i came up from the rocks with a cigarette all burning in my hand
The hot air buffeted my long hair and my face was long from looking down
the dirt and dust and dry plants from the mississippi recoiling crunch under my feet
Like a spectre a man walked in the distance toward my path and I squint in the heat rays
And stop and turn so as not to pass
Wishing to be left alone
But he stopped and smiled at me nonetheless
His skin shining in the sun and his cross earring glinting
“Where the fish at?” he asks cheerfully. I look around and brush the hair from my face.
“Hiding.” I say. He laughs at me.
“You on your way out?” He has a jaunty step as he puts his hands in his pockets and gleefully makes his way towards the River.
“Yeah,” I say, turning to face him fully. Something magnetic.
“Alright now, You have a great day!” the man gives a memphis goodbye wave and goes to revere our great river.
As I leave I wonder if this spirit has saved me, has appeared in my time of need. I felt one with the River and the rocks and the dust and considered laying in the southern dirt for drying out, but dosed with life I feel the energy and the light and the music taking me back to the green grass and back in the direction of home.
I hope he saw the fish.

it was a thursday night
driving down poplar ave it was my mom and i
when she gave me the news
you went to the doctor
and they told you it was terminal
the world went blue
i thought of summers on the back porch
with watercolors splashing
crawling on the floor
into your room
we wound the clocks and went shopping and we ate whatever we wanted to
and i hopped on the greyhound
up to old st lou
and i kept crying thinking of someday losing you
and i listened to agape over and over
for years you fought and for years you tried to do whatever you could to make you feel alive
i did my best to hold your hand but try as i might
it was hard for me
i started taking time
i wanted to know everything about your life
don’t leave a single thing out
i left college
driving up there on the weekends just to watch you sleep
and when you were better i would feel so light
like a weight had lifted from my heart
i went to europe just like you told me to
and in san marcos cathedral
i thought of you
i prayed for with a candle that i payed for
my grandmommy to pull through
or if that just wasn’t in the cards then i prayed for my family’s breaking heart
all the same i’ve loved loving you
cut to Christmas
we knew what must be coming time was priceless
and yet all the same
i touched your soft head
and tied a scarf around so you wouldn’t feel ashamed
and it all happened so fast we lost you cold and in the snow we cried we were frozen to the toes
just like you’d tell me mine were when you would warm them
now i stand in the doorway of where my mother grew up
where you gave all you had to show us we were loved
and i thought how maybe your candle burns bright in heaven
i loved loving you
i’ll always think of you

we spend the months staring out windows and looking at screens
people are dying in breathless silence, alone
black men are dying in the streets
I have always tried my best to be good to be the person who walked for those who couldn't
I've seen so much of the world but my world is small
and to give myself credit for showing up is like throwing a pebble onto a mountain
then walking away.
and when I walk the streets under the noon sun I have no fear
when the lights dim I may run and seek safety but I have safety waiting somewhere for me
I have the white aura, that card swipe that gets me home
and I have never known a fear of men like I have seen this year.
While I sit at home and pray for health for myself and for my family another three blocks down prays for the health and for the very life of her family
It has never been so hard to hang my head in shame and I have never been so tired of being confronted with a reality not my own
I try to fight for what I believe is right, knowing that I am what is wrong
learning that my fear of men in the dark, of mean looking down, and of society kicking me once again and again for being a strong girl is a legitimate fear.
but I do not fear life itself.
I have never been called to anything greater than good grades and friendship but this year I have been thrown in the water
water that tells me to stay safe, to not get sick and not to overwhelm the hospitals and that there is no ventilator for me.
the water runs cold with anxiety, fear, depression, and fatigue but it runs hot with riots and calls to justice and people exhausted from seeking safety. always.
in the many sleepless nights my eyes wander to the skies where the winds whisper, 'are you doing enough?' the earth coughs and the stars are six feet or six thousand miles away, and ocean away.
I am still figuring out what all this means, what I will inherit, what I will find to ****** my helping hand into.
we are all so tired but we are all so brave and we who have held our heads up and fought this year should be proud. What began with fireworks and glittering champagne glasses descended into coughing and disease, into peaceful protests bombed with teargas and rubber bullets, into fire tearing through forests and families torn apart, into insurrection and bleak holidays in front of screens.
we have learned so much and tried our best even when sometimes our best was not enough.
when we saw others drop the weight from their shoulders, we picked it up and carried it for them.
through the tears and the struggles and the senseless yelling projected into our ears, we lifted ourselves off the ground every day to face the new fight, though fresh bruises and cuts stung us.
our fight is not over yet, but we stand now at the mountaintop looking down
down at what lies ahead of us should we choose to continue
and walk on through the pain
and be brave
for those who never made it

first boy: you were soft like grass and a sweet-smelling breeze on a warm autumn day. we looked up at the stars and i knew that would be the story book page i had always wanted.
second boy: on stage. hundreds of people staring at us. but somehow things fit together just right and i never minded the theatre's vast stage or the newspaper or the barking again again again because it was fun. every time.
third boy: *******.
forth boy: oh, lover. the story of an ivy-covered wall whose leaves shriveled, who crumbled long before it was declared dead. what started so tender and became such a fight. never before had a boy's kisses come after tears and screams. from sweet evenings in the summer dusk on the river to late nights driving with your words ringing in my ears. many firsts happened here and i will never forget. but i hope someday you find the peace you need.
fifth boy: i learned here that what is on paper is not always the perfect song, that sometimes you must take a look beyond the surface to see that what you thought you wanted is different once you've changed. there is no coming back to childhood crushes or flirtatious smoke lingering in the air. learn to let go.
sixth boy: we were a whirlwind. for a few hours at least. i liked how you held me but only for that one night. thank you and goodbye. (also, if you're going to tell the world the story, make sure to tell them that I’m a good kisser)
seventh boy: new years. sparkles and shimmers and the gatsby effect of feeling like the woman disappearing around corners. this was never meant to last and that's okay. you made me feel wanted and for that i thank you.
eighth boy: we both learned. life never stops teaching you things, even once you're grown. i have always known what i wanted. perhaps once you figure out what you want, things will be less lonely.
ninth boy: as ashamed as i am to admit it, you may have cracked my heart. you were so perfect, and our kisses were so perfect. but if you decided that leaving that way was the best way, perhaps you aren't so perfect. i will still always see you as a great what if, but someday i will move on from your smile.
tenth boy: you were a bad kisser. i should have stayed home from the club that night.
eleventh boy: so sweet and so strong as we twirled and danced. you were soft and when i think of sweet romance I will think of you.
eleventh boy: well that was weird.
twelfth boy: a sweet summer - spent in the summer, spent in your arms. you may have been the best. for the honesty, for the fun, for the memories and for the lessons. see you in Paris, lover.
thirteenth boy: what a mess you've made. you made my day. made me lose sleep and lose my mind but it was never really about you but about me. shhh once more. but only on saturday.
fourteenth boy: ciao, amore!
fifteenth boy: hell ya! finally! (later: yikes)
sixteenth boy: who knew that you don’t have to like a personality to enjoy yourself. i know i shouldn’t see you again. but boy it’s fudgin fun.

new year's eve.
I was in college and hopped in a car, rushed through the dark night to a party – a Memphis house spilling confetti from every crevice
champagne and ***** clinking in every corner and millennials draped over every velvet or mahogany surface
velvet and sheer sparkles in an ocean of amicable inebriation
sitting straight up against a wall
i asked the boy with the dark hair if he was a feminist
he lifted a glass and ran his fingers through the forest of his head and said 'i don't know what that means'
took a sip
i took a sip too, rolling my sparkling lashes up to the ceiling and back in front of me
where a fat man in a golden suit leaned closer to me, his gaudy chains clinking together
he looked over his dark glasses into my shining eyes
'are you saying that women don't have the same rights as men already?'
the people in the room froze where they were
like the planets, rotating and revolving, ceased to move an inch all in a moment
you could hear the sparkles and tinkling of jewels swinging from inertia
my chest only rose and fell while i gripped my flute closer
'i'm not sure if you've heard, but women get paid less than men in federal jobs.'
the crocodile in front of me let out a laugh that shook the room and every crystal in it
'you really think that women don't have equality? what world do you live in?'
too small I felt in that moment, shrinking under the weight of my downcast lashes
until I gaze at my feet on the floor
firmly planted, peeking from the hem of my skirt
next to his flopping scaly shoes
and my lashes raise to the ceiling, blue eyes shining light forth like the crown of a saint
I rise above his head as the room gradually cranes their whole bodies forward to hear my words
'it's people like you who make it worse. women are contained and stifled and oppressed into submission by men like you who are too worried about their capacity to keep power through honest means to give everyone what they deserve"
the room closes in around the crocodile, shrinking beneath the shine of truth
"and you will find that someday you will be knocked off your horse by a little girl who has more power

unfinished

sometimes the struggle is a sigh. three fingers pressed to your temple in a moment of breaking the wall of optimism
sometimes the struggle is a scream. you back away, step by step, slowly to the edge of a cliff, and throw your shoulders around to hurl your yell out into the great unknown
sometimes the struggle is a tear. when you finally close the door, sink down onto the ground, and feel your lashes give way to a series of cascades... it is so difficult to get back up
sometimes the struggle is a gentle roll of the eyes. you shake your head with a grin, lift the eyes up to the bluest sky and carry on with threshold exasperation
sometimes the struggle is more and sometimes it is less. sometimes we can choose to hold ourselves up through it and sometimes we need help simply to stand. sometimes we let ourselves sink to the bottom of the ocean before we rally and push off of the sand. sometimes we need three seconds of anger before we don the reset hat and carry on as if nothing were wrong.
whatever your struggle, we have to keep going... beat on like boats against the current... and we might as well keep going with rays of sunshine bursting from our hearts. we must choose the sun instead of the waves.

pliable paint on the old and cracked window frames of my house
what once must have been smooth and lisse
now aged and browned
the glass sending icicles onto the tip of my nose
breathing and fighting with warmth
while black cotton washes my vision
on the antique chair
on my porcelain skin, sinking into the silent softness
applied to the irises of my eyes to hide the icy blue from shining thru
as the clock ticks and my nail taps the rough surface
but after all this
salt stains on the face of your daughter and granddaughters will not keep the hurt from your bones
while you soar twirling in the clouds like a silken skirt
the sparkles of sadness mustn't twinkle in the corners of my eyes
why feel this sting when you are finally flying?
and when this all will come to pass
when I sit on the chair and pick at the paint on my window
i will remember that every candle is meant to be lit
to give light out and slowly burn for the rest of its life until the end
a candle which is never lit has never lived
and all lit candles must taper
but forever I will remember when your fire burned brightly
and will not grieve how your life gave out light until the very end.
with this. the room feels warmer.
the fireplace crackles.

When I was a child living in our tiny apartment
Under the stars with the people and animals and in the dust
The power would crack out and things would stop whirring
And Papa would bring in Andrea Boccelli the angel that soothes my every fear
To this day l'ultimo re is a comfort just as it was in the stifling heat when all my senses were shut down
He filled my ears with beauty and I didn't need to see anything in the dark
Because my ears saw light dancing through my head
I treasure this in my heart
Like a much needed embrace
Or the perfect words
It's just what I have always needed
To remind me I come from the dust and the stars

324 square miles

and 94 vacant

we build up our city to great lengths

but the majority of our population

poor, impoverished black families

cannot afford to eat at a tapas bar art gallery

it feels as if...

if i was drowning

they would just make sure

her boat wasn't leaking

I hold onto the hope that someday I will see them. Those lights drug across the sky by a goddess with her water colour brush. Greens and blues and pinks that dance a star's song into being while the sky stretches and wakes up and prepares to host this fit of brilliance. When people down below lift their eyes to the heavens. Irises are filled and reflect a dazzling champagne of pastels which God has created. He wants to say 'I love you' and could think of no better way than this expression. Where snow gives way to reflective ice and the shiny sparkles slide silently through the night. It is the visual of the heart when in love, and it lights up the night like the first beautiful moment of a stage being brought to life. The conductor lifts his hands and a radiant explosion surrounds the audience. Music is not needed and none will ever accurately describe it. Few will see this spectacularity because the auroras only reveal themselves to the minds that wander and the hands that reach towards heaven.

There's something about walking away... Head held high and you sigh as your tears have been dried and the colourful in your cheeks and lips gets pinker. Nobody could have told you what to do because they aren't you. And what once felt so right and perfect now is clearer and less of a blur. If you had kept going the picture would only have been a smudge on the wall of your room, causing the drywall to crack and then grey. It's the colour of those hours blocked out to exert energy then crash as if you've just had the emotions ****** out of your fingers and toes. Maybe it would have been remedied with some growing or a little water and sun. But boys need more than water and sun to bloom. The soil was just too authoritarian and your wise words were in a language all to unfamiliar and confusing to decode. But for him, nothing could be done if it wasn't for him. So you kiss that hand goodbye and simultaneously let go as it is ****** away. And as you are walking away, you are walking into a cool breeze and a sunny day with a brisk sun and soft grass and happy voices ready to welcome you in the distance. And it is less walking away than walking to something brand new. You're being welcomed.

It's so old, and the beauty of a hundred years of happy memories and lives lived to the fullest is seeped into the dark and creaking wood beams of this home. In the fireplace crackles a soft warmth that keeps the bitter cold at bay from this room. Sometimes, it still tickles your nose and playfully pinches your ears, painting pink across your cheeks. But this is the only gentle reminder that outside the frosted window, snowflakes fall in soft piles against your doorstep, dancing and singing in their own special winter way. Inside is only merriment, where the wine is poured and the stuffed mushrooms are devoured slowly and languidly, each bite tasting of a melody. Around you on the walls, painted flowers and snapshot memories smile down on you as your friends laugh and sing and dance and break out the fiddle for a folk tune. After the wine comes the coffee where your hand gently holds a saucer and the cup almost never leaves your mouth. Everywhere you look, there is a joyous friendly face with a contentment of time about them, not anxious of a thing. Furry friends circle the floor in search of scraps, which they were given in a moment of weakness. And as you feel the warmth begin in your toes in your socks on the creaking wooden floor, as it travels up your spine and into your head and fingers, you know this is where you are meant to be. Here, surrounded by friends, with love draping his arm peacefully about your waist and laughing along with the rest, only every once in a while glancing over with a look that you know is meant to assure you, "Someday, this will be all we get, and it will be enough."

Some times you just feel so happy that it's as if your heart could burst:
Like when you laughed and talked and danced and sang with your friends who meant so much to you and loved you so much, and the lights twinkled and the cold air lifted your hair off your rosy cheeks. And you all leaned in and whispered and grinned and spoke of wonderful things that lit up your heart like a fireplace on a snowy night. And then you were swept up into that one most special hug, feeling warm and tight and safe and soft. That hug could have lasted a thousand years and still would never have been enough. As he put you down, you gently kissed his cheek, just so he would know how much he meant to you.

Sometimes you just feel so loved that it's as if the world could never seem cruel:
Like when you sat in the warm serenity of the Taizé community's embrace, holding your candle and singing and lifting the songs of hundreds of reverent minds and eyes up to God in thankfulness and wonder at all you have been given. And as the tears rolled down your cheeks and the sweet songs filled your lungs like breath, you were drawn into the warm and steady arms of your friends who were also crying and breathing the music of believers. And you all smiled and wiped away tears because the beauty of knowing you are truly and most purely loved is such an overwhelming feeling that one could hardly describe it in any way other than real beauty being felt in person.

How can I explain to you
What is within me?
I am African
I am American
I am both
And I am neither
I am something
And I am nothing
And yet…I am everything.
But I cannot be like you
Trust me.
I’ve tried.
You say “Welcome back”
Like my roots are in this soil
But how can I explain to you?
Yes.
My body originated here.
But not my soul.
No.
My soul was born in the arms of Mama Africa
She is not the ancestor of my skin
But of my spirit
And my roots run deep in her red earth
Her drumbeat, my hear.
Yet here I am…
I look like you.
I sound like you.
But I am not like you.
And when I try to explain
What I’ve seen
And done
And known
And how I became
You feel as though I am big
And you are not.
But it isn’t true.
I am not bigger.
You are not smaller
We are just…different.
I contain a vastness
That is misunderstood
That vastness holds so much
Yet often feels so empty.
And I cannot be like you.
Trust me.
I’ve tried.
But when I do it feels like chains
Shackles of iron
I try to deepen my roots
For you.
But when I try
I can only seem to spread my wings
And I am sorry.
I am sorry that I cannot make my home in you.
I am sorry that I make you feel small.
I do not mean to.
I am sorry I cannot find the words to explain
What it is like
To feel as though your skin is too tight for your soul
To feel as though you are always
Nowhere and Everywhere
Nothing and Everything
No one and Everyone
Too much…and never enough
I am sorry.
But I am trying.
So when I try…
When I share with you these tangled feelings
When I crack open the door
To the whirlwind within
Do not ask me to shut it.
Please, do not ask me to hide away
Because you cannot relate to the chaos behind my eyes.
Don’t see the mess.
See me.
And love me.
For the mystery that I am.
To you.
And to myself.

a girl who reads her bible is a *****. a ******. a snitch. a snob. a religious freak. she will follow you around and exorcise and speak of heaven and hell until you lift your bottle and drink to that lunatic. you claim spirituality instead of religion and say you're buddhist and you meditate and do yoga and save the trees and marine life. you make up your own rules so that you can have fun and feel moral at the same time. then you slip up and change your rules and when people ask you simply say you are searching. you don't know what you are but you know what everyone else is. and those people who have it all figured out with their books and doctrines and churches and institutions and traditions. they are the ones who are fake. they follow a patten that has been meaningless since the fourth century of its practice. the repetition renders its worshippers numb and everyone just sulks through the service to save their soul.

but you. you are wrong.

let me paint you a picture.

a woman has been accused her whole life of being too religious. too stiff. she falls down a dark path that nobody, even the immoral, condones. she is lost and she stumbles and falls and wakes up not knowing what happened the night before. but under the painted and gilded ceilings of a cathedral she finds peace. she finds comfort. she feels the arms of God around her and he is the only one who has ever loved her enough to embrace her. he, who everyone considers the elitist, has accepted this girl who is globally considered the **** of the earth. to him she is a diamond. a story. a soul. a set of memories and words and pictures and a lifetime's worth of emotions and pain and joy.

so next time you see that religious freak walking around holding her head up. you think again. examine the shoulders set back and unwavering gaze. she asks you to listen to what she says. not because she thinks she is right and you are a sinner. she is trying to share with you. her art. her salvation. the thing that has saved her and been beautiful and gave her hope again. it is her child, her garden, her masterpiece. it is her religion. and she does not treasure it simply to convert you.

are we kidding ourselves? to think that one last chance, dance, prance in the moonlight is worth all the pain that comes. our crying eyes caught in the glow of our sad boxes which keep us linked every moment of the day. you who pulled aside the curtain on love and i who gave you every last sparkle i had. i needed to be held but you only held onto me while i fought my own battles. then the battle i ran off to fight on my own was too much. i never left you i let you walk. but you left me in the  dust. robbed my chances after hanging on too long. but it wasn't just you i never tried to escape.

step right up to this broken machine
she'll take anyone
look at this queen
she's shiny and new with smiles so bright
every step she takes is light
her colours are more than a rainbow can boast
she has more than any
she has the most
they drift in the wind and fall from her fingers
her joy is infectious
she's contentment's dead ringer

this machine never stops
that's why its so popular
people will travel far
there is no other
none so dedicated to her job as this
she's a volunteer so surely she loves it
but a crisis strikes every once in a while
the machine won't admit it, she's in denial
but her colour store is personally supplied
if she told you it's abundant, surely she lied

this machine has colours she enjoys sparing
but to spend her whole life as this machine is daring
machines must be turned off
must be unplugged
this machine never does because help is her drug
she goes and she goes until she overheats
her colours start melting
they run through the streets
these runaway colours are scooped up and scrounged
meanwhile the machine is left on the ground
she rusts while it rains, there on the ground

no regard for the girl whose rainbow
seems to be gone
look how she lays so
curled up and crying but not from her loss
crying because her aid is the cost
with no regard for herself she whispers
"if I take a break, look at who suffers"
but the rainbow too must be regrown
it can only take time and care and sweet tones
encouraging words to let her know
she's not alone, she will never be thrown
from this world with contempt
because love exists
but love may not always come to you free
sometimes there is just one fee
it isn't much... just to ask

when everything is working against you it's hard to stand up. society and your own mind are like gravity ten times stronger than what you experience every day. all the predispositions and beliefs and your religion and your ethics cling to your wrists and your feet and they drag you down until your skull vibrates with pain. and all you can think is my country did this to me. my geographic location is killing me. and if only i were from here or from there or from thither or yon then where would be be? better. standing? maybe. i would like to think so. some say they know so. i'll never know though. your upbringing is a brace and a shape that you take and it's set before you birth. it's a gift and a poison seeping through your veins, controlling your hands and your feet to do the thing you're told is right and keeping at bay those thoughts that make you think things unacceptable to a crowd. well i say undo yourself. cut away those puppet strings and let them fly like ribbons from your free hands. they will colour your dance of independence and show the masses they are ***** and you will be an inspiration to all. just wait. if you fall you fall. maybe it will be worth it because you got to dance and they didn't.

how could this have happened? america was once the city of oz gleaming green in the distance as a hand of liberty reached out to ellis island. we were strong and proud and a country made of immigrants. a melange of ideals and talents that made it unique and beautiful and a portrait of diversity. but then it all came crashing down. we were going to have a proof. she would show that we are who we say we are and we are unafraid and we love and accept but all that came crashing down. suddenly a tornado of hate sweeps in and our progress comes crashing down. away with everything good and in with the stupidity and the unreason and the uniformed of the next four years. oh but worry not he will surely listen and respect you. simply name it and it's yours. but not if you're a man manlover. or a woman womanlover. or if you're a queen. or if you're a beautiful foreigner. or if you're a hardworking traveler. or if you're of a different anything. he will disrespect you because you are not as good as him. or different. of a different gender or race. if you are not orange, you are not worthy. but we can do this we can speak out. we will walk across our great land and manifest destiny to right the wrongs that have been done. everyone who holds this traitor up is everyone who has been shamed and we will not hold up someone who intends to bring us crashing down. we will open ellis island again and receive a flood of losers like us.

i got so lost that night
so lost
i cut all my hair off
i paced around my room
it felt so unfamiliar
the turf here was new
but in that being lost was something vaguely safe
it was like i was so lost that i was comfortable
i was so lost that i suddenly understood
that being completely lost is comforting
because finally
now that you know
at least you can start to find yourself
from ground zero

think of ice cream melting so you have to lick it off the sides of the cone

think of holding hands with a boy for the first time

think of being *****- not a gross ***** but ***** like you worked so hard today that you deserve this 800 calorie meal

think of the sounds of summer when you close your eyes, of a slight wind and the chimes that they blow about on your grandmother's porch

and speaking of grandmothers, and their porches, think of how you discovered watercolours in that very place

and think of coming home from a long day at the pool and watching the rain on your porch while you feel your skin cool down and you drink that amazing caramel tea

think of climbing the tree to get to the wall to climb on the garage roof and watch the clouds roll in over the mountains

think of the feel of the first time you got to hold a baby bunny and how in a way this made you see God

think of that feeling when you hiked the mountain even though your hip was broken and you got to the top and said 'i did it'

think of when you swam in the ocean and all your troubles ran off into the water and left you forever because the water was the pacific

think of putting on all that makeup and your prom dress just because you felt like it

think of dancing in the rain with your sister when the grass smelled sweet and the dirt was soft like a carpet and you felt at one with the world

think of cooking when billie holiday belts it from a record player and you sip red wine and pop the tomatoes in your mouth and your curls dangle in your vision

think of running off stage and getting high fived and glowing because you just successfully became someone else for a scene

think of that wonderful little secret joy you get from seeing that look he gives you when you're not looking... he just doesn't know you're staring at a glass reflection

think of how you have no money and the waitress is at one time annoyed with you because you can't afford a milkshake but grins as she walks away because she was that crazy kid too

think of the love you feel on your birthday when so many people made a special time to buy you something they think you'll like. even if you don't

think of falling asleep in the arms of someone you love and feeling like everything is in the perfect place and you are safe

think of the way cathedrals go up and up in the gothic style and how you understand the phrase heavenly light and feel yourself become weightless as you lean your head back

think of being cuddled in a soft blanket with hot chocolate while it snows, how you know your cheeks are pink and nose is rosy but it's all due to the world baring winter with you

think of thanksgiving and family and eating so much but being together because you are from the same people and you share blood and you are bound

think of swinging around your new haircut because you have nothing touching your shoulders and it ends so quickly and is new

think of drinking wine with your girlfriends in your pajamas and being classy together

think of backpacking through europe and how the locals know you are there to experience the real stuff and not some tour bus nonsense that never lets you stop at this little cafe you want to love

think of finishing a long book that shows wear on the covers that lets everyone know you smelled it paid so much attention to it for so long

think of falling asleep after a long day and knowing you deserve it and you are happy and all the bad is gone from your life. You've coughed out the demons and cried out the poison and you're now a week sober of sadness and everything is getting better and it's not even uphill from here, it's a sleigh ride now

it would never have worked out anyway
we're both in a 'love'
and by love i mean a class tank
one that you put yourself in and can see out yet touching is prohibited
strictly prohibited
as in don't feed the animals
but one night we were fed
fed with each other because our tanks were occupied with only one
and one can get so lonely
was stepping out of the tank so terrible if it was saving us?
we hardly even touched and we both ended up happy
almost
somehow we're both sad
that nothing ever happened, that the kiss so often described
yearned for late in the night
stayed like sunbeams between our eyes
and when our eyes met it was like magic
like electricity
it was more than lightning, it was thunder
because thunder rumbles in the distance and never seems to come close enough
and to think in that one sweet word
the time you took my arm and called me honey
as if we strolled along the beach at dusk
it felt like that
those hours when you watch the sun rise and the world is soft and new
like waking up to snow
it was almost like being loved
almost
and the sad part comes next
the part where i get mad
not because you chose her but because you were afraid
afraid to say '**** the consequences' and afraid to be bold
you aren't afraid of me but of the world
i could have helped you but no
and i know you have thought about it
it wasn't a bird that flew in and out your cage
drunken me made sure to clarify
and now here we are at the end
the end that keeps going and going until you are simply a high school memory that i call drama or emotions
until then you won't leave me
you'll stay in the back of my consciousness
you'll be the one I'm attached to with an invisible rope
always waiting and seeing and hesitating to chase after
yet somehow we are always following each other
flashing lights on a map always equidistant apart
and our time will stay between us
always you will be my kryptonite
and always i will be your mysterious girl...
yours.

she's a wild unconventional girl
her hair flies about her in wisps
she seems to be the one with bare feet everywhere
her friends call her a mystery and a tease
but not in the alluring curl-of-a-finger sort of way
in the way that she is deep
deep as her eyes are blue like the ocean
eyes that are so old, they tell stories of pain
buried beneath layers no one will ever see
including this femme fatale herself
she attracts those with the purest hearts
she doesn't even corrupt them, just makes them think too much
she's the other woman who is as beautiful as her photographs
she throws her head back when she laughs
she is familiar to everybody and yet always seems untouchable
if you touch her you are brave or a fool
she will always be that one
the one that got away but also you got away from

the thoughts of a generation
lost in translation
vague thoughts and notions
kids just going through the motions
looking for no real kicks
just a temporary fix
some empty experience that will make you tick
you shed the weight of your mind like a brick
wishing that one good moment would freeze
forgetting the therapy given by trees
spending your life living off screens
dissatisfaction is carried by the breeze
nothing you say makes any real sense
it's not poetry, it makes us wince
we who seek an intellectual rinse
your words are worth no Dicken's pence
your generation has fallen out of sync
the world forgetting how to think
driving the old souls to drink
before we've even hit the brink
please don't let your brains get away
learn to appreciate the thoughtful days
appreciate the times when your heart chooses to stay
in that stimulating place; the intellectual fray

the daggers spoken and aimed with eyes
such cruel intent, such wicked lies
never more will i fail to be
what those words have done to me
if only they knew the scars they left
stealing sanity is such wicked theft
while on the ground i lie beaten and hot
defeat shrouds my every thought
when will it end, this perilous night?
i grow weary of the daily fight
for in the morning when i wake
i have 24 hours in which to fake
a smile and tolerance of formality
to questions which seek no actuality
'sticks and stones may break my bones'
can only be said in sarcastic tones
while purple moons lie under my eyes
from cruel intent and wicked lies