What strange solace it is
To be so loved by the impassioned insane
That they will curse a nameless no one
Only knowing the no one brought about pain

I laid my head down on my book
and heard a heartbeat
as though the spine had breath
and the words were alive.

Words tattoo memories and love stories,
make heroes out of commoners,
make monsters out of men.
Words twist love into lies.

Words are weapons
that live and last, breathe and beat.
For even when their maker dies,
the damnable have been written into immortality.

At the top of the Empire State Building
There are obstacles so you don’t end your life.
I don’t remember precisely what they are
But I remember that they were there.

Simply because you don’t remember all the things
That once kept you alive and whole
Doesn’t mean they no longer exist.
So I have to plunge upward while writing this poem
To remember them all again.

If you look into somebody's eyes,
you can tell a lot about their lot in life.
I looked in your eyes, you looked in mine.
You looked tired. Exhausted. Beaten down.
One look at the man you were with, and I could see why.
His speech was slurred.
His laugh was manic.
His legs could not untangle.
This was clearly not your first intoxicated outing with him.
You were clearly tired.

I'm tired too.
I'm tired of running through parking lots.
I'm tired of having to check my backseat before locking the car door.
I'm tired of the men who make me live this way.
I'm tired of men like your drunken company.

When a drunk man calls you pretty, it is no compliment.
There's an unspoken threat beneath the innocent words.
For a moment, you're not a girl, you're a target.
For a moment, you're not pretty, you're prey.
So when your drunken company said it,
stopped his singing to the sky and spoke to me,
told me I was a pretty little girl and should watch my back,
I ran. I dove in my car. I locked the doors. I drove way.

You. You stood and watched silently.
You watched fear wash over my features.
You did nothing.
And surely not for the first time.
No one goes through life long without bearing witness
to a spectacle like what your company created.
You did nothing. Just like most.

To the man in the market,
I do not blame you.
I looked in your eyes.
I get it, you're tired.
I'm tired too.
But you looked in my eyes.
Do you get it? I'm afraid.

I have never failed a class
But I have failed at the things that matter.
I have failed at eating
I have failed at sleeping
I have failed at counseling
I have failed at psychiatry
I have failed at friendship, sibling-hood, being a daughter.
I have failed at living well.
I have never failed a class
But I have failed at the things that matter.
However, I have not failed at the thing that matters most.

Her life is a rollercoaster
Full of highs and lows.
Sometimes scream inducing or euphoria filled.
Sometimes mild, barely detectable.
High for a minute, a week, a year
Low for a moment, a sleepless night,
A lifetime, she feared.
Her life is a rollercoaster
Full of highs and lows.
And she is afraid of rollercoasters.

We live in a world of talkers,
Of shouters, of debaters, of know it alls.
Listening is a long extinct creature,
Unheard of by a species that has devolved to simply wait their turn to talk.
Conversations no longer flow like rivers,
Instead they are puddles:
Started, then abandoned to become bone dry.

We live in a world of talkers,
All raising their volume to be heard,
Shouting that their opinions are fact.
No being is exempt from the epidemic,
The infectious itch to crank the volume dial right
And scream that the other talkers are wrong.

We live in a world of talkers,
Of screamers, of bigots, of smart alecs
In a universe not made for this noise.
The voices get louder, the status updates get longer, the protests get deadlier.
We live in a world of talkers
And soon we will live in a world of mutes.