You left Scotland
when you were three.
Even though
it wasn't your choice,
you left behind
most of your family.

When you first husband died
you left the city
for a smaller, sleepier town.
You left his gravesite there.

When your second husband died
decades later,
you left your house in that town--
again, not by choice,
but you left your good health
in that old white house on the cul-de-sac.

And when you died
less than two years later,
you left us behind--
left a hole in our hearts--
you left us to live a life
without you.

But when you died,
you also left memories--
laughs smiles hugs love--
you left an impression on us.

I guess sometimes it's okay to leave
as long as you leave something good
behind.

I never wanted to
become an addict.

I never even wanted to
take this drug, but
my brain begged me to,
fed it into my veins
against my will.

It sends me on bad trips
every time.

I scream at both
the living
and the dead
as they belittle me.

I trip out
almost every day.

My own mind is
my dealer.
I pay with fear
as it lights me up--
ignites my worries.

My heart bangs
against its cage.
It can't take much more.

But I know
I won't quit.

I know this lifestyle
will **** me eventually.

It's so **** hard to
write when I've got so many
words and sounds and sights
clogging up my mind

Glittery snow wrapping me in a hug
the sensation of losing myself in music
hearing your beautiful voice echo in my ears

I WANT TO WRITE IN ALL CAPS
but my words come out in a meager lowercase

How am I supposed to write
when all thoughts filling my mind
are of you

And yet drowning
in them
is paradise

Walk in, close the curtain behind you...
Reality doesn't follow you in here.

Sit down, look at the camera.
All that matters is this one moment.

3, 2, 1 the flash goes off
click...click...click...

Nowadays, this is the only place  
I'm genuinely happy.

To everyone else
I'm just a ball of play-doh
Stretched and pinched and pushed
To fit whatever mold they want

My family wants me
To be something I never will:
A nurse, a doctor, something with a large salary

My peers tell me
That being "cool" constitutes
Drinking, partying, getting high

And society shows me
Beauty is acquired by
Being inpossibly attractive, tall, slim

Don't they know that
Stretching play-doh too far
Eventually tears it apart?

The yellow crescent
overlooks America.
Washington's smile.

A tad on the quiet side,
I have my articles do the talking.

Telling a story
about an event I saw;
there is nothing more thrilling.

Though my name is smaller
than the title,
I'm still a big deal.

Questions ready, pen poised--
writing is where you hear my voice.

Why are roses the

symbol of lasting love when

they die so quickly?

Everyone has a
love-hate relationship
with us.
One minute
we're being kissed
and the next
we're being left.

People shake us,
throw us,
use us
just to get themselves
more money.

In this game of
love and luck and life,
we lose
every time.

I let people
walk all over me
so much that
I needed signs put up
telling them
to keep off.

It's so incredibly frustrating
How you drive me insane
Without even trying

Because when I look into your eyes
I see a galaxy of sparkling stars
I see wonder and mystery

But as I'm left awestruck
You see my eyes for what they really are:
A dull green color

I should be used to this by now--

I've been left so many times
in the past,
it's no wonder that
my right hand is inferior.

I never liked Goodbyes;
I'm more of a
"see ya later"
type of person,
because it holds the
(empty) promise
of future reunion.

"Goodbye" is foreign
on my tongue. I've
said it my
fair share of times,
each one being
harder than the last.

This Goodbye will be
the most difficult of them all, which
is why I cannot will myself
to say it;
to have those
two dreaded syllables
leave my lips
and enter the air,
making your departure
from my life
real.

I don't want you to go,
but I know that
I'm weighing you down
instead of boosting you up;
holding you back
instead of pushing you forward.

So here we are, and
I'm about to say it, and
the word is living in the back of my throat and
about to exit my mouth and--

I stop.

And "see ya later" comes out instead.

Because I'm not ready
to give you up just yet.

No matter how much you've changed
Your shadow remains
The same

You're a shadow of your old self
But no matter how hard you try
You cannot escape it

Letting light shine in
Allows the old you
To come through

But surrounded by darkness
I no longer know
Who you are

So when that happens, I recite the mantra once more:

No matter how much you've changed
Your shadow remains
The same

O beautiful seashell,
sitting atop my dresser--

whiter than the purest milk,
or untouched snow.
Smooth and chalky,
as if crafted by a potter.

O beautiful seashell,
sitting atop my dresser--

crushed under the weight
of a fallen frame containing
the oldest photo
of my friend and I.

O beautiful seashell,
sitting atop my dresser--

I'm sorry to say you've suffered
from the same fate
as my
friendship...

O beautiful seashell,
sitting atop my dresser--

she shattered us into
dozens of tiny pieces,
and left me as the only fool
bothering to pick them up.

You sit across from me
Your face visibly relaxed, innocent
I feel as if my teeth will shatter
From the pressure of my clenched jaw

My eyes are dark, a storm rages in my irises
Staring at nothing but the eyes across the table
But your attention is focused downward
Mindlessly playing games on your phone

You raise a hand to run it through your hair
As I struggle to keep mine at my side
I want so badly just to
Hurl something across the room

But then you utter a pathetic "sorry"
And my body begins to relax
While I silently curse myself
For not being able to hold a grudge

There she was,
staggering down the evenly-paved road--
passers-by wrote her off as drunk,
but really the tears were impairing her vision--

clad in Ugg moccasins that barely covered her
heels anymore, that embarrassing pair of
heart-covered pajama pants from middle school,
and the ever-too-big softball sweatshirt.

Tears cascaded down her face
in a waterfall, while her chestnut-colored hair
shrouded this natural phenomenon
as if it were sacred.

Her shadow stretched far taller
than the girl's actual height,
adding those always-sought-after inches
to her petite frame.

Ironically, her thoughts overshadowed
her own shadow; those pesky, ferocious demons
causing the salty tears of frustration
to stubbornly leak from her green eyes.

A young girl shouldn't be tortured by
her own thoughts, the worries of her elders,
carelessly blown in her face
like secondhand smoke.

She needed to get away,
escape the smoke-worries
that weigh her down in her own home--
but it was too late.

*The damage is already done...

The music queues up on a
never-ending loop--
out of sight,
the robins begin
chirping out a song
nearly as beautiful
as their light orange bellies.

The trees begin to dance,
swept up by a
crisp spring breeze;
thin branches swaying
in time to the
robins' sweet harmony.

More birds join in
on the song,
layering this melody
in a way that
no music studio ever could;

all the while
vibrant green leaves
flutter, and allow themselves
to be led by the enticing wind
in yet another dance.

Confidence is key
A key to opening doors of opportunity

Always keep your confidence with you
You'll never know when it'll come through

Don't make it your spare
Don't leave it out there

Because everybody knows that
Spare keys are left under the doormat

Even after all this time
You're still stained on my hands
Lining every crease
Embedded in my nails

I've tried to rid myself of you
Scrubbed my hands raw
Leaving pink and cracked skin
But your residue remains

I won't stop scrubbing till you're gone
Because God forbid
I accidentally stain someone else
With traces of *you

I didn't know
what to make of you
the first time we met.

You have one of those faces
that makes me feel like
I've seen you before--
on TV, in a movie,
someone famous.

Your jokes and quick wit
had me convinced that
I'd befriended a comedienne
when first getting to know you,

but upon learning more about you,
I realized you are more of
a renowned poker player,
somehow able to make
the hand you were dealt
into something valuable.

Like Mr. Gorbachev,
you listened to Reagan:
you tore down the walls
that confined you--
that people used
to define you--
and used them
to remind you
just how fortunate you are.

Like the rest of today's celebrities,
you are penning your own story.

I.
You came upon me so suddenly--
a tornado,
a burst of energy--
I couldn't help but be swept up by
your pull

You tore me up
chewed me up
and spit me out
after spinning me around
mercilessly;
the circumlocution
making me dizzy

I had absolutely
nothing left.
I gave you everything
I had--
my heart and soul--
****** up by your vortex
never to be seen again

But it was my fault too,
I was too
curious, too anxious;
I dove in your storm too quickly

After all,
I'm just a
stormchaser
looking for
company
in the
oddest of places.

II.**
A new, different storm
approaching--
barreling through,
electric--
full of
life

Surrounded by my new storm
impossible to
escape its presence
but I'm not worried:
choosing to stay
by it

After all,
I'm just a
stormchaser
looking for
company
in the
oddest of places

Clouds are
rolling in,
this beautiful storm
coming my way.
Only thing I have to say is
"Bring on the rain."

The dinner tray
that you spray painted gold,
behind the sink, where you set it to lay,
represents nothing more than friendship gone cold.

Once an ugly brown,
now pretty on the outside--
but we chipped it away, wore it all down;
found the ugly you tried desperately to hide.

Messy, lying, manipulative
your grand façade faded quick,
it was rather short-lived:
your combative nature did just the trick.

Friendship's about giving and taking.
We too late heard the tray's silent warning
about the one who spawned its making.
It dawned on us suddenly, like sun in the morning:

trays are meant to maximize gain
you took too much, gave too little;
over and over, a song's sad refrain.

You've now lost your chance to meet us in the middle.

You see so much more
when you
look
at the clouds
instead of
watching them.

Like the girl
shapeshifting an
infinite amount of times
for everyone
looking up to her.

First she's seen
tending to her sister,
a role model,
the sun offering
a warm glow
around her figure.

Now she's
laughing and playing,
her cloud quickly
expanding and gaining volume--
about to burst with
excitement.

And then she's
something all her own;
something indescribably amazing--
like you've seen it before,
but can never put
a word to what
exactly she's
showing you.  

They say you see
what you want
when looking at clouds,
but I think
it's more of
what you need.

I'm not sure what's worse:

That I was once your first choice

Or that now I'm not

I'm a painter here--
my pencil's the paintbrush,
the paper my canvas.

Happy, sad, good, bad:
I control every part of you
once my thoughts come to life.

Lately I've spent too much time
emphasizing the dark in your portraits,
turning you into some monster.

But you're not pure evil;
I must've lost my pastels--
can't seem to paint you in a lighter way.

How can I call myself a painter
when my most recent works have been
****** up optical illusions instead?

Your love for me is gravity
I don't see it
but I feel it all around me
in the way it keeps me grounded
while at the same time
allows me to roam freely
and forge my own destiny.

Yet no matter how far I travel,
I will always
gravitate back to you.

The guitar was strummed
deftly; fingers moving
carefully yet effortlessly
across the instrument's
smooth, wooden neck,
creating a soft and splendid melody.

We stared at the musician as he
lay on the white-tiled floor, enraptured--
we unknowingly formed a circle around him,
as if he were the sun and we were
the planets revolving incessantly around his pull.

Then the thunder outside joined in,
invisible drums pounded by an invisible drummer,
making our melody louder, stronger.
A downpour followed, drenching the dark night
in streams and puddles; all the while
adding the quickened pace of maracas
to our song.

The makeshift band played in harmony,
the audience watched in dazzled awe--
and suddenly the lightning came,
capturing this incredible moment
with the flash of a camera.

It's sad:
We let
this tiny word
dictate entire
Lives.

My insides
were so
full
when we first met

but then
you kept
squeezing and
pushing me,
using me
till the
very last drop
was gone.

Any excuse
to touch your lips
is okay by me,
even if it means
I am now
empty.

You try to tell yourself
"I'm just confused and all,"
but really
you're delusional:

Your insides quickly
fill with dread
as irrational thoughts
violate your head.

"You're a selfish idiot;
you think your friends really care?"
"You'll never amount to anything--
just thought that I should share."

The seeds of worry have been planted
deep inside your core;
sprouting and growing and spreading,
it's more difficult to remove them than before.

You try your best to combat the thoughts--
a steep mountain you need to climb--
getting back to normal
takes a decent amount of time.

Energy dwindles fast as
you try to win this inner debate.
You feel like such a freak show--
an animal in a crate.

You try to tell yourself
the worries are all wrong,
but the only thing you think is
"God, why is this taking me so long?"

And when you've finally won,
after all is said and done,
you realize one thing about these episodes:
you can't control what happens to you--
*it's twisted voodoo!

I wonder what would happen
If I were to
Go blind

Thoughts this grim
Shouldn't plague a young girl
Like me

It's ironic that
The only constant in life
Is change

At night, all I do
Is think in
Unfinished poems

One, two, three...
One, two, three...
Don't look down now;
Eyes on you partner's;
No, right turn first.

I can't get these moves down,
no matter how hard I try.

A puppet
being maneuvered by
a drunk ventriloquist--
I move about the floor
clumsily, never in the
right place.

Don't look down now

Shame and embarrassment
burn my cheeks.  
My neck snaps downward;
a sunflower going
out of its way
to be close to the sun.

Eyes on your partner's

My feet won't cooperate.
I can't help but
look at them:
they're made for
walking and running;
my feet don't like
being told what to do--
teenagers in a
rebellious phase.

No, right turn first*

I slowly rotate in a circle
(The wrong way, of course)
and everyone around me
belongs here,
fits in,
knows what to do.

A circle in a room
full of squares--
I don't belong here;
I'm left out.

I. the way it was
Running round your yard,
laughs shared and memories made.
I was carefree then

The disease found you:
Wheelchair-bound, memories lost.
Our worlds crumbled fast

Black was everywhere.
Tears flowed, casket closed--goodbye.
I don't like goodbyes

II. the way it is
Brow furrowed deeply.
Labored breathing, sleepless nights.
The stress consumes me

Looking at the sky:
golden rays brighten white clouds.
Are you watching me?

III. the way it could have been**
...
..
?

The cool fall air mercilessly nips
at my uncovered shins;
I silently curse myself
for not wearing pants.

Velvet night envelops
our little world.
Stars, like freckles on cheeks,
dot the night sky in a random
yet mesmerizing pattern.

I approach our building.
It's a habit now--
my neck automatically ***** back,
searching desperately for the light above.

No, not the stars' light
coming from miles and miles away;
I crave the artificial yellow light
of your room, to assure me
that you're there.

I know it's crazy and stupid
(and definitely creepy)
of me to do that,
but I just can't help it.

You're supposed to
make a wish
on a shooting star,
but I'm using
your light instead.

Saying it aloud won't
make it come true,
but now I've got
nothing to lose.

My wish every night
as I walk back home
is that one of these days
you'll be searching for me
too.

We stand face to face, legs spread apart
Like two outlaws dueling in an old Western

Fingers twitching
Eager to get the first shot

We reach for our weapons simultaneously
Shot after shot filling our secluded battlefield

A vein in your forehead pulsing in frustration and concentration
I dodge everything you throw my way

A shot grazes my skin
The stinging of a paper cut, magnified

You loom over me
Your shadow swallowing me whole

Weapon rising above me slowly, painfully slow
I do nothing to avoid your final blow

My mouth contorts into a wince
Eyes closing involuntarily

The shot pierced me
Straight through the heart

Perfect aim.

Dread coursing through me
It spills over in a single teardrop

There's no such thing as a "word wound"  
No hospital will ever admit me

Even if it's far more damaging
Than any bullet

We came together
because our ancestors brought
us to each other,
weaving us as one
like the way
they did with baskets,
poised and precise.

Two distinct
pieces of bamboo
skillfully woven
into one entity--
our ancestors
couldn't have known it,
but their action
changed our lives
for the better.