You spoke to me with your
voice like Mia Farrow’s and
your eyes not at all like
trampolines. A tar twig
bobbed between your lips;
you spoke of self-destruction
and smoked your commas
and semi-colons. You asked me
questions with the least amount
of answers and the most amount
of space, like a widow’s home
adorned in compromise. The six
o’clock sun sprawled through.
You said I reminded you of how
we’re always treating people like
fractions, simplifying where we
should be unfurling equations.
I saw the dawn illuminate your
hiccups and your hesitations. I
took a kiss; I thought there’s
nothing more fleeting than
moments like this, but at least
you can’t run quickly with a
heart so full.

The entire time I was sitting on the couch
across from you
the whole time your cat was plotting on how to best take my face off
As your mouth moved like a motor and you told me all your stories
I wanted to grab your ankles and yank you to me
in the worst way
and kiss you with everything I have to give
and see who dies first.
But that is a dream I never had and a fire that never burned
and ignoring it
is the delightfully tragic ending to an almost dream.

I left Florida for the weather.

Where summer pulses stagnant heat,
to the rhythm of waves crashing.
Today feels like yesterday,
feels like last year,
reminds me of that time five years ago
when thunder seduced my soul.

Ssshhh.
That's death rising from swollen swamps,
listening for the sound of prolonged blinkers.
Jurassic eyes ogle leather flesh,
cracked,
salty,
alien.

I moved north for a fight.

I jumped in the ring with scholars,
pennies clamoring in sidewalk cups,
applause.

A crooked nose now leads the way,
shadows take root beneath youthful,
sun-kissed pools of blue.
I'm still spinning.

I left Atlanta for the people.
Well, just one really.
The girl whose soul once kissed thunder in the rain,
and can't quit chasing storms
until they touch again.

every time we fall in love,
they call it trite,
a false fairy tale.

love is weak.
and weak ain't trending no more.

every time we speak our mind,
they tell us to shut up,
too young to have an opinion.

the youth is unreliable,
too many fresh hormones.

every time we stand up straight,
they cross us,
crucify us.

acquiescing is appropriate,
they gift certificates in frames for that.

every time we subscribe to a higher code of ethics,
they call us radical,
salivate, and spectate as we are torn asunder by lions.

love should never transcend national pride,
here it's guns, god, no homosexuals or mexicans all the time.

if i make a stand, and you make a stand,
and the dominoes begin to fall,

if i inspire a dozen, and you inspire a thousand,
the gears will grind, the tide will turn,

the lions will all be too full,
and
they surely will run out of nails,
before they've crossed every single one of us.

why does loving  you have to hurt so much
why cant i just tell how feel without the fear of rejection
or losing what we have
for being with you is what gets me though the day
the sound of your voice your smile your laugh
why is it so hard to go bout my day without knowing
if ill hear from you again
why is the thought of losing you the worse pain
then death itself
why do i continue to torture myself with these thoughts that never seem to end
why oh  why

If the angels sang in silence,
In the portrait on your wall,
Would you see the red lips moving,
Telling stories of their Fall?

If you walked along a pathway,
Neither street nor silent wood,
Would you go to all the places,
That you never thought you could?

If you smiled a little warmer,
At the girl who passed you by,
Would you look closer at her bruises,
And think to ask her why?

If the darkness held some colour,
For the spirits locked away,
Would you paint a better picture,
Of a shining summer's day?

If your mother held her arms out,
And laughed through all the tears,
Would you take her place of power,
And hold back all her fears?

We always think we notice,
But we still stand too far back,
To see what's right before us,
And perceive just what we lack,

It's a humble sort of vision,
When you let go of the wheel,
When you breathe the sweet air blowing,
And take the chance to feel.

I could have made a time capsule out of you.
If I had kept the cork from the first bottle of wine we spent an hour trying to open with a fork,
Or bottled the drops of sweat that spilt from my hand into yours on our first date.
If I was insane -
I’d have stolen your copy of that French movie we didn’t even pretend to watch.
I would have mourned the loss of the sharpie you used to write my name on your arm.
The clinical definition of insanity is -
I would have recorded the one-eyed “good morning”s that slid out through your perfect snaggle-tooth.
Doing the same thing over -
I’d have frozen my face at the moment when you told me to just use your toothbrush because our mouths were already friends.
And over -
But then I’d have the weeks of silence you screamed at me.
Again -
Until finally all evidence of you faded from me.
Expecting a different outcome.  
And the most pathetic part is that if I had made that time capsule, I would be the worst time capsule owner in the world. I’d open it every day and pretend it was all happening over and over again.

o simply to be a fly that flits and floats
a bird that sings
a frog that croaks
a life that does, and doesn't think
that doesn't care
that merely blinks

no life like this i can see.
no life of simplicity.
a man who walks
a man who talks
a man who thinks
and thinks of thoughts.