
There, I found my favorite spot, one which I had found with a dear friend.
There is a swing hanging under a big tree, surrounded by flowers.
I must have went through half the pack before deciding to move on.
I figured I'd catch the rest of the show from the door.
Walking back however, something caught my eye.
A play was just beginning at the Nevada Theatre and I heard it was semi decent.
I snuck in through the side as I had done many times before and took my seat.
On stage, performing a small girl was another girl who I had kissed.
Who I loved.
When I first saw her I think she saw me too.
I looked down feeling a tear in my eye.
When I looked up I was sure.
She was looking at me with a sort of pleasant smile on my face.
As if she'd known what I was feeling.
The regret, the sadness, the longing.
All these things came rushing up inside me so quickly that I had to leave.
I again went to my favorite spot and finished the pack, saving a few cigarettes for that night.
Oh God, how I would need them.
I walked back to maybe see the end of Brett Shady's set. The show was over however.
Walking out was a friend of mine who I had not spoken to in a while. I waved her down and we began talking. About what I remember not. But it took my mind off things.

A while after a girl I had onced kissed and had once kissed me walked out of the cafe with her boyfriend.
She smiled at the friend I was with, not sparing me a glance.
My friend turned to me
"How could you let her go, Nolan? Why would you let her go?''
I turned my back to her and began walking.
Two or maybe three ours later I arrived home, all my tears shed.
I didn't sleep that night.
The face of the girl and her boyfriend came flooding into my dreams as the tears had off my face.
The face of the ******* stage came flooding into my mind as the nicotine had done my blood.
Regret was sharing my bed that night.
Whispering in my ear accusingly "How could you have let her go?"
Pain was in my room that night.
Roughly fondling my heart as if it were a stone.
Sadness was kissing my mouth that night.
Only allowing whimpers to come out.

I collect scars.
I show them to people rarely.
Sometimes I think of them fondly,
sometimes I think of them coldly.

I write a lot about the place where (we) met.
Where (we) fell in love.
Where (we) grew apart.

I guess in a way, my memories are scars.
I collect memories.
I share them with people rarely.
Sometimes I think of them fondly,
sometimes I think of them coldly.

Discovery can lead to hurt feelings.

This isn't the first time it's happened to me
but for some reason it hurts more than the other incidents.

It's how a baby must feel,
breathing in second hand smoke
from an unthoughtful,
yet seemingly loving,
father, to discover
that one who is held by me
is simultaneously enough
being held by another.

Color me selfish,
but when I hold a beautiful body
in my arms
and I kiss them for who they are
and I kiss them for their soul
I wish for the feeling to be mutual.
I wish for it to have meaning
and I wish for it to be
a singular couple.

This poem was birthed by two things:
My own distaste for confrontation
and you're lack of judgement
to fool around with him,
while fooling around with me.

And you're gone now,
you're opening a new chapter in your life,
but you get away with selfish ******* too much
and it's time you heard about it.



Hold on my dearest friend,
I'm not done yet.
I never knew you to be selfish,
but before I kissed you,
I wish you would have stopped me
and told me you were being kissed by another.

I guess that's all I really want to say.
Although it may not be all that should be said,
and it may be more than what's right.

Sell your dope.
Sell the last of it
and the first of it.

No, don't rail it tonight,
you know you'll just end up
shooting it tomorrow.

Sell your dope.
Sell it cheap
and sell all of it.

Buy roses,
buy chocolates,
buy gas.

Ask her on a date,
to the movies,
to dinner.

Sell your dope,
and kiss her.
What is more important?

You know what is more important.
Your high will last 4 hours, maybe five.
The feeling of her lips will linger.

The feeling of her lips will linger.
Sell your dope,
fall in love.

Happy Birthday to me.
So light me up a cigarette
and get the water boiling.

Kiss me on the cheek
and I'll kiss yours,
now how about pizza, I'm buying.

Take me to a movie,
but smoke me out first,
buy me a soda, it doesn't have to be a large.

I'm a week older than I was last week,
and seventeen years older than when I was born.
But don't worry about numbers, just give me a hug.

Don't ask me how I feel
because I'll say the same thing I say ever day
I'll say I'm feeling fine
yeah
I'm feeling great
better than I did when I hated myself
because yeah
now I love myself.
And I'll stand there and lie through my teeth
because the smile it puts on your face
makes everything okay
up until the second it fades away
the second everything comes unglued
just like it used to.

From here on out its Season 2.
None of us really knew what we were doing, how about you?
Under rocks, in fields, along the NID ditch.

Something's gotta give; strung out and hung up to dry, we try and we try.
Rub aloe on my cheeks and I'll try not to cry. Throw me into space and I'll try not to die.

I have love for every living thing on earth,
and this includes you, I'm sure.

You are fickel and flickering,
like the drugs you use,
and I feel so much love from you regardless.

Regardless of how you're feeling,
regardless of what happened to you on this day,
you have me feeling so incredibly loved
and so incredibly loving

If you want people to like you write them a poem.
If they still don't like you, nothing you can do will change that.

What a beautiful place
the thought of your face
allows me to roam.

As the windows fog
and the wipers wipe
I can't tell what is driving me away from this town.
The car I am in or the empathy you give me.

I'm glad she's gone
and out of my life
but I don't regret what happened.
I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I hope you find your Walden.
I hope it helps you discover
those things about you
that I do love.

Pour a shot of your love,
I'll take it in one gulp.
Lying on the kitchen floor
with my stomach bursting
I swear I love you.

Abigail Turnman walked along the same sidewalk she did every morning before she had to work. She had the same breakfast from the same dive as she did the morning before.

As she was sweetening her coffee she looked up and into two very dazzling blue eyes, belonging to a young man seated at the table across from hers. She looked down quickly, sweetening her coffee, while she blushed.
She usually didn't get flustered like this and she hated that she was just because some dumb boy was looking at her. She looked back up and he smiled at her, revealing a mouth of uneven, yet not horribly uneven, stained, yet not horribly stained teeth. She blushed again, this time she smiled back.

"Are you Abigail Turner?" The young man asked in a voice that sounded as if it didn't get much sleep the night before. While he was asking this Abigail noticed his hair, a dark shade of brown, lighter and shorter on the sides, as if it had months before belonged to a military man.
"No," Abigail responded humorously, "My name is Abigail Turnman." She blushed again, at the stupidness of her joke. God, how she hated that this young man was making her blush this way. As if in response to her stupid joke or in embarrassment in having gotten her name wrong the young boy laughed and blushed, but not as much as she had.
He had only a coffee on his table and so she asked him if he would like to join her for breakfast. The young man smiled again before standing up. As he did, his hair fell into his eyes, which he quickly brushed out of the way before nodding and sitting down, across from her, coffee in hand.
"How did you almost know my name?"
Again, the young man laughed.
"Mark, uhh Callahan. He said he cleans up at your office and that I should speak with you."
Oh, Mark. There's a sweetheart if she ever knew one.

And in that instant she knew she could grow to love how this young man made her blush. Instead of hating it she would prize and cherish and she would include characters modeled after him in all her novels.
She didn't even know his name.

"So, you're a friend of Mark's huh?"
She asked this in a more confrontational way then she meant to and the young man seemed to recoil before he saw her blushing again, knowing that she had not intended to ask it in such a way.
"Yes, Mark is a friend of mine. Since high school actually. Uhh, my name is Henry, but uhh," he laughed softly, "my friends call me Hank."
"Well Mark is a sweetheart. So, if I'm not mistaken, you must be native here? At least since high school."
"Yes, I was actually born here, but uhh, if I'm not mistaken, you're from uhh New York, right? The city?"
As much as a sweetheart Mark was, he sure was talkative as hell.
Before she had a chance to say anything, Hank began talking again.
"So, uhh," he laughed softly, nervously almost, "I uhh, I hope this isn't too upfront, but I was hoping, uhh wondering actually, if you were doing anything tonight. My band and I are playing at the Stonehouse, it's a uhh, a charity show for Jonathan, our drummer, uhh his mom. She's fighting cancer, uhh, her condition has been improving but she still needs money for bills and stuff. I mean, you don't even have to pay, you know, I could ahh, I could sneak you in the back or whatever, I mean, uhh, it woudn't technically be.."
She cut him off,
"Yeah, sure I'll go. What time is it?"
He smiled even wider than he had the whole conversation,
"It starts at 8, uhh, it's at the Stonehouse, uhh, ****, I already said that. Oh ****- oh, sorry, pardon my language."
She pulled a pen out of her purse and began writing the address to her apartment on a napkin. Hank continued talking, mumbling, uhh-ing, but he trailed off as she handed the napkin to him.
"Pick me up at 7," she said, "We can go get some dinner before the show, you probably half to be there early right?" He nodded, "Okay, make it 6:30. This is the only diner I know, I've only been here since the start of summer, maybe you could show me some nice place to eat?"
He nodded, smiling and blushing and pushing the hair out of his eyes and scratching his arm and shifting in his seat anxiously.
"Now, it was lovely meeting you Hank, but if I don't leave now, I will be late walking to work, I'll see you at 6:30"
"Yeah, I'll uhh, I'll see you at 6:30"
She stood up and so did he. She was halfway across the diner before Hank kicked himself for being so stupid.
"Hey, do you need a ride to work? I mean, it's uhh, it's no trouble."
"Thank you, Hank, but I'll walk. I'll see you at 6:30, okay?"
She smiled a dazzling smile of white teeth, framed by golden hair, cut short, almost short enough to be considered a pixy cut.
She was out the door as Hank mumbled something stupid.

/
Sick of people.
Sick of these self diagnosed depressed teenagers.
Sick of these self proclaimed hipsters.
Sick of these self prescribed med ******.
Sick of life.
/

Yes, I'm sick of the world
and all that it holds.

I'm tired of living this meaningless existence
and going nowhere fast.

I'm sick of looking at girls
and being filled with longing.

I'm tired of looking at the past
and wondering what went wrong.

I'm sick of being sad
and I'm tired of being mad.

I'm tired of this pretentious happiness
and this emotion oppression.
--
--
--
I don't want to wake.
I just want to sleep.

I don't want to fight
I just want to drink.

I don't want to hear your *******
I just want to put in my headphones.

I don't want to feel
I just want to forget
about all of this world (all of you) and all it holds (all I remember of you)

Silly You.                                
                                   Hypocrite
                                      ypocrite
        ­                               pocrite
                                        ocrite
          ­                               crite
                                          rite
            ­                               ite
                                           te
                                           e

You're such a hypocrite.
I don't know if it's intentional.
Only that it's true.

Oh, please don't drink, it's so bad for you, please, get better, please please blahblahblahblaaa...
Oh, don't mind me, just gonna get **** faced
just gonna finish the bottle,
and maybe another.
Don't mind me.
I'm not judging.
Silly yo, don't think that.
It's my birthday, whatever.

Well **** that.
Hypocrite.

I'll drink.
I'll write.
I'll hurt.
I'll do these things sober too, just watch me.
except drinking of course.
ha-ha.

Please, I'm an adult, blahblah, don't drink, blahblah

I'm sorry for everything.
Except for the things I'm not.
Which is, coincidentally, everything.

~

I'm not pretty enough for cornflowers.

~

Oh, how I miss you so.

~

I torture myself in many ways.

~

Don't you ever stop. Continue eternally.

~

Remember? Please God, say you do.

~

Shadows can be scarier than darkness.

~

She is not smiling much anymore.

Love is the only tangible emotion.

~

The lovelorn boy desperately hung mistletoe.

~

This has happened before. Love fades.

my{ perpetually you shall remain }heart.

~

Please get out of my brain

~

Destructive thoughts may only cause harm.

~

She prefers black and white films.

~

How wonderfully convenient this all is.

~

Color me in dark red apathy.

The sky is orange and smokey and I don't know why.
Where is this fire?
Who started it?
Why did they start it?
Was it an accident?
A stray cigarette?
An arsonist?
Does it really matter?
The only thing I am aware of is that there is smoke and the sky is orange and I don't know why.

The Strings of my being and frail and have trouble knotting and I don't know why.
Where do they begin?
Where do they end?
Who knotted them?
And who keeps untying them?
Is it myself without my conscious approval?
God?
Or is it you?
Does it really matter?
The only thing I am aware of is that the Strings of my being are frail and have trouble knotting and there is smoke and the sky is orange and I don't know why.

My life is crazy and sometimes I'm happy and other times I'm not and I don't know why.
Who is causing this to happy?
Why is this happening?
Who is tugging on the strings of my emotions and why the **** are they doing it?
I believe it is you but does it really matter?
The only thing that I am aware of is that my life is crazy and sometimes I'm happy and other times I'm not and the Strings of my being are frail and have trouble knotting and there is smoke and the sky is orange and I don't know why.

I just don't know.
Why.

It's a laser light show!
Fit for all ages!
Just don't look too hard at people's faces,
you'll see how strung out they are.
Pick your poison, smack, speed or stress,
we got it all.

Bring your daughter!
Bring your grandma!
Just don't look down the back alleys,
you'll see kids shooting dope,
and mother's selling their bodies.

Inbreds!
Racists!
We got them all,
come and see them before the city locks them up.
But wait!
For a limited time only,
get a free half gram of baking powder with any order of ******* (you must purchase at least one gram for the offer to apply).

I wonder what I could do to make you smile  at me like the way you did today.
Could it be something as simple as smiling at you?
Could something so beautiful be brought on by something so simple?
Could you smile forever?
I would give all I could and more to just have that.
I would suffer for a thousand years just for a brief second of seeing your smile.
Because it would erase my scars and clear my head.
It would send my heart beating, and in my stomach the butterflies would be released.
So please, just tell me what it is that I could do.
Because honey, I'll do anything.

He's running
a circus
casino.

Open to the ages,
smoke at your leisure.

"You can't have a circus without a tent!"
Watch him,
he got high without dope.
He killed god without faith,
and did apathetically,
because his mom wouldn't have liked it.

He throws up in the sink
because his girl is throwing up
in the toilet.

He knows he shouldn't be here long,
but *******, the dope is strong
and *******, he has nowhere else to go.

Sneaking out at one in the morning.
Not because I need to.
No one to see
nothing to smoke.
Not trying to get caught and prove a point.
My only reason is lack of a better thing to do.
My only cause is to not have one.

I turn the *** (ever so slowly) until it creaks.
It always does.
I push the door (ever so quietly) until it squeaks.
It always does.
I step outside,
leave the door open,
look in window,
make sure the lights are out (they always are) and close the door.
Take one step, two steps,
three steps, four
onto the lawn.
Look up at the sky, to the stars.
See Old Mother shining bright (she always is) and look left.
See Old Father shining bright (he always is) and walk north.
Down the gravel driveway and onto the road.
Check for cars, there aren't any. (there never is)
Turn left and walk up the hill.
At the top there is a field.
Check for bums (never there)
Lie down.
Look at the stars some more.
Pull some grass from the ground and weave a little cross.
Turn it upside down and laugh.
Wait five minutes, then ten.
Eleven, twelve, and thirteen more
Hear a door and then a car start.
Watch as the headlights as they go the other way.
Recognize the license plate as my fathers.
He doesn't stop (he never does)
Get up and walk home.
Check the ashtray by the threashold for cigarettes. (always a half one)
Smoke it.
Go inside.
Check for note (there never is one)
Get in bed
wait for sleep (always hard)
Wake up.
Wait for phone call (there never is one)
Commence life.

Just  by the method in which you breath
you create a sort of paradise for me to live in.
You're just my kind of man,
you're a stand up kind of guy.
Now yell at me until my eyes bleed
and stare at me until my ears pop.

Breath life into this breathless song
and breed the love until it is of pure blood.
God knows I'm bad with habits.
They pile up and I can't properly feed them.
So try to be cool.

It's funny how last Sunday, I had a full pack of cigarettes.
Now, I have a nothing but the entire Joyce Manor discography .
And a horrendous headache.

I'm the only one who could ever have any fun
but that was only when I was with you.

So be cool.

****, this pizza's good*
Shut up Nolan, you're high.

Maybe someday I will be good at writing and good at skating and good at studying and good at loving you.
Maybe then I won't have to live in this ****** town, in this ****** two bedroom rut.
I won't have to live off of minimum wage, and 9 to 5 every ******* day except for Wensdays.

Maybe some day I can make you happy.
I might quit smoking and I might start listening to happy music.
****, I might even be happy.
you might even be happy.
what a plot twist that would be.

But for now, I know I cannot change where I am.
I am a ****** skater and a ****** lover.
I work at a ****** job and make ****** pay.
The only thing not ****** in my life is you and you have your bad days.

I imagine a day when people will give me money for doing things I like.
Maybe for skating or writing or singing or just being me.
Other people do that.
People make fortunes by doing that ****.
Maybe if I did that I would be happy.
****
maybe even you would be happy.
someday.