Life is made delightful by its paradoxes
And infuriating in its contradictions.

Those who find their identity in sacrifice
Treasure the moments when others offer their own.

Those who take and take
Are forever left searching for something useful to give.

Those who think of themselves as small
Play such a large part in the lives around them.

Those who are so self-important
Often have an audience full of sneaky glances towards the clock.

Those who love company
Crave for their time alone to be respected.

Those who want to be alone
Want genuine human connection.

Those who talk too little
Have so much left to say.

Those who talk too much
Often keep what is most important to themselves.

Those who take pictures
Want to truly be seen.

Those in the spotlight
Desire unbroken privacy.

Those who are trusting
Are too often trapped.

Those who seek tripwires
Spurn the unlocked doors within their grasp.

For those who give love
It is not always returned.

But those who love themselves
Untwist both halves
To find a heart left pure.

The words in my head
Sometimes aren't my own
Angels and devils, I hear them both
Mostly late at night or when I'm all alone
Holding onto something
Waves crashing in an ocean
Trees falling, no one around them
To hear the screams.

Sometimes all you have to live for
Is what you have to hope for.
And what you once held on to
Leaves you stranded in a moment

But you have to trust that life comes in seasons
And the love you once had
Just may, just might, someday
Come find you again.

Silence is either the most devastating or the most comforting:

When you scream into the void,
Afraid to hear your own echo,
Comfort is found in the grasp of anonymity.

Yet when you listen for a voice,
None will sound familiar,
For who can respond to ghosts but their own kind?

What is said in the unspoken?
In shared glances
In messages deleted
In letters left in the bedside tables and
Notes left in the backs of drawers

Pens with ink that haven't been bled
And pages empty, wishing they could say
The message you think but won't put down
Or say aloud

But I can hear in the spoken pauses
The extra breath between sentences
The stutter in your words

Can you read between the lines
See behind the camera lens
Hear the chord missing from the harmony?
Are these audible pauses
Or am I the fool, listening to silence
As it speaks volumes?

There is such beauty in a blank page
Waiting to be decorated,
Or marred

Black streaks dashed hurriedly
Dark and bold upon its face,

Putting shape to the emptiness
Light into the darkness,

The breaking of silence

Like running out into an open field of snow-
The vastness of the front lawn so huge
To little toddler feet
Plowing forward into the crystalline stillness
Shattering it, with sudden life
Joyful cries, wind, movement
Loud and wild life
Out of nothing, out of silence.
There is beauty, in the waiting
Of a blank page.

Sometimes I look back upon the wreckage
The boards are warping already from the salt seeping in,
The unrelenting heat of the sun
Those that are still above the surface, anyway.

There are some pieces of color -
A scrap of fabric, rope, plastic, remnants of a life
Which has been so wholly dismantled
I don't know how many times over
By the storms that came back, again and again
To make sure it hadn't missed a thing.

I am surprised I am here
Though I don't recognize where 'here' is
I continue to float, and watch, and wait
Until there is something new on the horizon

We will survive.
Shipwreck after shipwreck
Of anger, of pain, of grief, unrelenting
Unbearable
Until the waves part,
And breaths lengthen,
And you realize the sirens' call has quieted

You are safe enough, and all at once,
You can begin to swim again,
And reach out into the sea.

I dream of a neighbor waving when I pull in the driveway
We talk **** and sip wine or whiskey late into the evening
We do this every day, and every day we both need it
But their face keeps on changing, in my review
In the morning

I look in my phone for a number that's not there
The one I always call when I'm tearing out my hair
But every time I find the slip of paper, it disappears
The numbers keep deleting from my phone if I don't stare

I can't help but think it's because of the mistakes I made
Maybe that's because it's what they said to my face
Old ones I never knew until they got dragged out of the dark
The dust blown off so you could stack them on the new shelves that you built

I look in the backseat, 600 miles from town
Searching for the faces who at one time I had found
But the seats are empty, only my packed bag
And I still remember when this car was loud
Used to feel like a family even if you weren't around

But as time goes on
I'm told to think of gratitude
For where I'm at now,
For the memories I can diffuse
Maybe make them last, like a hard candy you refuse to chew
Keep the flavors in my mouth
From when I used to know you

And the road looks the same, though the wind screams twice as loud
As before, when I was alone, driving through these empty towns
But I thought when I came back here, I'd bring a village packed in my car
We'd take turns driving, instead I'm sleeping on the shoulder

So when I wake, and when I sleep
I turn the radio up loud
To drown out my silent phone and the unspoken words in my mouth
I wonder at the scenery
The beauty means a lot to me
I know you would've liked to see it too.

They say to not let things bottle up
But how do I release it with no one to listen?
Screaming into the void does nothing
When the words need somewhere to land.

Alone, it builds up
And it leaks from my heart
In comments and glances and that deep aching pain
You can't, or refuse, to see
You never ask about me.

Now that I look back, you never did.
Even when I asked about you.

So now I scream into the void
But the noise takes shape
As words on paper
And sometimes, someone listens
But even if no one does
I can pretend you'll see it.
And in my imagination
Maybe I can pretend
It helps me heal.

It's all around me, yet I couldn't point it out to you
It's too dark to see it surrounding me
I can see the shapes, but I know to you they're only shadows
Tell me, is it the dark or the light that is the illusion -
Are these merely shadows in the sun
Or moonlight cutting through the dark?
Can you see it?
Nothing here is clear to me.

After so many times
The cold is what feels normal
The open air, uncomfortable
The shock is lulled into a
Coming home,
A settling into normal.

Water overhead,
Pressure in my head
I feel like I'm dead
When I can feel anything

Ice in my veins
It feels the same as
The times when I'm
Breathing.

Cold shock
Isn't so shocking
When after all the
Tries, the lies
It's the baseline
Without it, the heart rate
Skyrockets

A body in space doesn't know
What to do without the pressure
Holding it together

Change
Jangling in my pocket
Causing such a racket
Coins are such a nuisance.

I pull a few out
With a clang, my soda drops down
I open it
It fizzes
I drink.

It's hot in the sun
But cold in the shade, when the breeze blows
I feel the air sting my lungs
In my memory, it's always fall, here.

The leaves don't crunch on the ground
It rained last night, though I didn't hear it
Not because my head was too loud
But because I turned my comedies up
So I could finish washing the dishes
As I listened.

Why do I convince myself
I'm not alone anymore
When as soon as I believe it
I'm left behind?

I step on your feet
I'm clumsy on the dance floor
Though I love it, I never had a chance
At least not before

In my dreams I'd sweep you off your feet
Or you'd lift me off mine
But here, it is awkward
For this time, it's just fine

I try to glance to your eyes
Your hands on my waist
I don't notice your gaze
Over my shoulder, looking at her

Is it meant for me
Is this meant to be
Or do you wish
I was someone else?

I lost my dance card
I don't know if I'm just a name on yours, in a list
With her name at the bottom
Instead of mine.

I am a living ellipsis
In waiting
Mourning
A transient period
Temporary
A traincar station
A layover
So many hours disappearing
Unaccounted for
Unmemorable, yet endured
In their brevity, in their nothingness
Time that doesn’t exist
Yet it can be measured in its passing
Unseen, and
Slipping
Sand between fingers
Waiting for
Something to come from
The waiting, the silent breath
Holding the air still,
Motionless lungs
Before the next rise and fall
Seeming, every pause, there will be no more
Until it comes
Until it stops again
Alive, and yet not, and yet somehow still
Waiting…

"Enjoy your own company"
Is easy advice
When it isn't the only option.

"Learn to love yourself"
Is a lot easier
When you aren't the only source.

We are social creatures
But maybe there's a reason
The most successful say they're lonely.
Maybe coming to believe
Evolution has finally grown beyond
The measly confines of needing others
Is our inevitable future.

Or maybe,
Now is just a season
To be in your own company
So the next will be so much more appreciated.

Even if you don't speak to me
I will still stand listening.
Even if you refuse to hear me
I will still sing.
Even as you close your eyes to every word I write
I will keep writing.
Just because you wish to erase the memory of me
I will keep my own space
If for no one else
But myself.

Readers, writers
Are a company who finds comfort
In the worlds we build for ourselves
And for others
Seeking solace when we have no comfort left
In the world around us.

It's where I work
Where I play
Where I go to bed, where I wake up
Those extra five, ten pounds
I can't seem to shake, to find the strap to release
To drop it from my shoulders

I can carry it here, I can wait to get home
Where I can let the strain show in my face
When I get a chance, a moment, to be alone
But I wonder
When home is no longer a place to hide
If I'll embrace comfort over sacrifice
So I can put down the weight
And focus on my own life

What are you willing to sacrifice?
What do you want to prioritize?
It will take and take and take
And you must decide
Is this greater good worth the weight you carry?

How will it feel to reach the top of the hill
How many times will you fall, and climb back up
Before the summit was a sacrifice
Of too much?

But if you enjoy the downhill
Convince yourself into contentment
Would it be a lie? And would you wish
You had given just one day more
Because maybe, it would have been enough?

It is exhausting, isn't it?
To keep walking,
To keep trying.

But there is nothing left to do but try, anyway -
Whether you stay or rise,
It won't change
How much time has passed,
How fast time is passing,
So I might as well get up.

How lucky you must be
Without even realizing
To have enjoyed the fruits of my labor
As I fooled myself into thinking
You really cared for me.

How lucky I thought I was
To be appreciated
As I was ignored
To be respected
As you talked behind my back
To be trusted
As you hid from me
Until the curtain finally fell
And I realized you didn't know me at all.

How many times will I fool myself
Into thinking someone cares
When they never ask.

How many times must I be judged
Without being allowed to plead my case
Until I see the jury is rigged.

How many friends must I make
How many lives will I build
On a foundation I pour
Alone.
Only to realize after the house collapsed
That I was the only one who lived there.

I don’t know when I stopped
Seeking destruction
Or at least,
Stopped pursuing struggle
For the sake of overcoming
And instead
Sought destruction
Within myself.

Where did the spark go
That inner steel
That piece that searched for fire
In which to be forged?

I used to burn and chip away at my flaws
Working to expel all of my impurities
But I think I got carried away
And somehow too much of myself has gone.

When did I see joy
In what now gives only
Pain
When it overwhelms
I am primed to fly
Flight before fight
As my younger self would have done

Where did she go?
I must call her back
Maybe the clanging steel will ignite a fire
She can be persuaded to warm herself beside.

Would you rather forgive
Knowing you had been wronged
Than stand by your righteousness
And remain alone at the top
Separating yourself out of penance for your mistakes
And separating from others out of intolerance for theirs?

Are you really at the top, then?
And is the view really worth it
When it can’t be shared?

Isn’t the point of forgiveness to give grace for mistakes
Those out of ignorance
And those out of negligence?
If it wasn’t truly hurtful
It wouldn’t need help to heal.

The deeper the hurt, the more effort it takes
To preserve
And rebuild
A home you can save.

Don’t mistake our “true colors”
From what truly are simple mistakes.
Don’t assume malice
When ignorance is to blame.
We are all human in our missteps and stumbles.
Don’t be fooled into thinking you’re the only agile hunter
In a world of clumsiness, of scrapes and falls.

Writing feels like painting with the widest brush
Making out shapes and forms on a vast canvas.
I like to sketch out stories like the scaffolding for a house
The framework for a window
The braces for a great tower
But to leave enough blank space for anyone to color it in.

Creations of their own fitting between the lines
Too specific and the details are overwhelming
But just vague enough to hint at beauty,
Light cresting over hilltops with golden glimmers of wheat
Vast waves forming in the dawn of a rising day
But the town, the colors, the city of people are made
In your image, dear reader,
Dear dreamer
You, writer.

From just below the surface
Reflections of dreams and nightmares
Lay on each side of the mirror.

I wipe the fog from the window
And look through
To see myself.

My bed is cold
Even as I burrow deeper into the sheets
Waiting for spring
With the flower buds buried on the windowsill.

I can't tell if I'm asleep or awake
As I drift
The numbness, the quiet
Is peaceful.

When the sun rises
I will stir
And unearth from the soil
Blooms which have been waiting, so patiently
To show the brilliance
Hiding below the surface.

It doesn't happen every day
And it's not particularly remarkable
But it's these kinds of days
That feel remarkably perfect.

The simplicity in the ordinary
Finding sparks of happiness in that in-between
Standing on edges, making something grand of what is seen:
At dusk and dawn,
There is light in both.

Helping myself
But what is it all for?
I climb slowly out of the hole
I didn't realize I had been digging for myself
Though I know as my vision crosses the rim
There will be nothing but a foggy open field.
Damp in the clouded light,
Unable to tell evening from night
Sunlight or moonlight, it makes no difference
I have no flashlight anyway
And no one is here from whom I could ask for one.

It is good to want for yourself
But what is the good in wanting,
If you are wanting alone?

I guess the hope is in the waiting
For a light across the field
Maybe, there is only the theory
You could only chance finding another
If you have both climbed out to the surface.

I wish I could turn it off
And be happy with being alone
No longer wish for connections
Stop wanting the things that hurt me.

I am happy alone
But I would be happier if I wasn't
And seeing the empty space beside me
Has made all the difference.

It distracts from the view
Though I wish it didn't
And even if I don't look, I can hear it, in the silence
I wish I could be happier alone.

I drive home
Past the same highway markers
I envisioned in my dreams, in the hours driving here
Waiting and waiting for the road north to turn west
Slowly narrowing
Until I'm on my street
In my driveway
I reach the door,

No one's home. The lights are off
I look outside, the tree in the front yard
Lies dead. Not dormant
I know it won't flower in the spring
No one has been caring for it

The dishwasher is full
The clutter on the table
A photo of it all would sound like footsteps coming down stairs
This isn't the way I pictured it.
None of my future is the way I dreamed, as a kid
Life left me on hold
And the music is giving me a headache
I can't wish away the silence.

I can only watch the past form around me
Like concrete burying my feet
Pouring, pouring, up around my knees -
I know it in my bones, I will be buried in this house
Or at least, some important part of me
Will never leave

As my body continues forward, trudging
The parts who were hurt, fatally wounded
Will stay here. I'll be buried in the yard
With no one to mark a grave
Flowers won't be left, and none will grow
I've been left in this wretched place,
I used to call home.

I remember how it felt
When all the pieces fit together
When I felt it couldn't be more perfect
And I could bear any weather,
And slowly, each piece was stripped away
Like a house on fire-
I watched it burn and collapse
Room by room
An inferno.
It left nothing behind
But myself, and my pride.
When it was dug out of the rubble
I glimpsed it buried from the sidewalk
The metal twisted, charred in places
But I tucked it in my pocket.
I'll keep walking down my street
(Though it isn't mine anymore)
Until I find a new town to be a part of-
Maybe a home once more.

I trust my past
Knowing it could be worse
And if it couldn't
Knowing it won't last.

I remember, I remind myself
Of the times the sun felt warm
The laughter felt unburdened
The breeze felt unhurried
The company felt wanted

I know it will feel this way again.
In times like this
I appreciate the sunlight on the leaves,
The moments of brightness speckled in the shade
And wait patiently for the clouds to dissipate.

Isn't there tragedy
In sacrificing yourself for other's beauty?
In stepping back from the spotlight
Because another craves it more.
They are also beautiful,
But the eyes of the audience never pass by a second time.
You find solace in capturing moments through the lens
Holding them in your hands
You stay behind the camera
Ever the watching, never the watched
Unseen until it's published
And read to the end.

Is it selfish to want to be less selfless, if only to be seen?

Prisms of colored glass
When shone through all together
Make a mingling mural of design
Beautiful, angry, kind, tender
But one look at each piece
Each one is completely different from the next
The side you see written, published, speaking, standing
Are all different views than the rest
How do you know a whole person?
How many views do you need?
How many visions have you shared with friends,
How many are left within yourself to see?

I have mended my soul
The splintering cracks
Painted them with gold
I fear will fade into brass.

I have sewn up my heart
The rough, jagged tears
With threads of silk gossamer
Becoming tattered with wear.

It should bring some solace
That it is part of the art
For these kinds of things
To keep breaking apart.

Hours, waiting
Left at the dock
The water cool as I dip my feet
Pants rolled above my ankles
The sun sets beyond the horizon
As I know he's not coming,
But I try to enjoy the evening anyway.

Each time the note is slipped under my door
The handwriting is different, the phrasing
But the date and place is always the same
So every Friday, this is where I am:
Alone, waiting.

Someone smarter, maybe,
Better in some way
Better for herself, or better for someone else
Might not have found themselves in such a position
For these propositions.
I can't even tell if they're from strangers, or maybe
Just written from myself, and I can't remember

But I hope, anyway,
And I show up
Just in case
There was a reason left
For hoping.

I wish I could do it over again
But at least let me live vicariously through you
Stopping you from making my mistakes
Celebrating your joys
Being proud of your successes
I can love you from afar
How I wish I was loved
Watch you fly
With my clipped wings.

Maybe I'll join you when I heal
But for now, I can only see the sky
Through your eyes.

I felt offended when she asked me
Even though it was the same question I had been asking myself
Back and forth in my head, for months
Because wasn’t the answer so clear?

It was startling, how potent my reaction was
I answered with my whole chest
In a way I hadn’t been able to speak in the mirror
Sometimes only being tested will reveal the answer.

See the beauty of the flowers
Those left to the wild, to the whims of the world
Unassisted by earthly hands
How relentlessly beautiful they grow.

Hear the birds, singing proudly
Free and flying high
And remember that despite their struggles
They are taken care of, as you will be.

Are you not, at least,
As beautiful as a flower
Do you not
Have words as important as the birds
If not more so?
For you are one of Abraham's stars in the sky
You will be comforted.

Maybe you don't want me
But you only want to be wanted
So I will take what you can give me
To fix my broken heart, and

I know it's not forever, and
I know this is a trap

All the love I give you
Will stab me in the back

But where can I go wrong
If it's all never gone right
I'll keep shooting in the dark
Let it go without a fight

I have nothing left to give, but
Everything I have
Unless I keep it to myself
I'll be alone until the last

So, maybe you don't want me
But you only want to be wanted
So I will take the pieces you give me
To fix my broken heart, and

I know it's not forever, and
I know this is a trap

One day, maybe, someday
You'll want to love me back.

Time lulls,
Slows to a dull throb
From the incessant ticking
That spears behind my eyes
Giving me migraines
Through long days and late nights
In some places, in the right light
It slows until it is barely heard
A calm beat, even on occasion
Complete and simple silence.

Airports, park benches
Country roads where you wonder
If by some accident you drove over the edge of the world
Because there is no sign of life
Only the endless horizon
Frozen at dusk:
The clouds aren’t moving as you speed,
Then slow
To enjoy the view
And you find yourself surprised
Not expecting the next stop sign.

Lulls in time
On walks through your neighborhood
In the odd halfway hours when no one is home
You feel as if the world is open ahead of you
And every claim of prosperity heard in childhood just might be true
You step around the oysters at your feet
Imagining the perfect color which will catch your eye
The moment you’ll select, finally, just the one
Rolling a smooth pearl gently through your fingers
Immune to the passage of time
It is weightless, rolling off your skin like rain
Peaceful
And in this lull, sweet and calm
You are safe and strong and
Everything you had dreamed.

I am neither here nor there, in
Limbo, my next step postponed
Stranded halfway across the river
I lean down to taste the water
It is full of salt.

Forty nights and forty days
But there is no sign of rain
Or what comes after.

I wonder if I am meant to wait for the ferryman
Or if, when the tide releases me
I’ll walk to Hades myself
Led, trapped
This path the only left open before me.

If you knew me well,
You would already know:
Every word has been written
In each moment with you alone.

Sand is running through my fingertips
Course on my skin, grating
As I watch it pass by, I feel it land heavy on my feet
Already buried under the weight of what I've missed.
And what I'm missing
As I'm trapped to my knees
In all my wishes and old dreams
They seem so naive
But you know what happens to the best-laid plans.

A picture is worth a thousand words
But only if you can read between the lines
There is meaning in the shadows, but one you must choose to find
A picture disrespected by descriptors
As if it only holds what you can see
But if you could read between the lines
Maybe you could find me.

Screaming
I let the noise take shape
Forming something out of nothing
In a mindless run, a sprint
A stream of consciousness, of thoughts, of dreams, of pain
Endless and rushing
Until I am spent and empty

Like a reservoir when the dam has been opened
I pour everything I've had left
Until I have space to breathe
And silence to think
So I wait as it fills again, slowly
And the dam will open again.

Life ebbs and flows,
But the tides last longer than an evening
The patterns are more than the months of the moon

Seasons of joy, and light, and warmth
And seasons of darkness, and dreary half-wishes
That maybe it would snow just a little bit more
To swallow up your house with you still inside it

Some seem to be in eternal summer, and only rarely
Or only on television
Experience the cold of a deep snow.

Some live in the deepest forests, at the highest altitudes
Battling the swift winds coming off of great waters
So sharp it seems to cut your face when you face it.

But for most
There are seasons,
Years or months or days
Between changes.

Even in the deepest winter
There is a morning sun;
Even under the most pleasant open sky
Clouds pass through,
At least now and then.

So take the joy when you have it
And bear the cold when it comes

Know the seasons will change with time:
Even the deepest ice can't freeze the sun.

Sentimental
A sentinel
Colored pictures would show him
Old, and gray
Weathered by winds and storms he couldn't name
Memories, weather-beaten
They fall the same
On his creased, stone face
Rivulets of rain dug in
Sweat stained
The outcropping set to collapse
A thousand years from now
He remembers when his placard stood
Not so close to the edge
And how many has he seen
Plummet, where the rocks do
He will follow one day
And no one will place his face,
Or remember
The monument to the sentinel
Stood by the river
An oceanside ringer,
Immediately recognizable
Yet once its gone
No one will know his name.

Spirit is present even when I don't feel it
I am present even when I can't feel anything.
The food I cook still tastes good
Even if I can't taste it.
The words I read contain great stories
No matter how much the lines are blurred by tears.
The sunset is still beautiful
Despite its evasion in every photo
And the sunrise is even more beautiful still.

Oh do you know how it feels
To be the tree that falls in a wood
With no one to hear it?

Was it even there to begin with?

Why does hope
Sometimes feel like barbs in my heart?
Is that the doubt creeping in
Or the poison of my dreams
Slowly, finally
Starting the process of my own death?

The gravel is quiet under my kicking feet,
Pebbles glance off my toes, just above the ground
I'd imagine it's loud in the silence
But I have headphones in with nothing playing
Listening to the idea of sound:
I like it a little muffled, so only whispers come through.
It's just enough;
Enough of what, I couldn't explain.

The wind nips at my cheeks, reminding me of a puppy
Playful even as it scratches my ears.
I wish I could warm up with
A drink, or a cigarette
But I don't do that anymore,
Even if it's the only thing I know could keep me warm
Sitting on this bench, with no one coming.

I'm warm enough.