After smoking my first pack
Of cigarettes
The novelty wore off pretty quick.
It didn’t feel cool anymore,
Didn’t make me feel important.
The cigarette was just something
To stick between my fingers,
**** between my lips,
Inhale and feel something
In my lungs.
A prop.
It was just a stick
With a red, smoldering ****,
A piece of tobacco
To play with before the ember
Ate way down to the filter
And singed my fingertips.

Now, I think I light up
Because the smoke is so
******* enticing.
It’s beautiful,
A kinesthetic work of art
like a ballet,
The way those silver
Tendrils curl so languidly
From the tip into the air,
So graceful, so smooth.
When I smoke
I can’t help but to imagine
I’m watching a group of dancers.

And I think I light up
Because there’s nothing better to do
Half the time and at least
It flouts the boredom
for a few minutes or so,
At least it interrupts the
Relentless monotony of Life.
Kurt Vonnegut mentioned
Something about smoking
Being a noble form of suicide-

Well, so it goes.

Human hearts are full of;
  golden sunflowers
  negative space
  sunken ships
  empty wine glasses
  sleepless nights
  deceased relatives
  cobwebs
  empty promises
  unshared secrets
  regrets

and the fingerprints of those
                                          who
                                            have
                                              broken
                                                *them.

They say to play with words.
I see each page is a slide and we
smile
          while
                    we're
                              going
                                        down.

We're make-shift,
Doctor Frankenstein,
            piecing               together
words                  that
             would             lay lifeless
without our spark.

We're other people, dress-up,
with our lens-less glasses,
pens in hands
that can't quite reach the tallest shelf.


Through our words we rebel,
show the world we are more than naïve.
Just because we don’t think
in refunds and rebates and 401k plans...
Doesn’t mean our futures won’t be bright if


we only hope to gain
a sense of ourselves, in that
moment when the tire-swing
goes so high, you try
to touch the sun.

I believe in Love
and other imaginary things
like hands that can't hold
and birds that can't sing

I believe in Hope
and other things of pretend
like stars that can't fly
and rules that can't bend

I believe in Promises
and other empty things
like the day that can't break
And the bee that can't sting

I believe in love
And other imaginary things
Like hope and promises
And rise of my wings.