Clutch. Shift. First Gear,
My thoughts leave the atmosphere.
Clutch. Shift. Third Gear,
I'm getting out of here.
Bright red stars, screeching brakes,
Driving behind me is not always safe.

Some things are just too strong to take
on their own. Like my coffee
harsh, bitter, and black, offensive
to my tongue. But still so necessary
is the caffeine wired within, so vital
to the start of my long days.

But I can make it bearable. Add some
non-fat dairy creamer + sugar. Just fluff,
it’ll go straight to my gut, to get
the caffeine past my tongue
and wake me, allowing me to see
what I could not when the alarm
first screamed.

As I slinked slowly down the basement stairs,
I heard a slam! and turned in fear. The door
was shut, to my surprise. I was alone,
but for my bag. I brushed my hand across
the wall as I went down the last few steps.
I found the switch. I flipped it up.The light,
so bright, swung left and right above.
It flickered on and off and on. It hummed.

I wanted just to turn that thing right off,
but soon my eyes forgave the harsh white light
and I continued on. The bag, my crime,
on my shoulder began to weigh some more.
I watched the light slowly stop swinging before
I moved. The freezer, sitting silently, agreed
the light was right. They hummed a sigh, not for,
but at me. Just shut up! I thought to them.

Of course, they didn’t hear. The hum kept on,
and so must I. With my free hand I raised
the freezer’s lid. The cold damp tongue of air
began to lick my face. Be fast, I thought
and fed that freezer my mistake. I slammed
that lid and turned my back on both. The light,
so bright, swung left and right above.
It flickered on and off and on. It judged.

That light! It made me want to scream! I found
the switch and flipped it off. The dark enveloped me.

the sting your stubble left is still lingering on my lips,
like invisible mosquito bites that tickle more than itch,
as i wrap my arms around your neck, i ask:
just friends? and readjust myself in your lap.

so you pull me in closer, you nod to confirm:
the two of us, we’re nothing more than zookeepers.
throwing fresh meat in the den of the lioness,
controlling those animals lying deep inside of us.

My poor friend Mike, he’s drunk again. Two beers
and he’s already texting me. “they playd
that songg u luv nd it reminded me
of u”. A few more cups and we’re at, “heyyyyy
u like my abs?” and then an “lol
cuz i really like u.” Then soon, “im home,
but u shuld b here 2.”  And then he spills
some more: “i thnk ur cute :)” shows on my phone
We’re friends, I think. He’s drunk. It’s just a fluke.
It gets too late. He begs, “will u plz tuck
me in?” And when his eyes begin to droop,
the last: “forgiv me plzzz but we shud ****.”

Embarrassment exudes when we next pass.
He looks at me, his face bright red. I laugh.

in the beginning, it was just rhyme and scheme
nothing else meant something to me.
and nothing else could make me smile
well, at least it did for a little while

but then as a sophomore my tongue did change
as everything I thought was rearranged.
nothing else was just nothing while
something became more than something.

now more than something is all I want
with its layers and layers of different thought.
is this for anyone or really just one?
what are these many bells that float along?

more than something is something
thanks to  mr.cummings
now  i’m not stuck with just nothing
instead of more than something.

"Robots will cry one day,"
is what he had to say.
"They will realize all
that they have done and bawl."
To which I would reply:
"But robots do not have eyes,
at least not like us two."
"You are right, very true."
We went our separate ways,
me and my nerd soul mate.

In the winter, my fuzzy blue gloves
do wonders for me. They protect
my hands from the freezing cold,
keeping them in a state of nice and warm.

But those same gloves are not always
so nice and comforting. Leave them on
through mid-August. My hands will boil,
and be reduced to puddles of sweat.

Besides, don’t I look so silly,
wearing those fuzzy blue gloves
paired with tank top and shorts,
in the sizzling Summer sun?

The bristles wrestle away the morning plaque
settled on my teeth. The ones in the far back,
I take care of first. Brushing up and down,
then left and right, all the way around.

That evening spent sitting on the terrace, you gave me your flannel shirt.
It was cold out, so I took it. But the armpits were wet with your sweat.

I lean over the sink, capture a mouthful
of cold water. I wait before I let it roll
around my teeth. Reflected towards me
is me, with gigantic chipmunk cheeks.

That afternoon I woke up, you looked so cute, refusing to let go,
arms wound so tightly around me. But I really had to get up and ***.

The water warms up a little bit. I start
to swirl and swish it through before I part
my lips. I release the lukewarm mixture
of grime and paste. Finally--the inside’s pure.

This morning, I feel the new smoothness of my teeth with my tounge.
Yea, you might be gone. But I’m pretty sure you were not the one.

Walk all over me.
No,
Really, I don't mind.
That's why I'm here--
to keep you safe
from the ones that
go too fast.