You are just some girl
I dated
Then hated.
Nothing more,
Is what you deserve.
I’ve moved on.

I was told,
Some line, some time ago
About bravery being not who killed the dragon
But who had the courage to face it first;
Like learning to love the dark,
Or leaving home before it hurts.

Sometimes,
You realize you’re not the light
You thought you were in someone’s life.
Sometimes,
That’s alright.

If heaven was really real,
Would they let me play along?
I try not to put my head in the clouds,
But sometimes it wanders off...

If were a rich man,
Would I be torn apart?
I like to think I’d have the heart to stop
But sometimes it wanders off...

If I lived in my dreams,
Would I really be well off?
I try not to lose my mind in these
But sometimes it wanders off,

If you ever really noticed me,
Would my conscience keep me clean?
I like to think I have strong will,
But sometimes it wanders off...

If the days drag on to long and I felt I’ve had enough
Would I keep myself on track?

I like to think I hold self dignity
But sometimes it wanders off...

Stories you told, they stuck with me
In my field trips through your memories
I loved to learn the places you'd been.

Places unlike anything I've seen,
Brought to life through storytelling
From France to the Indies; the top of Mount Washington.  

Now today, times change and pass you by
Like cars on the street at night
Yet you never seem to mind.

Your stories that never grow old,
In the aged leather bindings of your soul
Will rest peacefully between you and me.

Time it seems, it learns to dream
When the world keeps on turning
As the pages in your book are running out of ink.

Time it seems, has been kind to me
As I've keep my youth steadily
In kind with the rhyme and the reason
Of your bones.

Time it seems, will catch up to me
Some point before eternity,
In kind, with the rhyme and the reason,
Of your bones.

I look at old photographs,
Our sun-kissed skin glowing
In the beginning of our final year in schooling,
Soon to turn pale-sour,
As sunshine gave way
To late fall gusts of leaves
And with imminent winter approaching,
I missed your sunburnt touch.

Do you remember the day we bought our beers, packed our bags and made our own party on the hill beside our building? It was just you and me and the sun. We were celebrating the first warm day of spring, but you still insisted on stouts, and they quickly lost their cool in the sunlight but I didn't mind. I brought my camera and photographed the wind curling through that blue and green sundress you loved, and you danced as if you were a leaf in autumn.

Until you spilled your beer, to which I reacted only with regrettable anger. You stopped dancing.

That lead us inside, away from the sunlight, to end the memory. You never wore that sundress again, and didn't enjoy those stouts the same way. We never celebrated another change of season, and I never again photographed you in the wind.

She sang,
Sweet songs
Under he breath
So afraid we'd hear,
Because beautiful melodies
Don't translate to reality
Simply.

Sometimes,
I have feelings.
And sometimes,
They pour out like
A bowl of chicken noodle soup
On on a kitchen table,
When you grab the handles
And it’s still too hot.
So you panic,
Turn, and spill,
And make a mess
Of noodle letters, sauce and
Over boiled vegetables,
With an impossible rhyme scheme
Of mismatched vowels and
Consonants on your kitchen table,
Spelling nothing other than
Failure in the most basic of tasks;
Which makes you wonder,
What’s the point of this
Anyway, to begin with?
Who ever actually
Learned to spell from soup?
I sure as hell didn’t.
My words are my own.
And soup never suited me anyway.

I want to ask a girl out:
And one guy says
“Just be true to yourself,”
Another,
“Just be like everyone else,”
and another,
“Just keep working out;”

And I think
I’m just going to ask her.

I’m always the last one asleep,
I guess its because I like to think
And experience all that the night
Has to share with me.
Sitting in the hallways alone,
Watching cold lights line down the corridor,
I think to myself, is time alone time well spent
Or should it be spent with another.
Bass is pumping through my head
The words of another lost poet,
Drifting in and out of happiness
God, I wish I could be like him
God, I wish I could find success,
In the core being of my unhappiness.
But I know it’s not my time
My time to share the limelight
With the words I find right
Thinking alone, tonight.
The world is still spinning,
And I can still taste the pine of gin on my teeth.
Eating away at my strengths
Tearing away my dignity.
I remember when I thought words were power,
And that power was the truth
But then I changed it for what I thought better
The day that I met you.
It all started,
And it all ended,
The day that I met you.

“What is the end”
He said, “we die
Without sacrifice;
Catholicity is
The decay of cathedrals,
of movie houses..."
But these movies are a moral force,
Of Christ and cross
Poems penned in gold,
Words no good, words too old,
Stories, cut deep with a man with a knife,
There is no life in the stuff because it tries to be “like” life.

My words may sound similar,
Though my pen bleeds aged ink.

I am no longer the devil you once loved.

So, we’ve had a few dogs, all the same. Golden retrievers with bigger hearts than brains, that want only the affections of those who love them. And those who don’t. My parents love to say how our first golden, Euka, once tried to get in the car with a random woman, solely because she had a laundry basket full of towels, his favorite chew toy.

In my junior year of college, my parents adopted our third dog, yet another golden, with a beautiful, soft white coat, and no brains to match.

My father, mother and brother all sent me pictures of this magical creature, sitting on house furniture and looking like the dog we have always wanted. Little did I know, he was poorly behaved, and peed like a fountain when excited. That never seemed to phase my dad, however, whose always thought I don’t use the dog to his full potential.

“That dog is a chick magnet.”
“I know dad, I know.”
“Really, just walk the dog, and you’ll meet so many women. So many cute, young women. Look at his face, he’s irresistible.”
“Okay, I know, I get it. He’s cute.”
“Yes he is, and he’s yours, so use him to your advantage.”
“I’ll meet a nice girl, she’ll pet him, and he’ll *** on her.”
“If she stays she’s worth it.”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to meet any cute young women right now?”
“Of course you do. You’re 21. You’re at your prime, and I know you can do it on your own, but the dog, he’ll just reel them in. Trust me.”
“You just want me to take the dog for a walk? Or do you want me to get married?”
“The first one first. Then we can think about the second.”

I never told you this story:

The story is, when we first me, first falling in love, I had a choice. I was at a party, with my friends, and you texted me. You wanted to get drunk, bring a friend and show off some new guy you met.

And I was talking with a beautiful French girl.

She was impeccable, with long dark hair and she scared many of the guys away with the intensity in her stare. Her accent made every word a masterpiece, and her style strict Parisian. She did it all like we could do it, but she did it differently. And she could dance.

I asked my friend what I should do.

He took a drink and told me “If she comes man, she’ll only want to dance with you.” He said this as he glanced at the beautiful French girl smiling at me, and I smiled back at her. And that sealed the deal in the kitchenette.

So I walked backed to her, and she held out her hand. She pulled me in close, and I could smell her hair. She smiled as she taught me, laughed as I failed, and it took a while to get the hang of it, but I finally prevailed.

And I danced with the French girl.

I ignored your texts, blocked your calls. And it was her that I was texting on my walk home, forgotten about you at a bus stop far from home. It was the feel her of her body against mine I missed, not yours.

And even though I later chose you, I later fell for you, and I later lost you, that night, I chose her. I chose the dream over reality; someone knew over a scene well seen; I chose love, I chose me.

And do I regret that decision?

Well, out of all the decisions I made which lead me to loving you, I have absolutely no regrets in dancing with the beautiful French girl.

Maybe it was a precursor, a sign I should have taken. But to me, it’s just a memory, and a memory I’ll never forget, a memory I'll always have about dancing with the French girl in the downstairs kitchenette.

And you think to yourself,
“There’s only one girl I want back in the world,”
But you don’t want her back, Jay.
You never wanted her back bud,
Because you never wanted her to begin with.
That love was a false idea of a prize
Like something given away at a fair;
You can’t love girl who gives it all away
So easily.
No, Jay, not you,
You can’t.
You never wanted her back
Because you never wanted her to start.

My demons lie
In minds I cannot control-

I love you,
I love myself,
I love them-

But two-to-one
I do not own.

I fell
Across the sea in search for you
In dreams, but never found
A wave work repeating
Because shores are shrinking
And beach property too expensive
For me to gamble
My limited heartbeats in.

So you, like any other landlubber,
Fell to your knees praying
"Oh God, don't let it be true, don't
Allow the seas to swallow me whole,"
Because you felt your life above
The urchins and other bottom dwellers,
And wiped ink from your fingers
As you tried to draw us reason.

But the illustrations
Of land locked trees
Only solidified the fact that
You were never one of us at all,
Us bottom dwellers, members of the sea,
And the power we felt together
Was but lies from a crooked tongue
You wore so well.

It’s these days
When things start changing
You begin to realize
How much you loved them
The same.

There was a time I’d wait for days to hear your voice,
Over the phone, under the table, through the radio
To hear you whisper my name,
And now I long for silence.

The way you sang with the wind as I drove too fast
Down backend roads and up empty streets,
And you thought I couldn’t hear you;
And now I long for silence.

And I waited for days on end by the telephone on my nightstand
Listening so hard for the telltale signs of a ringing heart,
Wanting only to hear your voice call mine back,
And now I long for silence.

Quiet used to be so deafening, like sirens blaring,
I could feel it, I hated how it hung in the air all around my head.
I’ve since found peace in the absence of your sound,
And now I love the silence.

I watched this grow
From the beginning
From a seed upon the earth
And I saw it grow
Into something I never
Thought could work
And as it grew
It began to unfold
Turn into something beautiful
Something I never could have known
But as it grew
It grew too tall
And with a tree so high
Gravity took its fall
And I watched it grow
Until it finally broke down
Now I watch it sink
Slowly back into the ground

The beauty of living life out of the ordinary
Is the view no one else sees.
The tragedy of this lifestyle
Is the lonesome journey to the peak.

I was outside a bar one night, smoking a loaned cigarette and looking at the stars. Next to me was an old man on a stoop, smoking too. He asked me what was one my mind, and I said love.

"It's stupid, the way we think sometimes" I said.

He got up from his stair, and joined me by the street side, looking up at the stars while he took a deep drag, paused for a moment, then exhaled and walked towards the night.

"It's stupid to think."

I often think back to the day, I brought you that place
With graffiti on the walls all failing to decay
And how in the summer’s ending heat I held your hand
And underneath arches I pulled you close and then

I, I kissed you right
Not like the time from the preceding night

But then came a new day, one further from our past
And you started to think about us, seeing this could last
I understand you were afraid, but fear is not to blame
When you held my heart so tightly then stomped it again and again

Three times, and never from a fight
Three times, sweetheart that’s not right

It’s amazing.
I had it all,
And watched as it all fell apart.
Unaware
Of how it would feel,
Running through my fingers
Like sand lost in time,
The memories I have
Barely forgotten.

I used to love
When you and I
Got too drunk to speak
And watched the stars
From my bathroom sink
In well-lit Boston
Because
Imagination is important
In times like these.

I’m too smart to fall in love,
Because let’s face it well all know
It belongs on the T.V. screens
And in between pages
And in thoughts and dreams
And for other people around the world
And for the birds and the bees
And for our parents
And grandparents
And their parents before
And well, just not for me.

I missed you today,
A little more than yesterday
But not as much
As I'll miss you tomorrow.

Many days,
I live in the present,
And I am content,
Happy even,
Until I'm reminded
That the future is coming,
And I must prepare.
I must prepare,
Because tomorrow is coming
And holds
Endless opportunities
I have yet to comprehend.

I fell in love at 17,
19,
21,
22,
23
23.

You’re pretty
Beautiful,
In the way you
Speak
Walk,
Talk,
Look at me,
And all our friends
Who spectate
Agree.

What I need
Is to live, learn
And love
A time where
The only lies
I tell
Are to myself,
Alone
In the confines
Of a simple life.

It’s not fair,
To let you into
A mind,
Heart,
Life,
That may not be
Capable of truly
Letting your heart
Reside
Anywhere
Close
To
Mine.

It
Will end
With a broken heart,
Guaranteed.

I can’t
Even let
You start.

My apologies.

I think I can honestly say
I loathe you,
-If you even know what that means-
For keeping me here,
Trapping me there,
With promises of foreign affairs
When I could have lived
In such lavish housings
And seen the world
With mine own eyes
Ten times brighter
Than this screen on my computer
Ever could display.
With the photographs my own,
Memories in mind,
I could have lived a life
So far beyond your lies.

I can’t keep
Track of how much I have
To do, before I leave with
Too many degrees,
Two count, because
I’m bad at math, plus
Or minus a few figure’s but thats
Okay when I can write
My own obituary at the end of my life and leave
You all my hopes I never
Once accomplished while alive but
Dead they’re somehow more
Surreal than when
Then they were just
Dreams I had,
Under the sycamore tree 
Out front on the cool
Summer days when we held hands and talked
Silently for hours about all of
Nothing we had never done and never
Would accomplish, subtracted
By all our hopes and dreams we
Wrote down under our sleeves
And I’ll store those
In a shoe box labeled
“Memories and things, etc” for you to find
Yourself in the words and drawings I’ll have left
Right for you under
The ceiling
We shared
Alone
Together.

'Who will love you?

Who will fight?

Who will fall far behind?”

Simple as these three lines may be, there is a lot of truth in them, something to keep in mind as we move forward in our lives.  It’s amazing what human influence in your life can accomplish, what forward momentum it can stir. Or at least, what we perceive as forward, because sometimes momentum isn’t always positive. Many times, that momentum is just digging a hole for ourselves.

And as we grow older, and start to think about what makes sense in our lives, we come to find our ideas of happiness, of sadness and of sanity are all skewed in comparison to those around us, those we care about. And as we listen, as we follow, and as we fall behind, we begin to dig those holes deeper for ourselves.

Towards mid life, if you’ve been digging, your hole is chest deep, and you have two choices: escape or keep digging. And those in that position many times tend to keep digging, not for love’s sake, or for the sake of their future, but because digging this hole is all they’ve gotten to know. For years they’ve been digging, whether it be for money, for fame, for love, and that’s all they know. And when you only know one thing, you tend to stick with it, and your choices are slim.

By the end of your life, your skin is sagging and you’ve become tired of digging. Your heart is heavy and your hands weary as you let loose your final breaths and lay back. You’re now alone in this world, under this world, away from everyone, and it’s of your own doing. Every choice you could have mad to leave the hole floods your memory, and you’re stuck knowing, from day one, you chose this. You dug your own grave.

A few young men throw gravel on you, and a headstone is placed above. A few kind words may be scrambled in, or just two dates, birth and death, and a first and last name, if you’re lucky. And the knowing truth that you brought yourself to this point.

If you’re looking for a happy story, this is not the story for you. There are so many ways to dig your own hole in your life, and you may not even realize you’re doing it. From love, to career, to the way you treat your body, your hole is being dug. You could be wiping the dirt of your hands at night, so sure you’ve done a worthwhile thing that you’d never even expect that you've been digging your own grave, plunging yourself deeper into the dirt and farther away from the life you deserve to live.

I can only speak on a small spectrum here, as I am young, and my hole shallow still. But I can say, with confidence, to find people who will fight for you, people who will love you, and get away from digging yourself into a hole. Find people who are the helping hands to pull you out, and who you can be the helping hand back to. And once you have those hands, don’t let them go.

All I can say is, if you want to be happy, stop digging. Stay together and build a treehouse instead.

How can I trust you when I can’t read you
And your history holds truth
Of stories of a confusing heart
Held deep inside of you.
Please tell me dear, will you do it again,
Have you learned from your mistakes,
Do you realize now what love takes-
That its a lot more than just the take.
If I kept you in my heart, would you hurt me,
To make those mistakes again to crush,
Unintentionally, even subconsciously,
Am I expecting a little to much?
While I’m stuck in my head,
Replaying over and over again,
The scene laid before me, before you
With you lying in your bed.
To break my heart would be to end me
In the interest of romance
To accept the call of lover’s lust,
To finally lose that friend.

The best part about knowing you’re gone
Is knowing I no longer need to try;
The worst part is
Knowing I no longer can.

I'd rather live my life
Trying to love and losing
Than never trying at all.

Words are not
A source of income,
But of outcome,
Because they should
Flow from within you
And if they don’t
Flow from within you,
Maybe you need to
*Turn the faucet on.

In week I’m turning twenty,
A time to end my childhood,
Numerically.
Even aesthetically,
As my face needs closer shaving,
And my body starts enlarging.
My limbs start aching,
And I can’t stay up as late as I want to,
Because sleep is now important,
Not just something impromptu.
Life lessons have gotten tougher,
Harder to see,
Without the blindfold
That childhood held on my eyes.
And the people around me have changed,
No longer innocent
No longer the same.
Having time to build a history,
With mistakes that may long last,
Sometimes its harder to accept them,
When I’m not part of their past.

There was only one girl
In the world who understood
All I wanted for my 22nd birthday

Was a typewriter,
To help me understand the world
Of the written word.
And still, with months away
I want that gift
If only to type her name,
“Juliette, Juliette
Why did you never return?”

I’m unemployed
And old enough to realize
That’s just not cool,
While kids around me
Friends of friends of parent's kids,
Are working their way
Into small names at big companies,
And it’s my job to clap for them,
To make them feel success
At selling out young,
While I give in all I have
All I’ve ever wanted
To live a dream
Worth chasing pennies for
Because I love the way
They click when they fall into
My piggy bank.

Uno mas,
or "one more."
One more stop until we're home
or close enough to call it so.
One more stop until we're close enough
to driving our car and picking up ***,
roadside.
To grabbing a coffee
to restart the night.
To talking 'till that predawn light
that reminds us why
we fell in love
the first time.
Uno
mas.

I know you’ve hard your times,
Tough, sad and tumultuous,
But I have too,
And I never left the ones I loved,

I’ll never fully understand
The thoughts that ravage your head
Why your tears fall like streams
Oh apathy coming out of me.

Sweetheart, I love you
And I’ll count the days
Until you’re home.

When this love dies,
Will you tell me,
Or will you drag out my heart,
Tearing me apart, piece by piece.
When this love dies,
Will you tell me,
Or hide away in two’s security
Quietly wishing not to be.

If love itself is not immortal,
Then loneliness I would rather find,
Than to live a life with love alive,
Only to watch it slowly die.

I loved someone,
Once before.

And that's why I'm so terrified to try again.

When we come here
We come here to dream,
To live wealthy seaside fantasies
Until it's time to leave.
We hang our hats by the door,
And exchange our dreams for reality
Holding dearly to our memories
To keep us working, endlessly
Until our next retreat.

I am weak,
A weakling, one of strength’s stragglers,
Because I cannot hold my ground,
I am weak.

I am weak,
At one-hundred-thirty-five pounds,
There’s not too much to look at,
I am weak.

I am weak,
Because my opinions can be so easily swayed,
and my words so easily turned around,
I am weak.

I am weak,
Because I’m the first back from a fight,
Looking to make amends, no regard to who was right,
I am weak.

I am weak,
Because with you, and I always gave in,
I always came back, praying for your love to see,
This weakness isn’t me
But only to stop your leave.
But now I’ve failed,
Now you’ve left.
I am weak.

I want to say I’m weak for wanting
But I’m human, and we’re all inherently weak,
And we all want what we can’t have
Just to say we got it.

I have never wanted so badly to be weightless in my life,
Than I have wanted to be weightless tonight.

Small towns,
Are hidden gems,
Like the place of peace we go
In Leverett, for portraits
Of pretty girls who know nothing
Of buddhist beliefs,
Other than what their friends say
At dorm room parties.
And the mountains are small,
Lining the horizon we watched
As the sun set on them all
And we looked from the trash room
For the best view
Of the orangey hues
That reminded us we were closer
Than we thought after all.
But this school, and these people,
And the way they view the world
Sometimes clouds the hearts
Of the young people inside
-The cage of education we’ve created-
And I can’t help but feel
You were one of them,
And I just want you to see that.
We were never wrong.
Only the politics of the situation,
Singing Western Mass’ song,
“freedom, independence,
Social liberation
From the sense of responsibility,
Confrontation,
We are a free-love
And no-love nation.”