I used to find myself rolling around in grass until my sweaty legs were sprinkled with green strings.
Now all I want to do is lie in the plush blankets scattered on my bed and sleep for an eternity.
I’m much more interested in watching other people live their lives, then exuding the time and energy needed to live my own.
It makes me excited to see people scurrying and talking and making plans for tomorrow.
I’m still too busy trying to sleep through tomorrow to wash away all my yesterdays.
I wish I was driven and pulsing with energy. The way New York City is. Like a heart constantly pumping a never ending drive into the black coats and manolo blahniks that constantly run around the city.
I’m more interested in watching and listening than I am in participating and shouting.
My sharp tongue now saves savory words to punish the mirror with.
I’m no longer concerned with using it on others.
That too takes energy.

I wonder what my father saw as his
heart decided to attack. Did betrayal
flash through his mind? Family gave
up first. His body followed in suit.
Whose face came first?
Mine or my brothers? Gods or the devils?
Or just his own in the mirror hanging
on the empty white washed room he
lay in. Which was a sharper slap?
The spasms of his hearts last pulse
or his daughter’s indifference?
Was his heart black and shriveled
like a raisin? Or blue and bruised
like the bump from a clumsy fall?
Did his eyes bulge in surprise?
Or did he know that this would be
the last strum of his hearts chord.
I hope he wasn’t alone. I hope
Christ was tacked on that empty
wall and shed a tear. Or at least
muttered a few words of forgiveness.
Because God  knows he needed it,
God knows I need it.

I finally learned how to use a lighter.
I’m 21 years old and no longer afraid of fire.
I have you to thank for that. You and I were rotted logs thrown
together in a desperate attempt to create something beautiful.
Because part of the beauty in fire is how dangerous it is.
We burned each other out and could not say no to pouring just
a little more lighter fluid over each other. Our problem was that
our embers danced in different directions. I had to burn brighter-
you had to carry a more powerful flame. I finally reached out for a
glass of cold water because I had been charred beyond recognition.
The embers that once danced off of your tongue no longer leave
blisters on my hands and heart. I put us out for good reasoning.
I am no longer afraid of fire. I am learning to control it.

I am excited..
There are at least two billion different snowflakes
kissing the ground outside of my porch door. And
I know that there are at least three billion hearts
beating all over the earth. But like many intricate
and individual snowflakes that blanket the ground,
each of those hearts are different from one another
and at this very moment; 4:18 pm, I am only interested
in the one beating under my hungry ear and trembling fingertips.