i am clay
i don't want to lie out in the sun too long
because im still figuring out what i want to be
im not ready
to
dry
out
yet

I've always been told I can't run from my problems
but why can't I drive down the coast,
boardwalking and hanging ten
smiling at hippies dressed in henna
why can't I ascend the mountains
reaching into infinity with palms wide open  
I could hop into Seattle,
feel new rain on my face
kissing strangers reflected in the ***** puddles
or maybe flow with rivers til I found a bear's den
they tell me I can't run
so I won't
I'll spring
leap
slide
crawl
I'll tiptoe over the line

i feel like a bird that flew right into a window
that you pointed at and laughed

i feel like the shaven-head celebrities
the crack addicts
the high, homeless hippies on the street

i feel like a person of Wal Mart
the awkward couple that shows way too much PDA in public
the punchline of a fat joke

(i see all the fingers pointed at me as--)

i struggle to bend my wings into shape again
but i've taken to writing poetry and cutting up pieces of newspaper
to fit between the ruffled feathers

i shouldn't still have brain damage from the collision i had with your pride (sixteen miles high)

but maybe i do

i tap on the glass just to make sure that i really am a fool
and to see if you'll look back
to see me redeem myself
to see me fly
a
  w
     a
       y.

(but you don't)

instead of the thrumming of crickets
cockroaches
and the constant lull of the frogs by the lake

instead of late-night parties on the other side of the wall (didn't they know we were always in bed by 10:30?)
the drunken laughter of strangers
the foreign tongue that made its way into the dialogue of my dreams

instead of keeping myself up at night from the terror of
wondering what poverty-stricken, starved man might break through our poorly-fitted door to violate two helpless girls

my lullaby is the hum of a dishwasher
the creaks in the finely-polished floorboards
the purr of the computer
the cracking of ice as it slides from the dispenser in the fridge
a symphony of first-world luxury and comfort

i am up at 1:45 in the morning

and i couldn't be happier

More than once I've tried to push open a door that said pull,
I suppose it's not a coincidence that I have never pulled thoughts
from my head without at first trying to push them away.

Safety precautions say that most doors should open outwards
from an enclosed room, says that it's easier to escape if there were a fire
-there's a fire inside of me, but my door opens inwards
and I'm locked in the corner of the burning room I call my head.

There's a sign over a door in the building I work at,
it says 'exit' in a red light -which I found quite ironic,
if red means stop, and exit means leave, where do I go?

Most of life is spent in anticipation and haste,
anxiety and fear of mistake;
what changes have occurred that have made life a competition?
We were taught as children that 'slow and steady wins the race,'

so why am I speeding up at yellow streetlights,
and running towards red exit signs?

(NJ2014) © All Rights Reserved.

Maybe if my therapist was a Tyrannosaurus Rex
I would feel more comfortable speaking out loud,
Knowing that he wouldn't understand a word I'm saying, anyway

"I wish someone had given me an instruction manual for myself... When I was 5 my mom was concerned because I had no friends and it didn't bother me at all...
It would have been nice to know about my self-destruct button...
One day, when I was 16, I forgot to put on my bullet-proof vest and a beautiful boy (who had my heart on a keychain) shot me straight through the skull. No mercy... Is there a mirror around so I can see if there's still a hole there?
(I'd point to a picture) ... He hit me once.
... When I was 12, two girls who were supposed to be my friends held my head underwater in the swimming pool. And the adults just sat there and watched from the sidewalk as I struggled for air...
You know, it would have been nice if someone could've explained the functions I was designed to perform...
Because at this point
It's all guesswork-- am I mentally unstable?"

And the T-Rex would look up from his book, glasses shoved against his nose
And he would say,
"You've just spent the last 45 minutes talking to a dinosaur."

i am a tumbleweed
i gather dustbunny thoughts and entertain them with a tea party in my living room

i am a scarecrow that doesn't want to be looked at
but the ravens all come
they stare and oggle anyway
making me blush

i am a girl with a huge heart who doesn't want to be loved
because things that are cherished and wanted hurt people more when they break

i prefer being a sock without a match