i was made to break
the mold.

we present ourselves as perfect manuscripts
nobody sees the crumpled rough drafts and messy handwriting
scattered around the bedroom carpet at home.

nobody has seen the way i've
scratched out parts of myself
that didn't fit into the high school mold
then the parts that didn't fit into my suitcase when i moved away from home

nobody has seen the revisions i've made
do i sound too formal, am i too quiet, do i need to be a little bit funnier in order to be considered acceptable art?

i've thrown entire scenes of my life into the trash
because i don't want anybody to see them and i am ashamed

i sit for hours staring at blank pages wondering how anyone could ever find me interesting enough to spend time with

do you ever feel that way, too?

i write because i can make it as smooth or as
c h   o   p
                p y    as i want.  unlike life.

what does your hand reach for
away from the power source?
why do you reach away from that which will heal and help you?
fame in the west
false sense of security and peace in the north
greed fuels the reach for the east
down south you will find heartbreak and misery
don't overextend yourself
give yourself a backache from reaching for a happiness that will never come
instead, turn inward for a moment
reach for the light that is within you
give the richest parts of yourself away
and there you will find true happiness.

bae:  breaking and entering.

hamburgers for dinner.
happy earth day.

are you jealous of the jellyfish?

it is said they have no hearts at all
neither loving nor hating
floating in a utopia
"nowhere," as it is called

the tentacles have no one to love
hurting everything it touches
they have no eyes
love is blind, they say
but what use are
eyes if there is no heart

what use are these arms if no one will reach back?