I am a dot on Seurat’s canvas.

You told me that I wouldn’t be respected if I used Times New Roman, well maybe I don’t write to be respected. Maybe I write in Times New Roman because I like to read in it.

I could write in Wingdings. Would that make you happy? Would that make me stand out?

I don’t write with words I don’t understand and I don’t embellish nature to sounds pretty. Times New Roman isn’t trying to impress anybody and neither am I.

I am writing about what is real and I am writing about how I feel and I don’t need your opinion and I don’t want to hear your spiel.

Did that make me stand out?

The frustration you get
When you wake up in the middle of the night
And can't fall back to sleep.

You look at the clock,
Hoping,
It'll soon be time to get up.
But then you realize
It's not even near that time.

It's like the sun knows when you're awake and,
Just to be a ******,
Takes its time coming up.

So you lie there...
Trying to get some rest.
You squirm and change positions,
But still...
Nothing happens.

You begin to think about
Your life,
Your future,
The world,
Everything...

Then, all the bad thoughts become worse.
You think...
Maybe something might happen,
Or something may already have happened.

You try harder to fall asleep,
But you can't stop.
Can't stop thinking.
And you feel...
Upset...
Overwhelmed...
And you can do nothing
to stop all the horrible thoughts from coming through.

Then you're at the stage where now,
Your thoughts aren't coming in patterns anymore.
They scatter...
Like a nebula.

So you lie there.
You've given up.
You feel hopeless...
Like no one could ever help you.
So you just wait...
Wait for everything to be over.

Can we pretend for a bit,
                that every day is a bicycle waltz?

That every day is filled,
                filled with wine and whiskey love.

And skin feels like heaven,
               when no one is watching it touched.

That your body & my body,
               will never grow tired of the endlessness of each other's.

Everyday should be a bicycle waltz,
               With you my dear,
                                      *my immeasurable amount of intangible motion.

All I wanted was a cigarette.
We weren't allowed to smoke.
He knew where to go.

We swept sidewalks together.
Raked sand together.
Talked about life together.

His window was across from mine.
I think he saw me changing once.
Maybe more than once.

He was getting dishonorably discharged.
I didn't think he was a good man.
I didn't think he was a bad one, either.

It had been two weeks since I landed in Monterey.
I only wanted a cigarette.
He knew where to go.

I bought the Southern Comfort and bottom shelf gin.
He carried them with him to his room.
I didn't think anything of it.

We raked sand together.
We ate lunch together.
We watched movies together.

We sat on a makeshift bench by the ditch by the installation fence.
We drank and smoked and laughed.
I taught him Farsi and he taught me Russian.

Russian for "hello" and "goodbye."
Russian for "This is allowed."
Russian for "This is not allowed."

I think he saw me changing once.
He tried to kiss me on the cheek.
I told him no, my boyfriend wouldn't like that very much.

We smoked some more.
We drank some more.
We laughed some more.

It was 2130.
I had to be in my room by 2200.
He said not to worry, I'd be back in time.

I insisted and tried to leave.
I fell to the ground.
He didn't help me up.

I only wanted a cigarette.
He kissed me on the mouth.
I did not kiss him back.

I was immobile.
Paralyzed.
Drugged?

He kissed me again.
And again.
And again.

I did not kiss him back.
I had a boyfriend.
All I wanted was to smoke and drink and laugh.

He grabbed me by the ankles.
Pulled me over the ditch behind the army barracks by the installation fence.
I could hear soldiers coming back to their rooms.

I was paralyzed.
I always thought I would fight.
Fend him off with car keys stuffed between my fingers.

I looked up at the tree branches above me, my watch said 2147.
That was the last time I prayed to God.
There were leaves in my hair and dirt on my arms.

There was something less than a man between my legs.
It looked at me with hate in its eyes.
We swept sidewalks together.

God kicked back and swigged a PBR
     while I was ***** behind the army barracks,
     over the ditch by the installation fence.

He helped me up.
I couldn't stand on my own.
How sweet.

I vomited by a tree.
I was disgusted with myself and him and God.
I wanted to drown in Southern Comfort and bottom shelf gin.

He walked me to my barracks building.
How sweet.
I made it to my room by 2200.

All the girls watched me stumble down the hallway.
I was so violently alone.
Taps wailed outside the window.

I left my hat by the bench by the ditch by the installation fence.
He brought it to me the next morning.
How sweet.

The world constantly stirs.
Organs pump
blood and oxygen
to and from homes
streets and buildings.
Cars run by on busy roads
Construction crews destroy foundation
The people in this coffee shop
Make noise,
Drink espresso,
And taptaptaptap
On keyboards
And ticktickticktick
On smarter synapses
Than those of brains.
Twitter,
Facebook,
Pinterest,
Instagram
Wake up our phones
Propelling the world forward.
Absorbed in the pixels
Of tiny screens
We live to visit
Our loved ones
Through electronic particles
Floating on air.
The outside air is damp
Clouds dark.
The wind shakes the trees
to their bones.
The foundation of life as is now
Is about to be destroyed,
But no one notices.
Social pandemonium
Silences their voices.

A hole
You left one
Ripped through my soul
The contents leak out
Quickly at first
So they tell me to fill it, immerse myself
In anything and everything
And so I try, and so I fail,
Unfocused, distracted
Wandering thoughts keep wandering back
As if they've been given a map
Directing to my problems and pain
Going insane
Crazy, ******, asylum to follow
This house is not a home
How can I feel so alone
Yet I'm surrounded by the masses
People I know, friends, acquaintances
The sea of smiling faces and compassion encircle me
But all I feel is the pain, poking at me like a blunt sword,
Again and again
Nothing excruciating, but never letting me forget
How I let you in
And you dug your way out
And left a hole

She rolls a joint on an old DVD
Balancing the smooth plastic on her knees
She always wraps it so daintily
And when she’s done she looks up at me

She says, “Hey, you wanna smoke?”
I say of course, I’ll never turn down a ****
She lights it up with such a splendid grace,
Spillin’ ash all over the place

The smoke billows around her pretty nose
And into her nostrils I suppose
Two braids hang below her ears
Smells like **** and licorice whenever she’s near

As the flame hits green,
And you know what I mean,
I breath in the smoke of rapture,
And laugh, here-ever-after.
With each deep inhinhalation,
Such wonderful sensation,
My dreams and aspirations,
Come true.

- this isn't mine, it was written by my friend before he died

Mouths are moving, words unheard.
I nod along and play my part.
Elsewhere I’m afloat at sea,
Hushed by waves and boundless stars.

I laugh at jokes and feign surprise,
Each as it’s required.
Elsewhere I’m atop a cliff,
Where land and stars coalesce, conspire.

Exchanging greetings, shaking hands,
I do as do I must.
Elsewhere I’m in front a fire,
Lover near as twigs combust.

I bear the weight of all the words,
From mouths so rarely closed.
Though elsewhere I’m at home, in bed,
Book agape and mind engrossed.

I only came for exercise,
To prove my social health.
And now it seems, the more I talk,
I lose touch with myself.