I only realise now
After nearly a thousand poems
That with every poem
I write
I give away a part of me.

last English class of the day, hoodie on, earphones on, Modest Mouse Ocean Breathes Salty, sun half-way down, subtly setting, slight breeze, hold down hoodie as I walk, half-empty parking lot. a lot of halves. many things empty, never the mind. language is strange and fascinating. there is a single brown leather boot in the center of the freeway’s entrance cross walk. I notice this, it moves me. lost soles in the city. I image myself getting run over by a passerby, a single navy Sk8-Hi left behind. everything is a story. Del Taco drive-thru, two-for-four fish tacos, I’ve given up on any other kind of meat. Pescatarian I’ll tell them from now on if they ask. It doesn’t make anything better, it doesn’t undo what’s already been done, but at least I’m not contributing to the damage. At least I have that choice. Teenage girl in red beanie, black Adidas joggers, spray can in hand. It is Thursday, this is the city I live in. The Strokes released four new songs today, I signed up for their mailing list. I might go out for dinner later on, but until then I’m not anywhere else.

And the wind swept them away
All the blue grass
Where we lay and you made secret plans
It swept the memories

I remember to this day
All the others
Love lost maybe buried in a chorus of a song somewhere

Pictures smiling through the rain
Framed to hide the times we struggled but we felt no pain
We felt nothing

And it's the brightest ones that die
Always falling
Slowly becoming something else

I was hoping we'd get through it all

the walls leaned in closer every time she spoke
as fleeting as her voice, time shook before her
her hands were the minutes and the hours
her smile was a reminder, her eyes were a lover's
yet she belonged to no one but herself
each breath took was a second lost
each word drifted and passed around
each picture taken was a memory
she was slowly slipping towards death
and although she knew,
there was always something beautiful about it

n.j.

I am morning
A cellphone tucked inside my pocket
Who watches the watch kissing my wrist
While putting my glasses on
I am morning
A cellphone a watch my glasses.

I am a watch
A short hand pointing on 3
Reclining my back on the long hand touching 12
Waiting for my cell phone’s ring, my mother
Watches me putting my glasses on
I am a watch my glasses a cellphone.

I am my glasses
Watching myself on the black glass, the mirror
My cellphone’s off
Ring. Ring. Ring.
But glasses don’t ring
They just watch, watching the watcher,
My mother’s ring are my glasses, while

I am morning.

When creativity knocks
Be sure to let it in
Offer to it your mind
And allow it to spark within  
Because creativity visits
Everyone through
But not everyone is to be creative  
Unless they allow themselves to