you're always
holding on
to your thought
               like the realness
            of it could
           bring you back
             to earth
                        let me tell you
                         something:
                        it's not really
                          tangible
                                at all

So what's another day
When they all blur into
A smoke filled haze
With friends who seem constant
That slowly turn to go

Leaving a girl with no direction
A childhood buddy in college
A neighborhood friendship
disintegrated into dust with a divorce and a packed up moving van
A juvenile lover that never faced forward

Some close network of strings
becomes untangled like a
Man walking into a spiders web
Leaving a mess of broken connections and fake smiles
Long days with real tears
Overwhelming fears

A girl who grasps to every passing soul
The one who blindly follows what she knows

The same woman who steps back and takes a breather
Chooses to leave the broken tangle of ripped silk webbing
To start over instead

But what's another day,
When every day counts
Toward the kind of change
She craves

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

You are the only thing
That made me feel important
For as long as I have lived
And those simple gifts you
Bestowed upon me—
Time, effort, patience
Kind words and friendship—
Kept me afloat when I carried
The weight of an anchor
On my insecure shoulders

i lay here and i think
and i think
and my mind spins and
whirls out of control-
wishing for sleep.
wishing for the power to sleep.

but my mind is too crazy;
my thoughts too heavy.
they occupy my mind 24/7
but they get louder at night
when everything's quiet
and i'm alone with myself.

as the night rolls on
and no sleep comes
the feeling of my presence becomes too much.

i am too much
my mind is too much.
i feel my thoughts spread,
spread from a tiny blossom in my brain
which becomes the roots
of which they intertwine and grow
until they're beyond my head.
they fill my room and they become too much.
i am too aware of them,
too aware that they are calling me to them
to process them, to deal with them-
but all i want is sleep.

i get angry, and i feel crazy,
and i toss and
i turn and i want to scream
"get out of my head and let me rest!"
but i know they will never leave,
they are a part of me.

for some people,
sleep comes easy-
they shut their eyes
and they're out for the night.
for me it is a process,
an endless torturous process.

a process, procedure;
a method.
a method that i try to figure out.
try to dissect,
find my way around.

but every night it changes,
and it's never quite the same.
there's no simple rule,
no simple cure.

there is no around,
there is only through.

so i wait out the night,
i wait out the thoughts,
until they run their course
and let me drift off.

i can't create the power to sleep,
i must let the sleep come to me.

society ***** up all its victims
like we're the slave and it's our master

we thrive at its will
and die at its will

we all live to please the
"way things are"
the standards and the expectations.

it's like there's nothing else...

where are all the new ideas?

does anyone even have ideas anymore?

When do we stop living to please
The system
And start living to please
Ourselves

Society plants thoughts in our heads
Corrupts our minds—
Corrupts our children’s minds
Into thinking they have to be something they’re not—
A size their not—
A life they don’t want to live—
Since when is this the only way?
WHERES FREE THOUGHT, FREE LIVING, AND FREE CHOICE?
WHY DO WE HAVE TO CONFORM TO THESE RESTRICTIONS?


WHO IS STRONG ENOUGH TO BREAK THE CYCLE
WHO IS STRONG ENOUGH

When does it end

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.

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 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.

The only thing I can do
is take one step away
from my past
and turn the corner
of a completely disguised
pathway.

A pathway, not a tunnel;
not a tunnel that
confines you in a circular hole;
not a tunnel that runs
under a river, smothering you
from view--
but an open pathway
in the gleaming sun.
A trail that allows the
warm light to burn your shoulders.

A straight shot to pain,
to discovery, to light.
A mesmerizing array of experience,
leading to a bottomless pool
of endless love.

Take the first step.

let me love you like no one
ever has--
like the first time a baby
opens his mouth
to speak simple words
with a cheer from the audience
never knowing the pain that will come

let me watch over you, and
allow me to cup your sorrows
into the palms of my hands,
as they soak into my skin
with a tingling sensation
as you enter me.

as you enter me
without your body
but with your words,
your thoughts:
the insight and the turmoil

let me sweep your trouble
under the rug
or between my *******--
let me love you like no one
ever has.

Tears fall down my face
But no one seems to notice
In a crowded room of students
Because I’m invisible.

Tears fall down my face
But no one seems to notice
But all I want is for someone
To wipe them away
And ask me if I’m okay.

Tears fall down my face
But no one seems to notice.

my favorite pass time
when i'm saturated in my loneliness
and the hands of the clock
tick, tick on by
and i've exhausted my
google searches
and facebook stalks
is to open
an anonymous
text chat website
and inquire into the hearts
of faces I have never
(and will never)
see:
what do you think
the meaning of life is?
I paste into every chat,
delivered to their
screens in less than seconds.

you can have the most
intriguing
eye opening
enlightening
conversations
with strangers.

because i get atheists,
and nonbelievers,
and pessimists,
and perverts,
and not one person
answers
the same.

and it's beautiful;
no life
could possibly hold
the same meaning.

Her eyes have lost their sparkle
She stares blankly at me
The person in front of me
Mimics my actions
Where I run my hand over fat
She runs her hand over bone
Little patches on her scalp are bald
From where hair has fallen out
Her skin is yellowish
We stare at each other for hours
Gosh she looks so ill
That poor girl needs help
She shows the truth where I show lies
I say....Look closer
Do you notice anything unusual
She stares blankly back at me without reply
You don't look like yourself

I always tell myself
That being sad is stupid
And to live in the present and smile
And hide the feelings inside

But it feels good to feel sad
It feels pure to recognize raw
Feels right to feel wrong
And that’s the scary part

Because I want to believe I want to be happy
Yet again and again I drag myself down
Into the depths of my own mind
Just to wallow some more
Just because I can

Because I love it
Because I want to feel the tears roll and the
Cuts hurt
I want to feel the beating in my chest pound
Thump thump thump
Its telling me
I’m still alive

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

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.

A lonesome girl,
She'd lost hope.
She'd lost sight of herself.

She was taking a year
Off college
For "re-evaluation".
Her parents weren't too happy,
And were often mean to her.
They thought of her only as a
Messy, undetermined child.

She was walking through the
Woods one day,
And came upon a river.
She'd never seen, or
Heard about this river,
But it was the most beautiful river she'd ever seen.

She returned here
Every day on her walks,
Trying to work out her life.
This river was her safe place.
Her place to come to think,
To discover, to
Learn about her own self.

The river calmed her.
It helped her get through to the
Next day, the next step.
The river soothed her,
With it's smooth currents and
Slow, rhythmic ripples.
The river helped to heal her.

On a particularly bad day,
She stormed out of her house,
Wanting never to return.
She felt as if the people there
Wouldn't miss her at all.

She angrily walked the path to the river,
Wanting nothing more
Than to feel better.

She sat on her
Familiar patch of grass,
And looked hard at the river.
On most days, that
Would be enough.

But on that day,
It wasn't.
She was still as mad as ever.
Slowly she stood up
And walked closer and closer
To the rivers edge.

Her feet inched in the surprisingly
Warm water,
But still, nothing was happening.
It wasn't enough to
Relieve her on this day.

So she stepped in further,
Fully clothed,
Into this river.

She dove in.
At once the water consumed her.
It warmed her from the
Outside in,
And cured her of her anger.

It calmed her like it'd never
Calmed her before.
She was in bliss.
She never wanted to
Leave the water.

This girl, in this river,
Felt warm like never before.
She felt peaceful,
And hopeful. Things she
Hadn't felt
In a long time.

As she silently wished she'd
Never have to part the river,
She looked down at her body.
She gave out a small gasp;
Her fingertips, as if
Dissolving, were falling off
In little sparkling droplets of water.

As the drips
That were her fingers
Met the body
That was the river,
She felt love in her heart.
She felt as if there was
No where else she was supposed to be.
She felt safe.

She was home.

She slowly watched the
Rest of her fall into the river,
Until she became a part of it
Herself.
She was fully one with the river.

Now she flows with the currents,
And makes the ripples,
That once did so much for her.

There's a chase
at the beginning-
with the want and desire
with the back and forth...
like a balanced game of tug of war
But once they get what they want
there is no more chase
there is no need.
They only leave you the morning after
Alone
Alone in the mud

It’s a funny thing
Being able to realize
They don’t have everything as figured out
As you thought they did
And you are both reduced to
The fear of a child
A child lost in a corn maze, that of which
An exit might as well not exist
And the path being sewn towards the future
Is unclear
For both of you; for everyone

It’s an odd thing
Being able to realize
Those mistakes of the past, the people
Who you think are haunting
Are only taunting—
Getting lost in your imaginary plot
The false narrative of events which never lead you
      To just the right picture
Because the future
   Does not arise from the ashes of days gone up in flames;
The future


                                               sits on the edges of your toes
                                                                     and
                                   perks up when the hair on your arm feels prickly
                                                                     but
                                          stirs when his endless eyes walk past;
                                                                     and


     the future
is never painted across the part in his lips
     or the feel of his inner thighs,
it is never handed over in his goodbyes

yes

                                the future

is a mystery

                                a delicacy;

the future

                             unravels with the clocks

ticking

                             marking the instant

pairs of eyes connected

                             but never promising

it will last

                             beyond
                                  a
                             memory
      
                 ~~

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.

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

We were great
until the *** talk,
until the thrill of what
we were naturally so close too
swarmed, and left us
emaciated-
in the rubble of what once was
but never will be

We clicked
until each word mattered
and held the weight of
the world
on the small curvatures of
a letter-
until the pressure
crushed our passion
and snuffed out the mystery;
the fear of monogamy
held in your eyes and
reflected in these lonely ones of mine

We were sound
until the chaos of romance
became a lie between friends
losing touch, losing love

We were harmony,
until the earth turned
and the contents shifted with it

just once:

someone to

join you

sitting on the beach

just

staring out at the waves as they

jog to

shore, the

jewels in his eyes meeting your

sad, reflective ones.

juxtaposition makes your best qualities

stand out; you feel

justly next to him and it is all

sacred.

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

I've waited 16 long years
And the day is approaching,
The day I'll be allowed on the road
When my dreams will come true and I'll drive on my own

Well not on my own,
With a parent at first
But I'll take what I get 
And I'll try not to burst

I'll make it through the trial period 
Of the dos and the donts
I'll sweep the floors with my tires
Make them all eat my dust

Because I've been waiting since childhood
For this moment of freedom
Of integrity and responsibility

And i only have to wait a short while
Until I abandon my driving rug once and for all
Put down the hot wheels and grip the steering wheel
Put a foot on the gas

And I'm really doing it all by myself,
I'm driving at last.

She said
My totem animal
Is an owl
As we saw one
Soar above us
With not a cloud in the sky
And the reflection
Of it’s wingspan—
It’s magnitude—
on the water
reminding me of solitude

and reminding me of an
earlier memory of a
rock path:
carved into the California
mountains and
growing to our
empowerment—
as we all walked calmly
towards the doors
I felt my neck tug my chin upwards
And point my face towards the sky—
and notice how the stars back home
paled in comparison to these
clear ones—
and out of the trees comes
a perfectly white
snow
owl that soared
above our heads

and I looked up and I
gasped and I asked
the people around me to look up
and see the owl above us
and how it was blessing us
and our experience
with our empowerment
and our movement;
I asked them and no one would answer;
They didn’t crane their
Necks to see what I saw
And I only saw the owl that night…

I wonder…
Am I the only one who
saw it fly
Because they refused to look up,
or was I really
the only one
who could see it

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

I see my dad
With his cat and his lonesomeness
With his acceptance that
He’ll be spending the rest of his life alone

I see my mom
With her new guy every so often
Some of them last longer than others,
But they drift by all the same

All I know about love
Is what is shown to me
And luckily
These two examples are not the
Extent of my knowledge

Because if they were,
I’d be lonely in love
with not one shred of hope,
Or it’d lose all it’s value
like a broken antique

I see all the broken marriages
All the divorces that echo this world,
How easy it is to fall in and out of love
When it’s all anybody wants,
Its what I’m in favor of

Because I’d like to see a world where
Love is written on every pair of hands being held
Every couple being betrothed
On every street sign and
In the smiles of the strangers I pass

But alas the world is ever evolving
And we live in a time where love is
Not a puzzle worth solving
Each person must just muddle through
And try to find the person that
Feels about love as they do.

I see my grandparents
Her an ex model, proper,
In the worst sense of the word,
Him a nature man, a scientist—souls from opposite poles,
With their 50 years of marriage
and I form my foundation for the love I will have.

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"

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.

The creepy Italian guy
stares at us under his
bushy, too close together eyebrows
and he yells at us when we get free refills,
“You are costing me a fortune!”
but we don’t care what he says
because the soda machine
is right there
waiting for us to click in our cup
and nourish ourselves on the sweet,
high fructose corn syrup of youth

and the astonishment when the
two plates of fries comes,
one golden one curly—
and our napkin of ketchup wedged between—
two different types of potatoes
for two very different types of people

and yet, best of friends.
Connected companions at heart,
drilled in by the constant company
in childhood.
and yet, beautiful,
because without my best friend
no aspect of life could be the same

infinite time we have to spend
sauntering around in our woods,
our home:
the log cabin stretch of mount laurel
the not-so-busy shopping center
holding the Pizza King
where we would sit in a booth
long after our food was gone;
for in youth, there are
infinite things to say

and we are both now almost fully grown,
you have your high school diploma
and you will be off in the fall
for the big city,
and I’ll be stuck in a small town
full of small minded people,
feeling small while you
make a name for yourself
in the big “real” world

but no matter where we both go
we will look back
and remember all the times
we shared together—
good and bad,
family and friends,
home cooked meals and
long stays in the little pizza place
across the street
from our youth