I kept my feelings locked up,
In letters.
Imprisoned by words.
Controlled by a choked up pen and a tear stained page.
Because I was afraid
I was afraid.
What others might think.
What others might say.
What others might not say.

In reflection,
My life was lived through fear.
Ruled by a tyrant with an iron fist.
But anyone can acknowledge
Their mistake.
How was I to move past fear?
To scale the walls that had protected me.
Made of bricks that I laid myself.
That I mortared together with animus
To keep everything out
To keep me safe.

But I started my ascent
Climbing brick by brick.
Passing one scribed with "Sarcasm"
Another etched with "Solitude"
And as I progressed
I passed others named,
"Laughter," "Humor," and "Feigned Interest."
Each one placed by my hands.
Each one now beneath me.
As I reached the summit of my wall.

Now was the difficulty.
Now this was my decision.
Pressure resting on me.
The effort it had taken to scale this brick fortress.
Was it in vain?
Had I wasted my energy.
Would I return
To the existence I had created?

Would I
Take Flight?
And soar to the ground,
With wings feathered with bravery and guile,
Vibrant in color and life.
Embracing both the sun and the rain.
Instead of passing on sunlight to avoid the possibility of precipitation.
All or nothing,
I told myself.
"If the definition of insanity is proceeding down the same road expecting different scenery,
You need to
Jump."

The rain pours
And I remember
The times we used to dance between raindrops
Skipping through puddles
On our way to nowhere in particular
But this wasn't one of those rainstorms.

See the storm raged today
Like your father did,
The night I brought your little brother home late,
And your mother met us at the front door.
She asked me if we'd been drinking,
when she should have recognized how many bottles her husband had emptied that evening,
And I was trying to apologize
Explaining that, "He was having a rough time--"
She grabbed your brother's arm and slammed the door in my face.
Through the steel door
Muted screams were heard.
Accusatory screams
Screams that begged for something to stop.
Naive as I was at 18.
I knocked on the door,
Still trying to take responsibility for your brother's tardiness.
Through the sliver of light between.
Jamb and door
Your mother said,
"You should really leave,"
Before offering a sequel to her last performance.
The echo of that door would linger.
And the lock latching shut,
Under your mother's power.
It would haunt me.
So there I stood,
Hopeless and headed home.

Rainstorms had always been my favorite before then.
The idea that water would come from the sky had always amazed me.
But now as my rain hindered windshield
Was paired
With my tear laden vision
I felt it more dangerous than ever.
As I reached my house and entered later than expected,
I apologized,
And my parents pried no further.
I went to my room,
Trying to grasp what had happened.
Thoughts rushed through my head as I sought to slip to slumber.
Should I call?
Would that make it worse?
Would you be ok?
Tears filled my eyes
And even then I knew that
Not knowing was worse.

And the rain kept coming
In sheets.
This time paired with lighting and its brother.
The sound was deafening,
But it couldn't drown out the sound of our home phone ringing.
As my tear stained sleep left me, and sobriety snuck into my pupils.
I rolled over to check the time
2:45
And my mother yelled,
That the phone was for me.
She knew it was you.
In fact anyone who knew me,
And heard a female voice,
At the other end of the line,
Would have known it was you as well.
But this call was different.
The time of the call had exposed that.

I remember dodging
the drips of rain
that gathered on the roof of my childhood home.
Little did I know
Not all houses were safe from storms.
As I rushed to the phone
My mother needn't ask me any questions.
Call it intuition.
But whatever she heard in your voice
Or what she witnessed in the pace at which I picked up
The phone.
Told her everything she needed to know.
"Nikki, you okay,"
Were the first words out of my mouth.
"Why'd you leave,"
Were the first ones out of yours,
And when I explained to you that your mom had locked the door and that I'd even tried the ****.
I could tell by the way
Your next words escaped your mouth and came through my phone.
And into my ear.
That you had lost faith in me.
Which preceded
The faith I lost in myself.
You said that your father had beaten up your brother,
But in the process his bottle blinded body
Threw you into the wall.
And the rain poured.
You said your mother checked you into a hotel
And when I asked if you wanted me to head down there.
You told me Eric was there already,
And that I should go back to bed.

The storm pushed on quickly.
Dark clouds littering the sky.
And as the drops grew smaller,
Then disappeared altogether.
It reminded me,
Of your faith in me.
And our storm.

I never trusted gravity enough.
Not enough to fall
In love.
Truth is,
I never trusted.
Anyone.

But that's not entirely true.
See, for awhile I trusted.
Even love I trusted.
For awhile I invested in others.
For awhile I let people let me down easily.
"I'm not ready for a relationship right now"
"I think we'll be better off as friends"
"You aren't ready to be a good boyfriend."
"I'm looking for someone different. Like your friend"
I still can recall them ad nauseum.
Line after line of why I wasn't their
Right guy.
Right shape.
Right plan for their perfect wedding 10 years in the future.
And so I lost trust.
I lost trust in them.
I lost trust in love.
I lost trust in me.

So I ignored gravity too,
The gravity that could bring me closer.
To someone
To anyone
To love.
The gravity that could sink me to solid ground
And allow me to walk toward a future
In love.
I ignored it.
And floated.
Drifted really.
Inside myself.

Inside myself
Where I stocked up on bulk buy cans of
Self-loathing
And self-pity
Unloading them in my bunker to stack them neatly next to my canned jars of
Selfishness and anger
Behind bags of jealousy and loneliness.
And with the cupboard full I packed it in.
Gave up.

A person learns not to trust.
And it's a hard lesson to learn.
It takes time.
It takes years.
It takes enough rejection to make a person.
Whose heart is open.
Whose heart is pure.
Whose heart is true.
To harden.
To protect itself.
From being repeatedly kicked down life's stairs,
As gravity aids the fall.

Heavy is Head and Heart
No crown weighs them down
Yet they sink at the bottom of an endless sea.
Cluttered by memories of past passes.
Of opportunity squandered because of fear.
Because of the past pain that lingers
Somewhere near the tear ducts and rooted in the thalamus.

Still sinking,
Filled with the tears of a thousand pains that were bottled up.
Stocked in the recesses of neural mass and cardiac muscle.
Little did Head and Heart know that by releasing what they had stored.
What they had carried
To these depths.
They could be free.

It would hurt
And that's what they knew.
So they sank,
Memories and pain dragging them further from the surface.
Further from
Another second chance at something.
Something real.
Something true.
But unwilling to feel briefly
And release
To be free.
They sank.
Further.

As if caught in a net of chain and concrete.
Their baggage sunk them
Quickly.
Faster than their past pains could stabbingly flash before their eyes.
Faster than a memory of a first kiss forgotten or misremembered.
Faster than the memory of the scent of wintergreen gum,
Wafting through their nostrils,
Coming of the lips
Of their high school crush who never knew.
Faster.
And faster.

And they reached bottom.
Head and Heart trapped
On the rocks.
Their own doing.
They struggle to no avail.
But you know what they say,
About rock bottom.
There's no place but up from here.
If they can only
Let go.

Dear God,

I don't understand how you can love me.
I know that you do but it's difficult to accept because I don't love me.
I see every flaw, fear, and thought of mine and I'm disgusted, and I know you see them too.
So how do you not feel the same?
I can't understand your love, I am incapable.
I try to grasp, but I can't, the fact that you sent your Son
Who was both wholly man and wholly God and holy.
To die for me, a wretch with nothing but self loathing and rebellion in his heart.
For me?
I am Hosea's wife and yet you love me.
For who I am.
How?
How can you?
I know your plan is perfect
Yet I lament when my plan doesn't align.
But you love me.
Regardless of my thoughts.
Regardless of my actions.
You love me.

All I can do is praise you.
Because I am not worth your trouble,
But you hold me,
Guide me.
I am not worth a lamb's life
Let alone your Lamb's life.
But still that's what was done.

So my praise,
Is that,
You love me and use me for who I am.
Seeing what I will be.
Like the tax collectors your Son used.
And not for what I am now.
This mess.
My praise is that you see my weaknesses
You know my weakness and yet use me.

Your love is inescapable and undefined.
It's limitless nature knew me in Psalms.
Saved me in the Gospel.
Helped me in Acts.
And will be revealed in Revelation.

I am Hosea's wife and yet your love for me is true.

He wore a wife beater.
Which hung on him more like a to do list-
Than his clothing choice for the day.
His choice of beverage of the night was Coors Light.
Twenty four of them.
Although it would be hard to argue that something else would have been in his hand
Had it too been on sale at 2 for $20.
His math skills were heightened on Fridays.
On the weekend he was somewhat of a savant.
Dividing dollars by can volume to determine.
His most frugal choice.
As he moseyed to his car,
Hips struggling to hold his
Tattered sweatpants,
One wondered whether it too ran on alcohol.

Little did I know that revisiting the pen and page,
Would mean that I would also visit the memories and emotions,
That I had ignored for the majority of a decade.
For simple inspiration.
In order to spin a phrase.
Is that all this was?
To write with meaning.
Was I solving something for myself.
Piecing together clues of what I have become,
Or was it something more.

Perhaps I was releasing the flood gates of an ancient pool.
Teeming with sharks of emotion
That I had let lay dormant.
So, as the gates rose and the sharks were loosed,
I'd thought I'd prepared myself.
I thought that I had learned to tame the sharks.
When really, the God's honest truth was,
I had simply
Ignored them.

For inspiration or resolution
I dared tempting the sharks.
As my heart pool was filled once again,
First I put my toes in,
And the writing improved.
Then a foot, then a leg, each offering improvements of their own.
And soon I was swimming with that which I had ignored.
Seeing now the true size of the beasts,
I soon realized that I hadn't tamed the sharks at all,
And now I was at their whimsy.

I was toyed with at first.
Sorrow bushing against my leg,
And it's brother Anguish circling my floating form.
Love reared its head as well,
Gnashing its teeth to frighten.
And then, all of a sudden they scattered.
Though I felt the inspirations leave,
I wasn't prepared for Loneliness.

As its scarred head and sickle teeth grabbed my torso, it's teeth piercing my heart,
I remembered that beast.
We had been most familiar.
His scars a result of how I had fought him off the last time.
Then he thrashed,
And I bled.
But strangely enough,
I couldn't help but feel comfortable in his jaws.
This was how I remembered him.
Just as I had left him.

You just couldn't do it,
And it was unfair of me to ask.
You were never invested
The way I was.
Your free spirit floated
Between relationships,
Swiftly sweeping in shadows,
Like it was haunting hour.
I was locked to you.
And you,
You were looking only to be free.

But still I wanted you.
At that point my body and mind had confused the feeling with need,
But as I was fed heavy doses of maturity
over the years
It was clear that need was not what I had felt
It was desire.

But to you I was latched
I clung to my idea of you
As if I was grasping the side of a sheer cliff.
Fearful that my next movement would take me away
From your face,
Your eyes,
Those lips,
That
Smile.

See it was never devotion I had asked of you.
But still my confused semblance of feelings was,
Hopelessly so.
And, you knew.
In fact, you used it to your advantage.
When you needed a shoulder.
You called me.
When you needed to talk.
You called me
When you needed
Anything
You called
Me.

And so, after you last disaster in love,
As we sat sipping on whatever red wine
You had yet to pour down your throat.
We laughed, and in between chuckles
You told me you,
"loved me"
and asked why there weren't,
"more guys like me."
Misstepping what I believed to be an opening,
I asked why we couldn't...
Why it wouldn't workout...
Between us.
Instantly sobering you.
A feat in itself.

Between stutters, you managed to make your point.
And through a fog of
I love you, but I'm not in love with yous
And the serrated haze of,
I just need you to be my friend right nows.
I knew.
I knew that I would never be unchained.
I knew that things had changed
I knew that I'd always be,
Second place.

I wish this was pretend
I wish I didn't believe that I was destined
To die alone.
But mostly I wish I wasn't scared.
See paralyzing fear brought me to this moment
Dragging my limp heart along,
Bit by agonizing bit.
Lifeless. Loveless.
Heart.

I was never as inept at anything
As I was with
Love.
An embarrassment really,
Like an eight-year-old outfielder trying to catch a pop fly,
But instead of catching the ball,
I fumble it,
And now I've been kicking the ball,
Unable to pick it up
For years.

Perhaps it was the embarrassment,
That brought me to this point.
A point of no return.
The muddy banks of a Rubicon.
Waiting for me to choose
My final step,
In it's final battle with me.
Perhaps it was I who
Surrendered to it,
Too long ago.

Maybe there is someone out there
For me,
But they better be wearing
A flashing neon sign.
I'm not interested
In subtleties
Anymore.
So if you are out there,
Dress like a box of vibrant orchids.
So that even my colorblind eyes
Might see it to
Believe.

Blind belief is irrational, and
If the best predictor of future behavior is my past.
Then what should I expect
From myself now.
I've tried not to be convinced of false reality,
Ever since I learned the truth
About Christmas presents
When I was 7.
So, I wish this was pretend.
I wish I didn't believe that I was destined
To die alone.

The venom leaped from her tongue, Into my ear,
And I wish I could say that
I didn't deserve it.
But in the heat of the moment
I went for the win
Instead of
Letting
It
Go.
Maybe I should have kept
my thoughts
To myself.
Perhaps then we wouldn't be in the predicament
That we
Are in
Now,
Had I took a taken a
Moment
To
Pause.

With her throwing whatever
She can grab ahold of,
That isn't fastened to the floor or wall.
And me,
Hoping to dodge projectiles,
As I stutter through heart felt apologies.
Realizing that my razor coated words
Had finally done the job,
But that I regretted them the instant
They passed over my
Tongue
Teeth and
Lips.

There was no going back
To the argument we had been having,
Before my mouth loosed
What would be my regret
For years
To come.
Because how would she forgive me
If I
Couldn't
Forgive
Myself.
The words had been etched
In stone.

In separate rooms we retreated
Our ceasefire seeming to begin
At the same time
Her arm
Grew
Tired.
Through the wall I could hear her packing,
Between her sobs and screams.
And on the guest bed I sat.
In stunned silence
Shocked that we would
End
Like
This.

When she burst out of our bedroom door.
I rushed to see if I could meet her in the living room,
And as she gathered
Things that
Were hers,
The idea of "ours" having vanished hours ago.
I snuck in words that she would never remember
I'm sorrys
I can't believe I said thats
And
Please forgive mes.
The words pelted her armor, but bounced off
With nearly audible
Pings
And
Tings
My words had created my own Jericho
My former comforting walls,
Now tumbling around me.
As she slammed the door,
Bag in hand and the words
"I'm going to my mother's, don't call"
Hanging
In the blistered air.
I sank into my chair,
The scene
Of
The
Crime.

I search, but I rarely find
The reasons they say that I'd be fine

Fine is perspective I say with a wink
First amused then confused they stop and they think
"What does he mean," they say through closed teeth.
I'll tell you what I think and believe
See no one ever gets out of life alive
So I find it inexplicable why someone would try.

That might seem negative in practice or thought
But life hands out lemons or so I've been taught
But the second half of that statement I never have bought
Don't make lemonade be happy with the lemons you've got
Cuz each one you get teaches you something you see.
Just embrace life for itself what will be, well, will be.

Some risk the now for future's sake
Spend all their time planning just to get raked
Over the coals by the pressure they've placed
On themselves trying to force their lives into shape
I learned early on that square pegs just don't fit
In round holes, so what's the point in forcing it.

Life ebbs and flows, steals, lies and cheats.
If you aren't ready for its storms you'll be blown off your feet
To weather the storms of lightning and sleet
You'll need recover regroup and repeat,
The lessons you learned when you were so young.
Yes, plan a future but in the now, please, have fun.

Calloused is defined as having a hardened area of skin.

But I would venture to guess
That if you looked at my heart
And compared it to
My feet and my hands
That my feet and my hands
Would be in better shape.
See manicures and pedicures exist
But regardless of all the wear on my heart.
There's no procedure that can soften it.

Life has taken sandpaper to me.
Marring me through
Missteps in love
And searing loss.
Leaving me hardened,
Which served its purpose,
At least I wouldn't be easily hurt anymore.

I avoided love.
Not out of fear, I'd tell myself,
But because I was done looking for it.
I'd tell people that I was waiting for love to find me.
And so I'm still waiting
Or hiding.
From the fear of opening up.
From the fear of softening.

It's hard to be yourself
When you know that
You're scarred
Or scared
Or both.
So the callouses come in handy.
Keeping me from pain and hurt.

Actually, I prefer the term hardened to calloused.
Simply for the sake of finding a better connotation.
I'd rather be hardened by my circumstances
Than calloused by them.
I'd rather be hardened by the hurt
Than calloused by it.
And if loss were to strike me in the face again,
I'd rather be hardened,
Instead of calloused.

But if you'd grab a dictionary
You wouldn't be fooled by my attempt,
At clever wordplay.
You'd realize that both are the same,
And that whatever I'd chosen to call myself
Didn't matter.
I was still as broken as ever.
Still scarred.
Still scared.
As hardened
As calloused
As ever.

I know it's hard to believe,
But I've never fallen into love.
No really, I've never fallen.
It's always been more like
Drowning.

While others gently dive in,
Barely disturbing the surface,
And then relax as they calmly float in their warm bath of emotion.
I cannonball.
To the bottom.
And as love is dispersed all over the other patrons, disturbing their peaceful swims.
I force my face to the surface.
Gasping, pleading.
For another breath.
Then as if i am grabbed by the ankle,
My head goes under again,
My fingers grasp at anything,
Hoping, praying.
That something solid might materialize at their tips,
I continue this pattern of bob and flail.
Never finding a rhythm.
Disturbing those floating near by.
Until the thought comes to mind,
As I receive stares from others
Who pass judgment on me through their piercing pupils,
"Maybe I'm doing this wrong?"

Heart beat, beat again.
Don't leave me alone my only friend
Don't leave me here to die in vain.
Don't leave me please just say my name
Just clasp my hand keep me awake
If I sleep I'll slip from your embrace.
So shake me hard, I'm leaving soon,
Keep me from slumber and here with you.
My blood runs cold it won't be long,
Please sing to me an angel's song,
True beauty's voice inside my ear
To fill my sails away from here.
This ship I'll take to rest in peace.
Sweet voice, sweet girl, sweet night.
Cease.

I died inside and shut the door
Just climbed inside, but just before
I slammed it shut, I saw you there
The only soul to look with care.
You saw this boy. You saw my tears.
I'd hid both well throughout the years.
You found my inward river flow.
That's filled me up, my hollow soul.

I'd lost some things since I was young
All my feelings except for one.
See emptiness had chose to stay,
And dig a hole in which to play.
The dirt he scooped was made of me
My likes, my cares, my hopes and dreams.
The hole he made just grew in size
Enough to hide me deep inside.

The tears I cried they filled the rest
Soaked inside out this hollow chest.
My lonely cave, this empty soul
These shovel-fulls had took their toll
And so I hid, as our eyes met
I latched the door without regret
I'd had too much to stop this train
The breaks were gone, just too much pain.

So just don't knock leave me alone.
My hollowed hole is my new home.
Inside these walls is where I'll stay.
Don't write, don't call just go away.
These four walls, a haven I've made,
Save me from what was dug away,
But still keep me from moving on
This door, these walls, could this be wrong?

My tears fill the well that was designed for them.
Soon traveling down my cheeks and chin.
As creeks or streams might allow a mountain's rainy day runoff,
To gently pass over stone.
Triggered by a scent, a sound, a thought,
A dagger like sting from a memory of,
What could have been.
Perhaps the fearful gaze upon a future
That may lay ahead.

And so they fall.
Dying my eyes red.
In silence, I try to gather my thoughts,
Odd for someone whose thoughts
Placed him in this predicament
And as I stack them.
Neatly. I might add.
The breeze of your memory knocks them to the floor.
Again.
Because this has happened before.

You have done this to me once again.
This time your presence wasn't even necessary.
To cause this cascade of solemnity.
But I realize that sadness,
Isn't what I endure.
Rather reflection,
Similar to the one emerging on the countertop,
Under my chin
That grows with every drip and drop,
Grants that sadness has left me,
But each memory's searing pain
Doses me with lonely regret of squandered opportunity.
Which stabs at my heart.

The dripping soon subsides,
And with face stained scarlet.
I wipe away the remnants
Of my rainfall.
From face and counter.
And prepare the shielded smile.
That has protected me,
Since you left.
I prepare my next joke
Buttoning it from intro to punchline
Hoping that it garners a laugh.
So that, even if vicariously,
I can smile.

Mediocrity isn't my favorite flavor
But I make do
Tasting other sensations and qualities as well.
Like candied revenge,
And carmeled success.

But mediocrity is slightly different
It's bitter...
But not enough that it would ever cause me to settle
For something else
That was further from my seated reach.
It's also stale, at times,
As if it were left out on a bar all night,
To be eaten by others looking for, well
Anything.

As I bit down on mediocrity once more
I couldn't help but salivate
At the thought of achievement and drive
Memories of their savory aftertastes overtaking the putty being mulled about my teeth.
And I swallowed the paste.
Mostly to get the taste out of my mouth.

But as my taste buds clear,
And my thoughts drift elsewhere.
The idea that one more hand full of mediocrity
Might not be that bad.
Creeps into the back of my mind.
After all,
It is within reach.

She married a dead man
She didn't know at the time
But he died before she had ever met him
Heart first
Soul second

He died the summer after his sophomore year of college
When he was crushed
By loves pavement likeness
His girlfriend at the time
Told him it was over
And proceeded to string him along until
One morning in August he went to surprise her
And after several of his calls went to voicemail
He traversed the steps to her apartment
And knocked on door 401.

He was greeted by a large fellow named Mike who asked in a limited vocabulary
Who he thought he was?
And why would he interrupt
An intimate moment between Mike and Mike's side piece?
Although he was confused by Mike's use of third person
The expletives Mike chose were both clear in their intensity and intent.

He was never sure how he got to his car
Perhaps he had floated down the stairway
Then again maybe he skipped the short jaunt altogether
And teleported.
He reached his dorm room, and there
He was sure his heart died
And it had.

See his heart first bled out empathy,
Then sympathy and later trust
The cold ***** let go of love last of all.
Only hours before his future wife had met him.
She was life support the yellow streak  in his grey sunset.
She loved him like only she could
With trust, truth and devotion,
And his heart still died

But that death didn't keep him
From marrying her 6 years after his heart's eulogy was read.
And while her patience waned and
His chilly heart
Hid the truth from her
She loved him

And though it took 3 years
She realized
Someone had killed their love.
Before they even knew what they shared.
Salted the soil of their romance,
And rather than move on
Her love was stuck,
He and his dead heart
Were no longer moving forward ,
But in the most real way
His heart was dead.
Killed by an unrequited love.
Long before now.

A book shouldn't be judged by its cover they said.
A person should be judged on their heart they said.
Plenty of books go unread
They are too small
Too thick
Too old
Too beat up

People and love have the same fate as a book.
Love is hypocritical.
How can an emotion, that is said to be
Judged by the heart,
Consider the optical cortex's opinion.
Before it weighs a soul
Hypocrites.

Predators are lead by their sight as well.
Killing off prey
In blood lust
That is interesting.
Perhaps lust is the issue
Their eyes devour what they want
While the heart is left empty.

If I lose weight am I subscribing to this belief?
Am I not fit enough to be loved?
Would being devoured by predators truly mend my heart?
My windowless soul bleeds.
While their eyes ignore me.
Am I changing myself to be loved, or
Can love change itself to find me?

My words try to escape
But my tongue is unwilling
They stick in a spiderweb of fear
Entwined in the sticky silk of terror.
Never to be devoured
They linger.

Would it be worse
If they somehow
Worked themselves free
And found the ear
they had been searching for all along.
But still they're stuck

Hovering, these ghosts,
Of passion once felt and feared
And words wished said,
Keep me up nights.
Knowing and not knowing
What would you have said?

Kiss me hard
To remind my lips
That this was what we waited for.
That this plunge into a sea of passion
While unsafe and daring
Was worth the trouble
Was worth the searing heartache.
A heartache that once broke me
Long ago.

Kiss me long
So that my heart
Will never forget love once existed inside
And it was more than a blistering passion
It was true and sturdy
Built upon our trust
In ourselves, in each other
In what we are building
For our future.

Kiss me soon
To prove to my mind
That this isn't a dream.
That this isn't a hazy alternate reality
Where you will disappear
The next time my eyelids rest.
Make it quick so this moment
Won't die in vain.
Kiss me.

I was never one for dancing,
But I was always interested in the view
Tonight was no exception.

The music played your theme
Your hips moving, to rhythms
My feet would soon forget.
My heart fluttered
Matching the tempo of drums
Then Pounding faster.
As your twists mesmerize.

The lights play games of tag
On the ceiling,
Across the walls,
On the floor,
Across your curves.
I'm swallowed by your visage.
As the room follows your lead.

Spinning,
Twisting and contorting
Carrying you towards me
Or me towards you.
I no longer can tell.

Your eyes sparkle
In between the strobe.
Inviting me to join you
As my body learns a second language.
First clumsily, but
Each second brings fluency.

We are lost in each other.
Letting the music
Hypnotize.
Our bodies, symbiotic.
Energy pulsing-
Through each other,
Into each other.

During a moment of clarity I think.
If she drank a poisoned cocktail.
I might ask the bartender for what she's having.

You know what would be miraculous.
The comprehension of reality among the populace in general.
That would be a miracle.
We live in an age where these twenty something tweens believe that they are all,
One second from stardom.
Newsflash!
It doesn't matter how many people
Follow you on Twitter,
Friend you on Facebook,
Or how many followers you have for your YouTube channel,
If you can't find a single original thought for yourself
In that pop music filled-
Romance and Action movie watching-
Book of the month club reading-
Head of yours,
If you can't think and feel for yourself
YOU ARE NOT A STAR
You are a hack.
You are just normal.
Like the rest of us.
So stop trying to get discovered,
And start
Thinking,
Feeling,
And Creating
Something for yourself.
Something for the world to see.
Something original.
Because you can't get by on the coat tails of others forever.
Sooner or later you will need to survive on your own.
And then when you've created something on your own.
Something worthwhile.
Something from your heart.
Then you have a chance.
A small chance,
But still a chance
To be a star.

She said, "Why can't you just be normal."
In her accusatory tone.
I knew my answer wouldn't faze her
Still I felt it important to defend my case.

"Normal huh,
Is that how I was raised,
Is that what you want from me,
Is mediocrity something I should strive for."
Her gaped mouth tightened,
But before she could form her rebuttal,
I began again.

"I want more than normal,
I want neon lit dreams,
On a high-def highway.
So that even in the darkest night,
They'll be illuminated in bright crystal.
I want more from myself than anyone could ever hope to beg out of me."

Her face had softened by now,
Shoulders dropping
As if taking their first vacation in almost 2 decades.
Her back was now lost in the sofa
Seeing my opening,
I continued.

"I don't have normal interests.
I don't have a normal family.
I couldn't see normal
From the highest peak of my life,
And even if I could, I wouldn't go on that journey.
I want more."

By now her face had changed in my eyes.
A muddy blur of someone stuck,
Stuck wishing for something.
Something that she lost over the years.
She lost control,
And so she still grasped
For what she had remembered it feeling like.

There had been a coup.
A new ruler had emerged.
Now, finally ruled by the hands and feet
That would build this path.
And walk this journey.
Regardless of plan or purpose.
My future was mine.

Sometimes I wish these tears,
Were held in my head
that they were packaged and labeled
Citing date, cause, and emotion.
I'd scribble box upon box with something like:

Date: December 25th 2005
Cause: First Christmas Without Dad
Emotion: Misty Eyed Sadness.
Or
Date: June 8 2002
Cause: Recognition. Of a Job well done.
Emotion: Humbled Elation

Sure the boxes would stack up.
Reaching heights unfathomable.
And so I'd sort.
Keeping each emotion in their own piles.
Neatly selecting which ones to put in the front stacks
And which ones to keep hidden from view,
So as not to accidentally expose my problems,
Or remind myself of things I wish to forget.
Instead I'd neatly stack them out of sight.
Perhaps the stacks will fall one day.
Cluttering my head.
It's possible
Some may even be forced open.
Forcing me to repack and
Restack.

I was broken years ago,
Shattered on the ground.
I looked for help to pick me up,
But no one was around.
As my pieces went overlooked,
They became so spread about
It was hard to find myself
So spread, my future was in doubt.
Some of me stayed in the middle
Crushed under sole and foot.
Other pieces hid in corners
Avoiding more pain or hurt.
The last of me escaped you see
It was pushed under the shelf.
Those pieces would never be seen again.
Causing me to be less of myself
I wished someone would clean me up
Put my pieces together again.
But here I laid under toe and heel.
Spreading further and further again.
My hope is one day to gather myself
To put together what's left to see.
It might take awhile to find them all
These shattered pieces of me.

"She just had to say it,
She couldn't keep it to herself,
I knew we were in a rough patch
But this, her ex." I need time to think.
As I sit down on the steps outside
I light, take a drag, and blow

"This can't be my fault, can it?
With all we've been through?
How could she throw this away,
For what, a fling!?" My clouded judgment stews.
The steps become uncomfortable
But I light, take a drag and blow.

"What I should do is bust this door down,
And force her to tell me why.
Why am I not good enough for you?
Why would you throw what we have away!
Tell me why!" And as the stairs began to poke and ****.
I light, take a drag, and blow.

"This is rediculous!" And as I rose from the stoop.
"There's just got to be a reason!
You don't do something like this without a reason!"
Were the words that flooded out of my mouth,
As I pushed our once inviting door open,
And I light, take a drag and blow

"You owe me this, look at me!"
She just continued packing a box
full of our things, our lives, her lies.
So as I flung the box to the ground.
Grabbing her shoulders I screamed "Why!!"
Just light, take a drag, and blow

Her fiery stare was more telling
Than any word that would follow from her lips.
"We haven't been right for years.
You've changed, I've changed."
And I knew there was no more I could do.
Except light, take a drag and blow.

She continued with, "I can't believe you're surprised.
Where do you think I've been going?
You are worse at keeping a wife,
than you are at keeping a job," she sliced.
She was right. I sat down on our former love seat to think
Just light, take a drag and blow.

I helped her pick up the scattered contents,
Of the box I had strewn to the floor.
******* each lie, my ears teary,
I knew this was it. He pulled up at 9.
She left with him at 10, my heart sulked in the corner
I just took a drag and blew.

Something clouds my head and heart.
Creating an emotional *******.
A beggar
Limping and crawling from place to place
I try to feel
But I can't
It's drained my heart
I collect alms in the shapes of tear drops and hearts.
Hoping to someday walk again
"Perhaps he did this to himself,"
They'll say as they pass me and ignore.
"What would he do with, what we hand him out,"
As they excuse away their indifference.
Little do they realize
That just one lift
One helping hand
That would make all the difference.

There will never be a forever me
But don't worry about my demise
Don't worry about how you treated me
Just file yourselves inside
The double doors will fit you all
I'm sure they'll open wide.
When the preacher starts he'll say something wise.
But don't worry about my demise

I won't have to worry about what is said
I'm sure they're  mostly lies
Maybe he'll say, "he lived and loved"
To which I'd laugh and say
"The preacher man, he got one right,
At least until today."
He'd continue his speech you'll dry your eyes.
But don't worry about my demise

It wasn't that love came hard for me
In fact it often came too quick
It was poorly timed oft undermined
By friends who said they cared
They never believed my love was real
So don't worry about my demise

And on that day of my demise
I hope at least one will say
"I loved him more, but never said
The words we all should say.
"Sometimes love is a rotten beast who steals and cheats and lies.
He deserved more from each of us.
Or someone before his demise."

Tentacles twist breaking bow and mast.
Clinging and clinching to the once mighty vessel.
A ship once prized by the Navy
Now prized as a partner for the sea beast.
Each serpentine tentacle tightens,
Around wooden board, and cast iron fastener.
Creaking and cracking the boat dances as the beast leads.
Waves crazed as they are whipped to frenzy,
Matching the mammoth's rhythms.
They struggle to keep the beast contained.
White caps covering the beasts murderous desire.
The ship is his, and as dances do,
This one ends in a flourish.
Cracking crosstrees and foremast,
Collapsing the gangways,
Sails still whipping as the dancer's dress is ravaged.
And as quickly as it began
It stops.
The monster sinks back from where his strike began.
The tired vessel following quickly after.
The water forgets its rhythm and steps.

Grotesque is a word reserved for Halloween, Asparagus, and my bathroom mirror.
A mirror that has never lied although there were times I asked it to.
The word is as descriptive as any in the English language
And it seems that it is synonymous with lonely and single.

While love is said not to ascribe to aesthetics.
I know for a fact, through experience, that attraction most definitely does.
So while love can exist for one that could be considered grotesque.
By all weights and measures, how is a person supposed to be loved,
When the other can't get the vomitous taste out of their mouth after looking at them?

Dark and dreary I know, but I've never been one to buy in.
To purchase the notion that one could look past, into what one is, before seeing how one looks.
Dismal outlook on the horizon I know but sometimes reality's worth crashing into.
Maybe I'm wrong, God I hope so.
Because if I'm wrong there's a future.
If I'm not
. . .

If Chicken Little's scare tactics are true
I would do anything to catch the sky for you.
I would hold that sky just as long as I could
Whether you loved me or not I swear that I would
I would lift it until I could hold it no more
With arms and legs shaking because it's you I adore.

The sky couldn't crush my love for you dear.
As you escaped danger I'd tell you through tears
That "You were the one that I held in my heart,
My one and only a pure work of art.
You never knew this but that makes it okay,
Because if it's my life for yours, well that's one debt I'll pay."

My love wouldn't save me or at least I couldn't be sure.
Like the sky on my shoulders it's something I would endure.
Your love wasn't for me something I just couldn't own.
But now the sky is too heavy as I let out a moan.
"I'll see you again my love, maybe in a dream with a kiss."
As the sky falls down on me I'm glad it ended like this.

Yesterday I lost my pain
I lost my soul
I played the game
The game I played it wasn't fun
It had no challenge
It's name was "Numb"
It required nothing from anyone
The players played
We were never done
See the game we played it had no end
Because with feeling gone
We needed not attend
To emotions to others or disturbing events
Instead we just stared
Each inside our own fence.
The fences were high but none of us cared
Apathy encompassing
all we once dared
To laugh about to cry about To make our heart beat
We were numb to it all
Giving way to the bleak
But the fences did more than save us from ourselves
They separated us from each other
Which was something of a hell
Because protection is one thing and loneliness is another
The game we were playing made us
look and say "Why bother"
When really what it did was keep us from healing
Because without other souls
What's the point of coping or dealing
We lost interaction we lost hugs we lost smiles
Cursed by our own choice
Our fences kept us in our files.

The crash leaves few survivors,
Sheet covered corpses
Littering the highway's shoulder,
They survived, but can they face tomorrow.

Tears waterfall down both faces.
Her hand entwined with his,
As the obstetrician lets them know the truth.
They won't ever reconcile this loss.

Her hair was lost in weeks, after her 19th birthday,
Her boyfriend weeks after that.
She would beat the diagnosis.
But would have to wait to heal from the other.

At the window he sits, a boy waiting
This makes it four hours now
Father told him he'd return tonight
As morning comes, the boy still sits, still waits

We all wait, our twisted wrecks of symmetry,
Untwisting, to get us back to normalcy.
We'll never be normal again.
But untwisting our scars, our dents, our pain,
We carry on.
We survive.

She had stumbled out of his car,
But he took her by the hand.
She had felt chosen.
Her prince re-perched her on her heels,
And so they went.

Arm in arm they traversed the cobblestoned-night
Meeting friends,
They laughed to tears,
As their glasses went dry and were refilled.
Perhaps too often.
Her legs wobbled when they told everyone goodnight
Pecking each blurry face on where their cheeks were supposed to reside.

Her arm again in her prince's they made their way back to his car.
The journey feeling longer than the last.
Scuffing toe and heel often enough for her to carry them in her free hand.
He opened the car door again for her
This time aiding her more.
As she slumped into the front seat,
She giggled as
Her fingers had forgotten their job.
So the prince reached over and fastened her seatbelt.
Strange that her safety was of his concern at that moment.

The ride to his apartment was shorter
One could say that parts were skipped, blurry, or simply missing,
But she knew that the car stopped.
And that their plan,
to Netflix the night away
Had better happen soon,
As she felt each evening imbibement swiftly catching up to her.

He carried her up the 12 steps to his apartment where his roommates waited around a television that seemed to sway?
Or was it just her?
She gladly accepted a glass of wine
As the movie began.
Her prince, gently handing the fluted glass,
Was measured in his approach.

As the movie progressed so did his predatory instinct.
First arm to shoulder,
Then hand to hip,
And finally hand to thigh.
His lips found her ear
Whispering an invitation
Which when sober,
she would have rebuffed.
Still she managed to shake her head
And say something that sounded like
"NoIdonwantotonigh, lesjusfinish themovie"
Audible enough for his roommates
To laugh about.
As her volume at this point was uncontrolled.

So he waited
and watched the film.
All the while watching her lips on her glass.
And her eyes glassy
Lids heavy
Head resting
On his shoulder.
Whether conscious or unconscious,
He took her to his room
His roommates forgetting.
That they had been humans before
They had been his friends.
And as the upstairs door slammed shut
They realized that prince wouldn't be returning that night.
Chivalry and valor had been outweighed by friendship.
The Devil's Deed was Done.

"For evil to flourish, it only requires good men to do nothing."
Simon Wiesenthal

Thank you, Thomas Edison, for your invention.
That we may use it as an analogy
In perpetuity.
In concept.
In cartoons.
No risiduals earned on this I'm afraid.
Epiphanies are so rare there would be little earned anyway.

They come on like rushing wind
Some we are lucky enough to grasp.
Pet Rock.
Chia Pet.
The Snuggie.
Others are squandered.
At the bottom of a bottle or glass.
Lost in the illegible syntax of a bar napkin.

Thomas Edison once bemused that he never failed.
He simply found a new way it wouldn't work.
What I wouldn't have given,
to have been among,
his bar napkins and empty bottles.

On our walk today,
You told me you loved him
And I vomited,
In my mouth,
Just a little.
Forcing the putrid liquid back down,
I feign support.
"Really that's great?"
Are the words that escape.
Replacing the aftertaste--
Of the ones still stuck in my bile.
Ones tasting like,
"Why can't you see my love?"
and
"What does he have...
That I don't?"
My emotionally caused nausea
Goes, thankfully, unnoticed.
As you are still lost,
In thought or lust.
I can never tell.
As we continue walking,
My stomach calms.
We acknowledge life's beauty,
In trees, in birds, in clouds.
While I am forced
To disregarded its greatest,
You.

I thought we'd see the sunrise.
I thought we'd weather the storm.
Does it matter what I thought,
Since now you're gone?
Lost in a sea of everyone
You, my message in a bottle,
Float aimlessly away.
The sea closes around me.
Still, perched on my island,
I hope for a glint from your rim,
More than the beauty of the next sunset.
And, as your gorgeous glint passes over the horizon.
I beg the tide to change.

Perhaps love should have its own pronoun
With me being so unfamiliar with the feeling it seems that the pronoun would at least be more respectful.

Maybe it needs a more formal title
Like Mr. or Ms.?
So that I can convey my respect for it as an emotion
As well as our unfamiliarity with each other.

Should we agree on the gender as a whole?
Would it be confusing if I used them interchangeably? As in,
"Well I thought I was in Ms. Love once but it wound up only being infatuation."
Or
"I saw that she's in Mr. Love with the guy who is great at that one thing again."

Perhaps Ms. Love isn't for me to know,
It's been so long since we were introduced.
Maybe we'd hit it off next time though?
When Ms. Love and I meet face to face.
And maybe that next time we'd go for a coffee?
And then sensing her willingness perhaps a follow up meeting
Sans interview.
Where we could share stories
And utilize our first names
And then she would tell me of her dreams,
And I would interpret them for her.
Only to have her become super clingy
And ask for a ride home
And then force me to listen to hours upon hours of incessant babbling about everything and nothing at the same time.
And have her repeat the same stale story over and over and over again
Only for her to forget the ending to the only joke that she knows mid punchline.
Then again
Maybe I'll just stick to formalities,
Ms. Love.

It was quiet strength that did you in.
Your belief that pain was simply the cost of life,
You had been crippled for so long
Leg straight and fused,
Tremors assaulting your once strong hands,
Still you coped.
You pushed through.
As if to laugh at the hand you had been dealt.
Like you were betting the house would go bust.
You fought.

You fought getting out of the your truck at the doctors office
You fought when they forced you into a sleep study
You fought when they ran a chest X-ray to rule out pneumonia
And when they said cancer
You fought

Who cares that they said Stage 4.
Cancer didn't know who it had picked its newest fight with
It didn't know your 25th wedding anniversary was two weeks away
So you fought
Because it wouldn't take this from you
You wouldn't let it,
Stubborn ******* you were.
You fought

You fought
Having purchased a card for the special day
Having it delivered by a friend
In tears she read and she knew
You had fought
And on that following day we sang you to Heaven
There was Power in the Blood
As you found Amazing Grace
And as your last breath escaped
Tooth then Lip.
I was reminded
You fought.

Eyes are the windows to the soul
Is that why they are called blinds?
To blind the world of our messes
Our distresses as we distrust.
To hide from judgement, expectations
From speculating agencies
To close separating realities
What's yours stays yours and what's mine has been buried in the basement
No x will mark that treasure

Straight from the horses mouth
Doesn't it imply more than bit or bridal?
A brides tale of how it was meant to be
Her dreams of borrowed blue and new
Blue skies cloud minds and fog memories
Of what she once knew of who she once held
Who was always him forever
Where he went was inconsequential
Gone, so she pushes back the memories Burying them deep
No x will mark that treasure

The early bird gets the worm
But isn't still too late for the worm?
Too late for a change of plans
To change the exchanges we've shared
To shift how we will be remembered
With fluttering morning wings
Mourning the loss of loved ones
Tears shed falling lightly in the grass
Seeping into earth and resting on wooden surface six feet below
No x will mark that treasure

Life breathes
Taking breath from laughter smile and embrace
Exhaling sorrow loss and pain
Life shines through
Through overcast sky
Through shaded arbor canopy
Life grows
First by inches
Then by feet
Then after traveling miles
Life dies slowly
Gasping, reaching, bleeding
Life's tourniquet is love
I'm bleeding out

On the eve I die alone
Don't morn me
simply delete me from your phone
Remove my contact info erase all pics and tweets
Don't simply RIP me
Or shout me out on FaceBook statuses
When I'm gone ignore me
Go back to your regularly scheduled programming
Let me slide into oblivion
Where I resided in life let me rest in death
If it mattered that much surely I would have known
I would have sensed the emotional necessity that I placed in hearts
That I etched in minds and lives
So let me slip to slumber
Cast out blindly on the pyre
With backs turned don't mind the blaze
Embrace your loved ones and hold them tight
Remind them that to love and lose is to lose at best
And to be stolen from and assailed at worst
But still warn them of this plight
And when I lay down that eve
Don't wish this soul goodnight.

Commitment unanchored, floating unchanged
Love forever escaping, like I'm dutifully chained
Immersed in excuses, Emoting motives i motion
Bound by fears of thoughts From the depths of this ocean
No Tredding but sinking into self made regrets tied
And blindfolded To this mast of my lies
"No it doesn't matter"
"I'll find someone someday"
"Someone will love me I gather"
"I'm all right, the pain, it fades away"

They say before making rash decisions
One should count to three
Well once, I almost touched it
Twice it was within grasp
Third time the charm of my broken heart slipped out of sight
I am loves whirlpool

Death comes for us all the preacher has said

But the teachers keep teaching

Still trying to fill heads

They say knowledge is power

but when the hour draws near

they look away and put the books away

And hold the ones they held dear



But, Death comes for us all the preacher did say

We all loved someone at one time

and minded the tears of yesterday

See to love and lost is better

The loathsome chatter is spewed

blissful ignorance is what i insist

As I bid my love adieu



Still death comes for us all I understand with regret

see love is never perfect

Hearts muddied and palms wet

Emotions haunt the ones

that see love flaunted some

times they change and sear

The mindful watch as it spins the clock

As the hour itself draw near

"You're too young," they said
"That and you're too fat,
You can't accomplish your dreams you need to be in shape to do that.
You need to be able to run and take flight."
I've answered all of these questions  with out discord or fight.

I proved myself with action not by pounds on the scale
I faced their doubts head on, every concern every wail.
See doubts to me are gasoline
They fuel the fire of my soul
I don't need your support because there's no way I will fold

See I've faced doubts all my life
Proved everyone of them wrong
So what's a few more pieces of kindling and wood to pile on
The fire inside me the blaze it burns red
Consuming my opponents I will fill them with a dread
So if you're one of my doubters stand  and just ask
"Who do you think you are?" And I'll take you to task.

Peace is acceptance and understanding of ones place in the world
Which is why it's so rare
We can't see to the end of our own noses
So how can we think we can care?

Hope is a broken promise that naïveté allows to breathe
How can we hope when it's just hard to believe?
When you can't see the bottom
What could you plan to retrieve?

Trust is the brother of honesty but no one treats them as such
They invite Trust to tell secrets but shun his brother instead
So Trust listens to the rumors
But the brother won't bother as the bitterness spreads.

If peace, hope, and trust lose their way in our lives
Can we ever believe that we would recognize
Those who need help or those to be encouraged
Those needing a word or to be showed how to endure it

See life without these is less of a life that we live
But it's a life that we survive with more take than of give.
Remember the problems you face and know that others do to
When you keep that in mind we walk a mile in their shoes.

BROKEN is not a term of endearment
Rather it is used to deter
Don't buy that it's BROKEN
Something's wrong with her she's BROKEN

BROKEN is a term for things and not people
It conveys a need to be fixed
Our scars and bruises have made is whole
We aren't BROKEN, but reborn through every pain, every loss, and every trial.

We have learned through our BROKENess that others struggle too and maybe we can see that if everyone is BROKEN
Perhaps the word BROKEN can mean something new.

Maybe EDUCATED, WISE, STEADFAST, and LEARNED.
Could it be STRONGER or FIERCE are the words that we've earned.
Whatever your word live it out in embrace.
Leave that BROKEN word lonely far away with no trace.

The old lady talks into air,
Of friends and family.
She asks poignant questions,
Or so it seems.
Her wrinkled brow furrowed
And eyebrows raised,
Tell just as much of her age as her intent.
Her words wander with lost syntax.
They ring with waves of sound,
Trying to find an ear to fill.
Still she sits.
Wondering why everyone stares,
But no one listens.

Life: The Pages Between Birth and Death
The book too thick to actually choose to read.
Cross-referenced with words too lengthy to even sound out.
Adjectives and adverbs, metaphors and similes
Neatly describing each seminal moment
That no longer makes sense.
A book dust covered and yellowed.
Pages dog-eared citing someone's past interest
In whatever was actually printed however many years ago.
Saying "Not the read I want,"
As I place it back on the shelf.
Avoiding the unavoidable,
I pass on it.
At least for today.