Waves of troubled blue
wash over
me.
I sold my guitar
6 weeks ago.
I gave away my favorite pair of
heels.
I cut my hair
and closed my eyes
and felt comfort in the teal.

I bought a dress;
it's see-through.
I've only worn it once.
On the day I tried to see my father,
but became the victim of
resistance.

I haven't seen my dad in far too long.

And I haven't stepped outside the waves.
Even though they swallow me up
and choke me whole,
singing
sea foam to the grave.

I take pictures of myself a lot.
Of my hands,
my legs,
     my feet.
I'm on a rock
and there's
  a storm,
brutally
   rocking
  me.

How waves of blue've
washed over me.

Shock waves, tremors,

rolling en force from the core of my being,

out of the impact of what has

transpired so unforeseen,

reverberating from my life to others,

and just as in me the rumble subsides

undulating back to blast me in the face,

a stark reminder of the force of the initial tremor -

unanticipated aftershock

We live in Glass Boxes.
Made up of love, joy, and
happiness, anger, pain,
and hate. We knock on windex'd
walls, shouting for
someone to break our
boundaries.

No one's box is made
the same. Everyone's glass
cracks different ways. The
sun sends patterns across our
skin, staining us with
experiences that build who
we will become.

I press my nose to the glass,
fogging my walls with
the haze of heavy breathing.
My eyes squint for you,
searching desperately for your
Glass home...but no matter
how hard I try, you're
always just out of sight.

I hear on the wind that your
glass is changing. Chipping
away to the pressures of
******. It's all I can do not
to claw my walls. I know these
bleeding nails would be
my only triumph.

So I sit in my Glass Box, bitter
at the rays of color that
turn my home into a rainbow
prism. The paradox of it all
enough to make my head pound.
Is it even fair to be happy?
When you're off, all alone,
drowning in you're own pain?

There are mud stains on the back of my jeans.
Empty glasses in the sink.
The blanket on the living room floor.

My lungs stop working every time I look at them.
Air getting caught in my throat.
I clean up, and it becomes real:
It's over.

I find echoes of you within me,
your savage, tender truths,
as if our blood had mixed,
as if our genes kissed.

I thought for a long time  that I could forget you
but, I cannot.
To forget you would be to forget myself;
if I ever did I'd be someone else.

For as the infant's face mimics it's mother
you and I are like the other.
And though I have been orphaned,
a lost child of our connection,
my soul's chromosome remembers.

First it’s, “I don’t have time”, and then it's, “can I talk to you for a minute?”.
But if I say yes, will you tell me your regrets?
Will you switch the song tune, can I sing along with you?
How about we harmonize your precious lies, that intricately constructed my hearts demise?
Let’s add up all the seconds that you didn’t have, put them in an hourglass and go back the past.
The past you told me to leave alone, because it’s dark outside, and you want to come home.
It wasn’t me, it was you.
It wasn’t you it was us, so I let go and now you’re looking for my trust? 
So now I’m supposed to look past your flaws and into your eyes? 
Isn’t it funny how time flies?
Don’t tell me about myself, or who you think I’ve become. 
I’m not mad, I’m not spiteful, the only thing I am, is done.

Flashes of denial campaign
undiscovered in my ears
while laughter sounds out like static
from a land where words
expose their wonder.  
What lies beneath
waves of pleading promises
that lie touching my heart
like winds of change
bring on thunder?

Has my existence flown
to find the answers
inside of years
up on the silent mountaintop
that I once called
my home?
I find that now I live with chaos
looking in my windows
at every single hollow place
it sees
when I am sitting
all alone.

Insanity is everywhere
I see it staring at my mouth
as honesty spews on everything
I deny to be,
while in all of my despair
I hear words
laughing out at me.
I breathe in deep then lift the voice
with which I write
and wait........
for my pen to bleed.

His eyes grew dark and distant
absolutely nothing wrong
He smiled without his eyes
how are you feeling?
nothing, numb, bored

Bracing each other, pushing
                                             out

Fearing the flatline, we find
one another, in the dark

Rubbing the blood back into his palms
he buries his breath in my clean hair
Counting down the seconds, we remember

Leaving the cold room, he asks
is it over now?

i think about
a lot of things
and most of them
don't stay for long
but if i had to
sum it up,
for you,
i think i'd try.

i think about my memories
and replay laughs
and lessons, kisses
and the first time seeing
people who i now know well.

i think about the near future
and try to tame expectations
and try to focus on the now
but sometimes it
gets tough.

i often feel like
dipping in and
out of life like
something rolling
back and forth
along the wave break
resting now and then.

but mostly i just
think of that
which is before me
like a map or
flower or a shadow
or whatever form i find.

so when you asked me
what i think
it at first seemed
a riddle, for
i'm not sure
i think at all
now that i
think
about it.