i remember me and you, the you who is underneath
the failing heart, smoke brained; the sister dunking you,
the you who took me fishing.
and helped me rescue a butterfly on the beach
whose wings were wet and was half buried
in the sand...you held it in your fumbling hands
until it could move again
and we watched it fly away. if it wasn't for us,
that butterfly would have died.
now you are
the butterfly; you sit in God's hands.

i feel faint.
actually i feel the solid parts of myself seem to be
dripping away;
a dog could lap my sanity off the floor.

someone really fainting
could wash their hair in my skin;
someone scared
could slip in me and fall to who knows where.

"hey cathy it's dan"
they are solid, also known as
not fainting.

in a cafe in oklahoma! surprise!
are they home there with each other?
well it is known...they are known.
we are not.
we are faint: some
glimmer on the pearls of her teeth.

disappearing.
someone wearing cowboy boots
has never ridden a horse...
how is it the world has come to
this?
sad, fainting

everything boiling in simmering water
everything good boiling
everything good is leaving home
for the coast of faint stardom
faintly singing stars...
among them
she has a humble heart.

somewhere, God paints a figure
painting a figure -
up on a podium
is a new heart -
it is small.
faintest heart beat.

an even fainter kiss,
goodbye.

is that faint wave in the distance
really
a good-bye?

on most days
i feel like i don't fit in
in a daze
in-side the lonesome house
power to get out
out-side i don't fit in

i can hear deafening screams
the outside nighttime calls out
and flashes disguises the moonlight
pulls the cloak over our eyes and
calls itself daytime
for a picture of that blue sky.

only it's the middle of the night
and a neighbors drunken boyfriend
has left the door unlocked
and unhinged and screaming
open
so all the animals can flee out
while the insects
trickle
in.

and this is where we make our home
on the outskirts of dysfunctional
bordering loony
keeping the balloon tied down
by threads on our tent stakes in the ground
and even those move
campsite to campsite, past adventure and
future chaos - excitement
lingers
in the carnivorous blows of midnight winds
pleading us all stay inside, cocooned
has me begging for company
within my room; reminding me home
is the thing that never leaves the soul
once she's here.

is the echo
that the scary but empty thunder
trails behind in the noiseless spaces.

yet the sound of patter on the concrete
not even a samurai sword could swing through
like running naked and exposed
through wet grass lawn and
prodding danger
with a skinny stick stabbing marshmallows
to mend the wound
that lightning brings
like when everything hurts
that the light in her eyes
sees what we are trying to hide
sees and does not question
knows and does not cower
accepts and does not judge
the tower
of beckoning searching power
is as mystic as the magic behind
the truth that its miraculous we're still here
beating chambers of our hearts to open
into that stormy night
and beam our ships back home
like bearing wedding rings
that will only officially make us wives
to bruise our loyalty with kung-fu
and pirating
but we will make that wreckage
into battered art and take fear
into our shaking arms
swaddle its rain soaked face
in warmth

teach it love
consists of way more than two parts
whisper
that every ghost has its dance
every bull has its muscle and its horn
and every soul
has its retreat into the unknown
yet it spills grace
to grab it by the throat
scream there's still hope
and stand up toward
the blackout of a thunderstorm
ringing
like the doorbell might break down
and she would rush in
to swaddle doubt once again
against the cradle of her belly
to sing: *shh, hush, now...
it's me, i've got you.

what a game being played
I feel the strings
not yet fine tuned to my soul
stretching
they want to be taut
to be taught
to step away
from hurt, loss, happiness
none of it is mine
I am separate.
outside of this experience
there is laughter to be had.
of course there are feelings to feel
and things blockading my clear canvas but
outside of this
there is time to learn
things to teach
there is wisdom to be taut
so the events of nonlinear, wavy days
can pass, as it all must.
greater opportunity
to uncover the self and harness
the only distinct power that one has.
nothing
is forever.
but it happened and there is time
to make it all happen.
understand it will never happen
that way
again.
we are all going.
I don't want to be left behind and I don't want
to leave anything behind.
we are all alone.
but that doesn't have to hurt us

i can feel that i don't belong here.
feel it in their stares
their "airs" of "wisdom"
sat there the first couple days
feeling twisted
in my ways
and a whole lot more
than my gut
felt like puking.

felt like extracting
the pointy smiles
porcelain fingers of humanity
a constant war
with my painted skin.

if it is a sin
to condemn and judge
a brother
tell me with a smile
and a hand on that book
how so much hatred
and resistance
hides behind their
lash plumped eyes;
their porcelain hearts.

beating far
to the beyond that i'd go
if they could know
to accept like me.

i'm learning to uncurl
my foiled toes to the world
tread with the tips of my fingers
molding my identity, a print
the sharpest laser couldn't forget.

cast my rusty skin to the sky
so i could show them
we are brother
derived around one another
a formula.

a formula skewed
for porcelain mates turning out doll faces
on the conveyor
belt.

we are moving too fast.
i can feel that i don't belong here.
i can't feel their warmth.

this is a trick.
the ghosts of the past
are not gone.
sweeping smoke
beneath their doormats
whispering, "get in"
within their smiling teeth.
they are talking
to my rubber face.
happy to be learning to say no,
i can contentedly and stubbornly
say "are you crazy?"
and walk away.
this is something
i never would have been able
to do before.
i was never good at knowing
when indulgence
under the surface
was for pleasure
or to reverberate even further
into the echoes of pain.

notice the easy grace
in the red flag painted morning
warning some
of the coming rain.
tell them
i am typing this poem on a
phone screen
walking into a building
supposed to fill me with knowledge.
tell them
that some of these people
took in the lonely smoke
wandering around
in the night
looking for a warm mouth;
they are high today.
tell them
that some of them
don't need the bitter whip
of substance
to substitute for beauty.
tell them
i have walked away;
and let them know
that i
am the happiest that i have ever been.
                                ~

things swing by me
in an instant.
passing whirlwinds.
the sun casts a
rainbow on this page as the ink flows from my hand
that
i wish i could capture.
i wish i could paint
the rainbow gracing this paper.
it is beautiful.
the sun will pass because
the earth will spin
or it will
move behind a cloud
and disappear;
things
swing by me
in an instant.
i'm still here.

the sound of my own voice.
sometimes i forget
the sound of my own voice
when my throat feels brittle
and unused and like
the sound never really reaches
anyone
ill say hi and
people won't see me and then
when i say bye
i don't think they notice when i go
who am i trying to impress?
the sound of my own voice
quietly echoes these empty bathroom walls
"hi bye" i say and
there is silence once again and
i am at peace.

somewhere under the earth lies the truth. somewhere written in the heavens; the true nature is out there. every single living creature being on anything at all is an ugly distortion of the truth. i’m not saying we’re supposed to spend our whole lives devoted to becoming a less-ugly rendition; i’m not saying pleasing God is the answer for me. we are all meant to be faulted,
flawed.  we should not be tortured to claw at a nothingness we can never
obtain. there is
a lot left in the emptiness of rain. there is a lot left in the pair of eyes that refuse to meet my gaze. we fall to the basis as we raise the base higher “be this much – reach this level – for God’s sake, go to college!" God does not need me in college. maybe i will go there and struggle to find God in the faces that pass in the dust after it settles;
there will be peace there. there really is no need for this; for things to be this way. we are keeping ourselves in cages and God is throwing away the key. it is not his job to set us free. it is not his will to enslave us. it is WE that don’t let ourselves be. the scary, sad, condemning thing—that’s the irony.
we are fractals. reoccuring patterns deemed nothingness but:
there are colors there. there are colors within the folds. “life is but a soaring dream”
when we see, we laugh, we think, we pray, we dream; we be.
when we cry, we die, we fail, we lose, we pray, we dream; we be. there is not  one separate thing we ever did see. we are all fractals. reoccurring dreams.
reoccurring days when nothing seems to change—those are the still moments. the still moments are sacred. for it is only in the stillness (if we ever let ourselves be still—in thought, form, in space)
that the peace will come. the truth will come. and the truth will come ugly; to remind us we are ugly too. that dreams can turn to dust and we can watch and feel as they disintegrate.
the truth will never be pretty. i hope we can find the recognition to allow
peace to flow –
and i will marvel all the same. it is the truth that makes me stay.

it sometimes scares me
the feeling of being too wrapped up
too analytic too critical
too blind
to see the light
in every moment.

this foggy state of earth
seems to greet me
on my front porch
often
when there is a lot
on my mind.
maybe i'm pmsing.
i feel words
resting on the tips of my toes
and i am trying
to bend my back down
into freedom.

i know freedom is not like that.

mostly
when i breathe into a stretch
reaching
towards the earth beneath my feet,
it comes easy.
freedom

should come easy.
it does...

most days.

we have to realize our ideals shape our world
change our consumption fueled
capitalist mindset
of oppression, poverty, power
and aren't we all human?
why tear down other nations?
why tear down the trees,
Mother Earth - the heavens?
will our greed end?
we create our greed and why?
we can create
all we dream -
we have power, we have steam
we are trains,
imaginatively stuck to rails
of society;
what will i be?
will i marry?
will i have money?
when we are truly
h o v e r i n g
there are no chains
no restrictions
to our peace, serenity,
wholeness, oneness.
the only question
we need ask is:
will we be happy?
or
are we creating a world
in which our children
will even be healthy?
i fear.
i fear for the lives of many.

will we realize our power?
we must
for we are shifters
we are dreamers
we are artists, creators.
we are angels;
we are alive.

it is not possible
for the days to blend
together

as each moment
is fresh
like fresh cut leather
(no wait, fresh cut leather
would be animal skin-)
so fresh
like the wet cracked sheet
of something beautiful,
molded around
the frame of a drum.

remember how
you made them in memory of her.

each second is a new formation
of destiny

remember how the rough, wet gravel
felt between your toes?
how the surprise rose
from your mothers' throat
when you said "i'll do it!" took off
your shoes, rolled up your pants and stepped
- without inhibition -
into a crate of mud, rocks, cement
remember
how you made wine
beneath your clumsy feet.

what a strange feeling, forgetting;
where is it
going?
let the essence of those memories,
of the things that make you
who you are
echo through your eyes
in conversation.
forget instead,
the unknown. coming. forget the question.
for in forgetting you are lost,
you are found.
in forgetting,

you

just

are

and that is the ultimate answer.

I watched you walk away
Like I watched the storm bubble;
Menacing
Like
I couldn't escape the
Inevitable:
It was going to rain

WAIT, DONT GO

because of her
I know I am worthy
of love

I know there are
people out there
who might sometimes wanna
push me up against
bathroom stalls
or concrete walls
and wrap their arms around me

I will never
understand
why.

but I understand
it is possible
and I understand
because of her.

WAIT, GO
IF YOU NEED TOO

I swear
           I've never been okay with myself
     grown up
always needing someone else --
like I didn't spend
                 enough time
            tending to my soul
(even when I'll be all alone
                                                                forever)

and it hurts in my bones
                   because no one's
            home
if I don't have a
                          validating
                                 friend

but I don't want to run
             to the guy who wants the pictures
       I don't want to run
             to the people who have no problems
                        kicking me to the curb
     when all I wanna do is help them

      I don't want to run
           to the outside

               the outside
   is where the hurt comes
                                                      in
            and it
                     cuts deep
     because there's no one home
          and the lonely corners
  are screaming
                     for a hand
          and I am wondering
    how many more mornings
                I will wake up
            clutching my own

           until I realize
           I cannot find what I need
           on the outside...

    maybe I'm starting to realize
              
                    the answer  
                 must be within

even this separation
I feel
becoming a dance
as you process the events of Sunday,
I slowly let you go
and tell you it's okay to leave
because I'll survive
(Probably
)
and you have never promised me
anything.

and even the separation feels
familiar
Like you are kidding and might return
home for dinner.
that you might return home
and welcome me into your arms
maybe with no hesitation
behind your eyes or
guilt ruminating beneath your bone
structure

And I don't want to break down
your structure,
it is not my desire to see
pieces of you on my bedroom floor
or a shattered heart
beneath your ribcage

and I never want to enter a realm
where I can hurt you
but you've already hurt me
every Sunday and every time
you feel unworthy and
every time you don't see the disparity
between what you say
is my truth and what you can't
see as your own.

even the separation between
these figures
seems close
to being intricate and a
twisted
echo
of who we are and who we might be
together

You won't be here forever.
You won't be here forever.

Sometimes I wish I could survive
         on the insides of your skull
     as a parasite
                    you hated...
I'd always be with you,
close to your flowing
                      stream of conscious thought;
    you could never rid yourself of me.

I wouldn't have to leave you
                   and
I wouldn't have to change you...
  maybe I could just see you
                  grow
I wouldn't have to break you--
  maybe you wouldn't break me
                  either

  maybe we would both crumble;
     I know I can't escape--
--you cant escape--
                     we...

                     we.

                                         *I'll miss you.

IS IT OK?
                  if I am soft
                   like an
                   innocent
                   child's' skin
IS IT OK?
                 if I am not
                  thin--but
                  you can rest
                  your head
                  on me
IS IT OK?
                 if I don't
                  moan
                  when it doesn't
                  feel good
IS IT OK?
                 *if I go somewhere
                  else
                  entirely

it's not
         about
What you say
    or how you articulate
  your body
               movement

it's not
         about
Who you are
    But how
you
            present
                               It

it's not about
  doing the right
         thing
  but being the right
         person

and we
              can all dream
    about who we'll someday
Become

but until we get
        there
  we'll fight to be
                                   "someone"

The empty page comes out.
              -        -        -
(    It was said to me before
      that the very essence
       of brainstorm
             -  of creation  -
      is a blank sheet of paper     )

I want to talk about
             Colleges
She said
and she was genuine
   -  they all are  -
when she made a list:

She showed me
the stars I'd never
          reach
        and my
         Safety
           net.

And I...
Well I,
I started crying
         pushed up against the
old cracked kitchen cabinet
         and my family stared
at my flushed face
         And turned away
because none of them
         could say I was scared.

for the woman
with the faith
which keeps her afloat

even when
her Breaths are short
and she can barely move
in her cocoon
within her head
where she sits with dread
within a head
that pulses with pain
every second of every day

and still
she manages
to take a big Breath
and go on a ride

for a best friend
for a daughter,
A family;

for her passion
she crawls out of bed
and rises
with the sun

to one

big:

Inhale,
Exhale

of another day

It feels like
I haven't left
the soil of
my past
because I've
been
sitting in the dirt
for the past 3 days
trying to
blaze
the scars off my feet
bottoms
but it only makes
the branding
seep down to my roots

and the sunshine on
the pond
reflects only on
the enlarged
pupils of your
pooling
eyes

I'm still
saying
my goodbyes