A bridge well burnt
Leaves a life swiftly hollow,
And the words well lied
Dim the eyes dark to grey,
And a heart well ignored
Forms a wall hard to swallow,
And a face well smiled
Fools the ignorant betrayed.

But fires burn out,
And debris scars the land,
And who are we to say
This mess should stay guilt?
Silly people, don’t you know?
Just take my ****** hand,
And learn of the strength
Of a bridge that’s been rebuilt.

Dry your eyes, dear,
for your tears are wasted on the untrue.
We can’t see your gorgeous smile
behind the salt.
The illumination you exude
is contagious.

I could pick you up
in my callused hands
and let your grains
massage my skin,
sanding away the wall,

but I want to feel
your every move
slip
    right
        through
            my
                f   i   n   g   e   r   s   …

In this free fall
floating around me
is nothing but what has been
and what could be.
A thousand words I never said
are enticing whispers in my ear.
Too many screamers crying,
“You are worthless!”
But my soul bears a strong shield.
They can’t get to my heart anymore;
I know my worth.
The lies swirl in the mist around me,
a cloudy gaze of nevermore.
And I’m just comfortable in this free fall
to a place I don’t know.
So wherever this takes me,
can it please be adventurous?
I need some of that in my life,
a spontaneous mix of alive and thrilling.
So, when I land,
let’s just run.
Never stop and don’t look back
unless I run head on to past.
What am I supposed to face right now?
Where are you taking me?
I ache for the moment I land on two feet
and dash to the day of knowledge.

*******,
You ignorant,
Selfish,
Lying
*******
For still treating me like a ******* after all these ******* years.
You cut me out for being cranky?
I cut you out for being you.

I should have gone with my ******* gut when I was ******* told to do so.

If I said that I didn’t think about you,
I’d be lying.
If I said that I didn’t miss you,
I’d be lying.
If I said that I didn’t wish for a break in the silence,
I’d be lying.
So, I won’t say anything at all,
just as promised.

A wooden gazebo
with flakes of paint stain beginning to chip
into thick, suffocating air
lay lonely and leering
at its reflection in my car’s royal blue smile.
A stop sign.

It must have been nearly zero degrees out that day,
but my pupils only focused
on the porch swing that hung from the gazebo’s ceiling.
A hook’s mighty grip and a chain’s sturdy strength
carried a gorgeously carved, masterpiece lounge
fit for a relaxing day.
The way it lay peacefully sleeping
but ready to fly
reminded me of the one we had a long time ago,
when my brothers and I would swing as though
we were on a playground,
pumping our legs until our path made a semi-circle.
It’s a wonder we never broke the thing clear off the porch –
or our bones –
in the process.
I can still hear the clunking of the chains
as the swing glided back and forth with severe speed,
but, God, was it exhilarating!
In retrospect,
everything is so simple when you’re five years old,
even the nights you spent spilling tears on your pillow
because someone called you words you didn’t understand.
Fear is easy.
Fighting back is a journey.

Through the years
life starts to peck at you with its long, sharp beak,
and its bright red feathers look like fire in the midst,
and it will break you.
And then it will break you
again,
and again,
and again,
and it keeps pressing “repeat”  as it pleases for the rest of your earthly existence,
and pretty soon you have to make the choice.
Will you surrender?
Will you fight?
Will you fasten a heavy shield over your heart?
Will you grow?
Will you win?
Will you live selfishly alone?
Will you trust?
Will you see?
Will your thoughts drown in lies?
Will you explore your own self beyond fathoms deep?
Will you become stoic to all of it?

I’d give anything to have one day back on that swing and its simplicity,
where becoming the next Michelle Kwan seemed like a logical career goal,
and the only mistaken assumption of me
was that the pink Power Ranger was my favorite.
Assuming the worst of someone
without considering or knowing
their present self
is like personally handing them the right
to become your villain,
regardless of their actual original intentions.
I refuse to be that villain.
I don’t exist to hurt you,
nor am I going to continue my attempts to please everyone
when that’s impossible.
Doing what is right for yourself isn’t always selfish.
Sometimes, it’s all you can do to keep going.

Keep me going.
I’ve forgotten how to figure myself out.

I guess I should start driving again.

Join the club.
Lie.
It's what humanity does best.

Consistent constancy.
Always unchanging.
Bustling busy or unbreakable boredom.
I’d say the replay button is stuck,
But my past does not know this feeling
Nor this departure.
A vague familiarity, yes,
But not alike.
I know how to busy myself most of the time,
But nothing ever changes.
The passing of time leaves no scars, no sign of healing,
Just the same feeling rushing through my core,
The one that makes my heart stop.
It never gets easier.
Just easier to cover up.
At the end of the day
The same loneliness cradles me to sleep,
Trying to steal my life away,
But I refuse to let it.
Usually.
Lonely is a long lost friend of mine,
But a bittersweet enemy,
One that requires all power to battle,
And sometimes I simply get sick of strength
And choose to forfeit the war.
No, it never gets easier.

Just continue to find more masks,
Just continue to welcome numb,
Just continue to deny,
Just continue to ignore
Until one day you want to feel again.
Where does your courage lie?

1 in the morning,
And my eyes won’t slumber.
The caffeine in my veins keeps my conscious brain flowing.
And when all else fails, I end up here,
A blank word document waiting to be filled
With some sort of story,
or some sort of feeling,
or some sort of ground-breaking thought.
But tonight I have no great words to say.
Just that I feel safe in this place.
And I think, maybe, I enjoy being alone a bit much,
Where I don’t feel the pressure to live up to any expectation,
Where I don’t have to feel distraught
or sad
or helpless
or frail,
Where there’s no one to impress,
Where there’s no one to hurt,
Where there’s no one that I’ll allow to hurt me.
It’s me,
and me alone,
It’s all I need,
A place to be blank.

I find in my writing
I become naked and vulnerable.
Strip me of pretty words and clever phrases.
See beyond the rhymes, alliterations, and metaphors.
It is in my writing that I discover who I am,
who I once was,
and who I could be.
But tonight?
I just want to be blank,
to allow myself to forget all that I’ve done
and start from a place where no one knows me.
Tonight I want to meet the world for the first time.
Not to begin anew, but to simply begin.

This is where I say goodbye,
And this is where I say hello.

Sweet
is the scent
of a blooming world
that has slowly
illuminated
to beautiful intensity
since the moment
you walked out of it.

I woke up today
feeling depressed
for the first time in months
simply because it's so easy
for you to make me invisible again.

Did nothing I wrote matter?
Am I just some game for you to play
when you get bored?

I took my heart,
sliced in open,
and laid it right in front of you,
trying to be as honest as I could be.

What
the
****
do
you
want
from
me

I can't give you any more
than I've already given.
If you want the walls to break down,
then prove to me I should.

And if you want to use me,
then *******.

I will be seen.
I will be heard.

If I spilled the secrets I knew about you,
I could turn your world up-side-down,
And sometimes I think
that's exactly what you deserve.

In a dark, cold chamber with a lock on the door
Lay the shattered, glass pieces of her heart on the floor.
Feeling so alone, deceived by so many lies,
The girl couldn't halt the tears streaming from her eyes.
At one point in time, that glue might have held,
Glue that fixed the heart the first time it fell,
But no dream could be true, so she built up those walls,
'Cause she found the truth: she didn't matter at all.
Sure, they were still friends. Sure he may care,
But he'd never feel the same, and life refused to be fair.
So young and naive and already heartbroken,
Bleeding from the wounds of words left unspoken -
Not those of her own, for she made her say,
But of those who forgot to feel, forgot to love, forgot to stay.
Just sixteen years old, and she already fell,
-Fell from love, fell from loss. Could anyone hear her yell?
Was there anything out there to let these pieces break free?
To be whole? To unlock? To listen to her plea?
But soon something changed. An unknown presence came through.
Someone knocked on the door. Someone's out there, but who?
Feeling locked in some cellar, this heart shivered in fear
As the **** began to turn. Could this mystery be clear?
But hope was let down when the girl realized
The chamber was locked with the heart still capsized.
Suddenly, some dim light conquered the dark,
Commencing as small, but came a fire from that spark.
In flooded those brilliant, bright, bold, beams of light,
But the girl held back, not ceasing her fight.
Then gently a hand took the pieces from the floor,
The pieces of a heart thought broken forevermore,
The pieces that seemed so lost, so broken, so torn apart,
The pieces of this dark, shattered mess of a heart.
The warm, caring hands then took out the glue
And placed them together, making them new.
So strong, yet so gentle. So tough, yet so tender.
The calm, warming arms embrace her and mend her.
And clenched in the hands that held her so tight,
The girl locked out from all else 'til tonight,
Was what changed wounds and bruises to scars of the past,
Healing every ache, every pain this heart had to last.
In his hand was the key that opened the door,
Sending light, love, and laughter - a locked chamber no more -
The key making all of the confusion disappear,
Clearing obstruction, destroying her fears.
But who is the prince who rescued her heart?
Who is the boy that made pieces one part?
Who is this knight that rides by her side?
The hero she loves, whose feelings won't hide?
Whose hand holds the key, makes her dreams come true?
She lifts her head to see... It's indescribable you.

Is this how I want to leave my legacy?
But is a legacy worth leaving
Once it’s been tattered and crumbled?
Is that all I am now? A worthless mistake?
Is this even worth writing?
Or am I just further consuming in the terror of “I”?

A fiction novel of a young girl and OD –
All the reasons, hatred, and pain behind it,
The scars they kept tearing open
So she never stopped bleeding,
And the devastation it caused to those who cared –
Would naturally impact the reader.
But when the reaction goes more like,
“I wish I was her,”
It’s not exactly normal.

And then I wonder.
Do any of you actually deserve an explanation?
Is it worth my last moments when you’ve given me few?
When your moments have simply minimized my life
To the putrid carcass it’s become of late?
Manipulation and lies.
That’s all I was worth to any of you.
…When you acknowledged my existence, at least.

Who is the stranger my reflection resembles?
Because I don’t recognize the hatred in those eyes.
She’s dead to herself and most of those around,
So we might as well make it official.
Agreed?

A stranger within and without, so withdraw.
I guess that’s what happens when you spend four years of life
Being lied to, lied about, and lying the pain away.
When you aren’t drinking it away, that is.

It’s when you wake up every day, wishing you hadn’t,
Wondering why you haven’t fixed that yet.
When the people you care for the most in this world
Just lie, manipulate (or try to, at least),
And use your life to no visible end.
When they cheat with you, or try to cheat with you,
While you weren’t enough for them in the first place.
When you know the truth, but you know you’ll never hear it
Because you’re no longer more important than an illusion –
One of power and control that precedes a human life.
When people don’t care,
And when they do, they don’t tell the truth,
And they sure as hell don’t show it.

This is who you become.

And this is all you want.
And you blame no one but yourself.
Because you can’t pinpoint where these desires come from.

No, people don’t want me.
They want to do me.

And to those of you who don’t believe a word of my wants,
I hope you find my lifeless body,
And tears of blood stain your face
Like the knives I’ve dragged across my skin.
But unfortunately, I’m not going to give the satisfaction
Of you fazing me that much.
Because, clearly I’m waiting around for something,
Whatever it may be.

I hope you got what you wanted.
I hope it was worth it.

Can you feel me now?
Do you hear me now?
Will you see me now?
Will you bleed for me now?

I dare you to stop me.

I’m not scared of leaving this world.
But I am scared of leaving before I tell how I actually feel,
When I’m not releasing the infuriation I hold so delicately within.
Is this how I feel?
Or am I lying again?
Do I really plan to do this?
Or am I just reaching out for anyone who cares?
Do I really believe this about those in my life?
Or am I creating a story for an anger-filled poem?
Is this what I really want?
Or is this just easier than telling the truth?
Who knows,
Since no one tells it.
Maybe someone should actually talk to the girl sometime.
Maybe she’ll tell you how she really feels
Beyond this blistering, blunt falsehood.

If you come clean, so will I.
Because somewhere deep down,
That reflection’s not me.
Somewhere deep down
I still believe.

My throat is on fire tonight,
a cold kind of burn that threatens your soul.
I can’t help but wish for a time when I felt normal,
healthy,
me.

I just want to breathe again
and have it last for more than ten seconds.
I yearn to push every bit of this stale air
out of my tired, unfit lungs
until fresh oxygen can reignite
the passion I felt for this world
just a few months ago.

Every week a new ailment,
a new pain,
a new tiring dagger
of reality
pierces my core.

I don’t have a metaphor for how over it I am.
I want to live again,
instead of just being alive.

Sometimes
It's easier to keep your mouth shut,
Because the words you're searching for -
The ones that explain
Exactly what you feel,
Exactly what you want,
Exactly what your gut tells you,
Your exact intuition -
They don't exist,
And no matter how long and rigorously you scour every possibility,
Nothing can explain.

And you realize there is no need to,
As long as you know what lies within your heart.

There’s a world
outside my window
whose breath is made of ice.

There’s a universe
in my chest
that could turn this place to summer
from the fire that’s created
when your skin collides with mine.

Sometimes I miss her,
Because she at least believed in something.
She had hope for herself
In spite of anything she felt or had to suffer through.
She found the worth in it.
She cared so much.

Then I pity her,
Because of her naivety
And how in the end, she was left with nothing.
So, I buried her.
Deep down, she's still there somewhere,
If you'd like to take the time to dig,
But she's barely breathing.
She cared too much,
And that's why she'll soon suffocate.

If I could touch the glow with the tip of my finger,
If I could wrap my arms around its eminent gaze,
If I could define its home on the edge of the horizon
in bathing puddles of purple-pink haze,
If I could run so fast that I’m sprinkled in mist
of passionate fires of elegant breeze
that spray from gigantic, white marshmallow puffs…
these clunking feet may fall to their knees.

Kiss me with summer,
a sunset tease.
Clothe me in musings,
a sunset pleased.



There’s nothing
quite so exhilarating.

It’s sad, I think,
to realize this -
again -
as an adult,
that you can never be sure
who to trust.
Because you can never be sure who will betray you
or play you
or just not care.
People
who are supposed to be a good friends.
For all they know,
you could be alone in your room
with a knife to your wrist again.
You’re not.
But they don’t care regardless.
Your need for advice doesn’t concern them,
nor your loss of sanity.

I guess you’re never too old
to find out
who your real friends are.

I've been treading the surface
to keep myself guarded,
and with weary limbs,
I'm ready to dive down.
Will you dive in with me
or try to hold my head under?
I'll grow from the adventure,
whichever you choose.

There they sat
On the weathered bench outside of the church,
Waiting,
Talking.
A hand lightly brushed against her shoulder,
And she felt chills down her spine.
He gently looked into her eyes
And smiled.
And that was the moment he saw her,
That was the moment he found her.

There she sat,
Glancing to where she thought she should be,
The reason why she was there.
From the opposite direction came an overwhelming light
Onto what she gave up,
And there he was still standing.
The arms wrapped around her
And lifted her up,
And she felt chills down her spine.
And that was the moment he saw her,
That was the moment he found her.

There she sat,
Alone on the stairs
After running away from the overdone breakdown.
Tears of guilt,
Sick of being blamed.
She heard him searching,
Calling her name,
But she didn’t utter a word,
Just waiting,
Wanting him to find her,
Longing for him to make it there.
He paced into the hallway and turned to her,
Disfigured faced converting to relief.
He kissed her forehead
And tenderly held her head in his hands,
Gazing deep into her eyes,
Promising no more pain,
And she felt chills down her spine,
More than ever before.
And that was the moment he saw her,
That was the moment he found her.

Here she sits,
A day like any other,
Pressing forward,
Fighting for reasons of which are unsure,
Day in, day out,
Unending.
Silly girl,
Stop getting found,
First you must find yourself.

We cannot choose
How,
When,
Why,
Or who.

It is inexplicable,
Indescribable,
Mysterious,
Effortless,
And pure.

We cannot control it.
We cannot choose it.
It just is.
Simply complex.

We can choose to run from it.
We can choose to hide.
We can choose to deny.
We can choose to ignore.
And we can choose to bury it.
But, eventually, it will catch up
And force us to do something about it,
Unless we want to live in misery, emptiness, and artificial happiness forever.
Because we don’t find love.
It finds us.

The slumber I love to live and breathe,
So happy that it almost feels unreal,
I can taste the bliss on my slow, steady breath,
I can feel the smile in my warm, flowing blood.
And as I open my eyes, I disappear,
My breath grows sour, and my blood grows cold,
I realize reality was a blink away,
And I wish I could sleep and never awaken.
The start is the hardest part of the day -
Bittersweet slumber and disappointed smiles.

We met.
You comforted.
We loved.
We breathed.
We broke.
I lived.

No one can hear a cry for help
When it doesn't have a sound.

No one can see a tear chill the skin
When it never falls.

No one can grasp a trembling hand
When it never reaches out.

No one can embrace a life
When it never opens up.

This weight upon my back
And this feeling in my chest
And this aching in my head,
It never goes away.
And this constant coat of anger
And the sickness that instills
And emotions contradicting,
They've all made me it's prey.

I can't do this anymore.
Life's not worth it anymore.

Outside,
A storm is brewing.
Clouds collide as wind unfolds.
Lighting
Strikes a fire in heart,
Burning desires of truth untold.

Inside,
She peers out through fog.
She presses her hand to hardened chill.
Longing,
Frustration forms the mask
Where warm satisfaction used to fill.

Venture
Into dark, raging night,
And hear the drops as they crash to the ground.
Listen,
Spread her arms open wide
But no cold, no drop, no sight, no sound.

Solid,
She stands like a rock.
She stands in the wind and the rain through the storm.
Confused,
She feels no drops on her skin,
No light in her eyes, just sound of the scorn.

Sitting,
She braves the rest of night,
Her only action of blank, empty stares.
Gone,
The feeling, her heart – home –
So nothing she is, and for nothing she cares.

“Would you…”
She asked,
“If you could…”
She asked,
“Go back and take it away…”
She asked,
“So that everything would erase itself?
So that you wouldn’t be put through this?”

The fact that the answer came rushing
With a quick and steady lack of hesitation
Is what frightens me the most.

I don't know why I do it,
exactly.

Maybe I'm just trying to avoid it all.
The people.
The laughter.
The heartache.
The living.

I've heard before
that this isn't the way to live.
But I know no other way.
My vessels have been spilled of their blood.
My heart beats simply to get me through the day.
I got sick of emotion,
because emotion gave me nothing.

Maybe the truth is that I pretend not to care.
And that is why I become the shrew that tears through all of you.
Maybe, though I want to be loved,
in some messed up way,
I know that if I can cause you all to hate me,
then no one will miss me when I'm gone.
Then, maybe, I wouldn't feel guilty.

Maybe I know I can't make it go away.
So I put myself in the situations I know will
put a dagger through my core,
so next time?
...Maybe, I won't go there.
But it never works.

Right now, I'm supposed to be out living,
out being a "college student."
But I'm not.
Because "I'm tired."
Maybe the truth is I don't want to feel.
I don't want happy, because it just goes away.
And everything else?
I just don't want to go there.

Sometimes, I say a lot of things I don't mean.
But hear me,
and know I mean this:
I care.
I love.
I hope.
But it kills me.
And I don't understand this at all.

I needed you today.
I caught only air when trying to wrap you in my arms.

I needed you today.
I needed to feel you lift my chin
And look deep into my eyes as if you were looking straight into my soul.
The way you always do.

I needed you today.
I needed to hear your soothing voice whisper, “Everything will be ok,”
To drown out the yelling and fighting in the room next door.

I needed you today.
I needed to feel your embrace, your protection, your love,
Helping me escape the taunting sobs two walls away.
I needed you to dry my own tears,
To let me bury my face in your shoulder.
I needed the simple comfort of your warmth next to me.

Can you feel it?
Do you hear it?
My heartbeat.
Because I still know the sensation of yours against my ear
As I lay my head upon your chest,
Closing my eyes,
Sinking into that moment and wishing for its eternity.

Can you feel it?
Do you hear it?
My presence.
I’m with you every day,
Though you would never know.

I close my eyes and see your sweet, captivating grin,
Your tender, mesmerizing eyes.
I search for silence, hoping to hear your voice.

I can still feel your fingertips brush against my skin.
I can still feel your hand run through my hair.
I can still feel my heart race with a glance at your image.
I can still feel everything that ever involved you.
Yet, I can’t,
For it is just a memory,
And I long to feel it again.

I summon strength from somewhere inside on most days,
But today?
I needed you –
More than I ever have in our time apart.

I needed you today.
But I cannot let myself run to you,
For I love you far too much.
And my love is your burden.

I needed you today.

It takes a certain kind of person
to convince you that your life
has incredible worth.

It takes a completely different kind of person
to do everything in their power
to take that away from you,
until you can force yourself to see it on your own.

And when those two are one in the same…
How the hell did I get here?

With stabbing pangs emanating from my core,
blood ever-so-slowly finding its way to the floor,
sweat on my brow,
and flooding eyes,
I step forward without falter.

And I step again,
And I step again,
And I step again,
And I step again…

And I shall never stop…

Another middle-of-the-night charade,
a delicate pas de deux with my bed sheets.
I forced my eyes open,
for the images on their lids
became too much
for the heart lodged in my throat
to handle,
choking,
strangling.
Let me breathe.
I'll surrender to the night,
to the slow passing of time.
Just let my lungs take in clean air
And press out every image I just witnessed.
My eyes are softly drifting again,
so shake me awake,
and give me a fight,
for fear of falling back asleep.

A  polished,  old  inkwell  sits  spritely  stag,
ready  to  give­  everything  it  knows.
Its  blood  breathes  brilliant  carving­s  of  words,
its  sight  blinded  to  the  next  encounter.

The­  tip  of  a  quill  c h i p s  a w a y  a t  i t s  h e a r t,
but  it  never  b
                           l
                             e
                               e
                                 d
                                    s where  it  shan't,
And  even  though  it's  shattered  before­,
there's  nothing  a  little  mending  won't  fix.
In  bustling  lives  we  often  forget
what we're handed is simply a privilege,
and  where  there's  give,  there's  take,  inevitably­
it's  easy  to  cleverly  take  for  granted.

Consistently  s l o w  from  brim  to  bottom
but  as  long  as  you  keep  dipping ­ your  phrases,
you  must  remember  that
eventually
what's­  e                                                            d.
               m                                                     e
                  p                                        ­       l
                    t                                      ­    l
                      y                                  i
                      will  need  to  be  **f

She looked at me,
so matter-of-fact-ly,
and the words came tumbling out with ease –
that if I don’t have a man in my life by age 30,
my life will surely be miserable. –
What has this world done to us?
Where is our independence?
These are the saddest words I’ve ever heard a child utter,
not because they are true,
but because she believes they are.

When I come home from a hectic, loud day of teaching all evening,
I let my iPod play on shuffle,
hoping God sends whatever song I need that night
as a conversation with my soul.
I like to think music is His way of talking to me.

Looking up at the previous sentence,
it occurs to me how stupid that sounds,
but I do it anyway.

Sometimes,
God doesn’t talk.

Sometimes,
I don’t listen.

Sometimes,
I’m overcome with the strangest sense that He is telling me
I am exactly where He needs me,
difficult as that may be at times,
and the steadfast anticipation I have in my picture of the future
couldn’t possibly compare to the painting
He is gracefully and meticulously creating for me.

I can feel every voice inside of me screaming,
sound waves bouncing against every cell,
clashing with every heartbeat,
and colliding with each aching muscle,
but all I hear is the swish of the ceiling fan’s blades
as they slice this stale air.
I have no voice externally.
You’d think I would be used to this by now,
but I don’t welcome a home
that tries the beat the life out of my joy,
that takes every loving moment I feel
and replaces it with a reminder that I’m unnoticed,
Forgettable.
I want my real home again,
where my walls don’t form massive brick barriers
ready to cave with any gust of wind,
where the fence that surrounds me
won’t shock me when I try to escape.
I want to feel life in my fingertips again
and wake every morning to a day worthy of sunlight.
I want to be seen.
I want to grip every worry,
every fear,
every smile,
every laugh,
every vulnerability
so tightly in my fists
that my fingernails cut holes in my palms
deep enough for me to bleed out all of my insecurities,
and then I want to hold each hand out
toward anyone who claims to care
and release the muscles that are trembling so softly from grip,
so I can release uncertainties that have shaken me so swiftly from flight,
and I want you all to watch as each part of me
presents itself before you as it falls from my grasp,
each part of me that you didn’t know,
each part of me that I thought died,
each part of me that I’ve worked intensely to build,
and each part of me that you look over,
because every move I make
and every piece of my soul
is like a light breeze
in the midst of autumn:
invisible,
lacking importance,
nice to have,
but unnecessary.

With each step
the keys swinging from my wrist
lightly graze my thigh,
urging it to continue moving forward
and resist looking back.
The aroma
of freshly bloomed honeysuckle
fills my nostrils
with the sweet nostalgia of past springs
alongside friends.
Meticulously-
picked songs bounce against my eardrums
as the soundtrack
to a life of simultaneous apathy, agony,
and ecstasy.
It seems
some higher being knew that
I needed to feel
the lonely tonight in a way I haven’t allowed
in quite some time,
that I just
needed to feel within myself
everything I’ve been
stowing away under my lungs,
adding pressure to each breath
that I never
noticed was there in the first place,
forcing away
the laze with which I’ve treated the existence
I’ve become.
In my peripheral
I see that colors are bursting
in the sky behind me,
and it’s enough for the wind to press my cheek
to look back
on a vision I’ve not witnessed
since autumn approached,
and I close my eyes to let my head fall back
because it’s almost
too much life to feel.

It occurs to me
there is beauty behind us
sometimes worth giving a glimpse,
and if we don’t turn around
at a time that calls,
we won’t find our way back home.

Eyes wide shut,
Fists lightly clenched,
Images slow dancing across my blackened, rosy lid.
Roll over,
Feel the stillness
That unstills my every breath,
And remember to forget,
The negative forbid.

I wrap my arms around its case
And place my head upon its face,
Imagining a steady beat pulsing on my ear,
But retract my every thought,
And reject all that I fought,
For though I’ve clipped my sorry wings,
They do not fly in fear.

To fly without my wings
Will be my one and only feat
To surpass all of the tremors
And darkened, doomed deceit.
And to unwind all that is tied
To this endless weary cheat
Was the greatest forward stroke,
Melt the chains upon my feet.

Scrub to numb,
Worn to a strength.
My eyes no longer paint on it their salty, selfish tears.
Callused hands,
Cleanse away
The stain that uncleaned me –
My reflection on this cloth
As it so long appeared.

I won’t say it here, but it’s still within,
No fading, faltered fall,
And sometimes through my longing heart
I wonder if it’s stall –
Is this really who I am, or have I fooled myself at last? –
But this glimmer of light I feel whispers,
“Your soul has grown in vast.”

I can hear my lonely, happy heart.
It taps,
It thumps,
It pounds.
Keeps time to the pillow pressed to my ear,
A beat without a sound.

I still wake up
in the middle of the night
from nightmare
after nightmare
of your unbeating heart,
and every time
that I wish I could speak
to the demons
that leave you breathless,
my sweating soul
sinks with gravity,
and fear sews shut
my lips.

Spilling from wrists,
Staining on carpets,
Dripping from the knife left on the edge of the table
Is the blood poured out
Of the naïve, young heart,
Before beating strongly and slowly not able.

The immensity of love
She held in her heart
Caused her to harbor so much hate.
The world she’s come to
Know and live in
Is one that leaves no desire to wait.

Reaching through darkness
Was never success.
No one and nothing reached back for her.
So she took her own hand,
Hardened her soul,
Numbed her own pain, and they didn’t implore her.

Then she took her own knife
And stared at the reflection
Of the girl she’s come to hate and heed.
Reflections of them
Lie in her eyes,
The ones she called for, but her they don’t need.

It’s tragic when someone
Dies inside,
Screaming her loudest blood-curdling scream,
When outside they see
A pretty face,
The laugh of a life not what it seems.

And when someone shows care
And forces the help,
The last of her desires is to sit and listen
To anything and everything
She knows is true,
But her soul has blackened to a glassy glisten.

Do they regret it now?
Do they want to turn time?
Do they wish they could grab the hand that reached out?
Are they happy now
That she’s gone forever,
No longer a burden, stormy love turned drought?

She took her own hand,
And she took her own heart,
And she crushed her own soul till her dying eyes faded,
And she spilled her own blood,
And she took her own life,
First inside, now out, alone and unaided.

And she took their daughter,
And she took their friend,
And she took the girl not loved anymore,
And she took their student,
And she took their sister,
And she took the girl not feeling cared for.

She doesn’t blame any of them.
They just couldn’t save her from herself.
She’s broken herself for the last time.
She’s breathing her breath for the last time.
Feel all hints of life fade from her body...

I don't care
how many times
you reassure,
I will still think
there's something
wrong
with me.

Words are trivial.

For a split second
I remembered what it was like
To feel at home.

And with a breath,
It was gone,
Vanished with the footsteps fading down the hall.

I am my own shelter.
I am a rock.

I’ve spent the greater part of the last decade
nuzzled in a driver’s seat,
fixating on the horizon,
while mellow tunes from my iPod
serenade the muscle in my chest
so that my breathing might stay steady enough
to control my impatience
for just enough time to see beyond this highway.

You see,
I’ve been chasing sunsets for as long as I can remember,
but I still recall the tranquility that rushed over me
the first time my feet touched the ocean floor
with the tide’s white noise silencing my cares
and a rainbow-canvas sky mirrored in sparkling waters
blinding my responsibility.
I’ve never been able to find it again,
because every time I greet the skyline,
I fall short.

There is something missing within me,
a piece of myself I never quite found,
even after the chaos of orchestrating my own
death and rebirth.
I know everyone finds the ocean sunset peaceful,
but there is a key in that fiery heaven
that only fits the crevices to my brain,
and no soul could match its sanctity,
so I will keep running to that shoreline
until I find a sky that can fix what the locksmith broke
and the waves that will put my reeling mind to sleep.

If I bleed out my truth
before I breathe out my life,
then I will have not one regret
to carry with me when I go.

Life is all about timing.
We are bombarded with epic adventures
and tales of romance
and gracious words
that are supposed to inspire,
but sometimes
all you need is to close your eyes
and listen to the white noise of life.

Soak it in.
Squeeze every muscle in your body
as though the daily knives that cut your soul
are resting their blades on your skin.
Feel the blood begin to boil
from the spark in your chest
that quickly catches fire.
Then listen to the world around you
and know that you are immensely irreplaceable.
Let go of each knife you hold,
release each joint,
and focus only on the wind
that dances through your fingers.
Feel it lift your chin to the sky
as it makes your arm into wings,
your fingers into feathers.

Open your eyes now, dear.
You are free.
Every breath you take
is either a drop in the ocean
or a splash in a puddle.
There's a difference
between living and being alive.

So imagine the possibilities,
and be them.

I burn with the need to fill your spaces
with metaphors of darkness
and adjectives for freedom.
I carry your spiral-bound glimpses of madness
in a whirling echo
inside my chest.
I scour my lobes for pulses of feelings
in little black lines
that cover my wrist,

but whenever I try,
my bones grow weary,
and I never
complete my