Like is a "strong" word
like like like
but really
it isn't-
it's a weak way
to express
even weaker feelings
and you're even weaker
(like me)
to avoid said feelings,
thinking that they're "bad"
or "wrong"
or "evil,"
because you're "afraid"-
of what?
Of hurt?
Of being proven incorrect,
flawed
of having to have someone
to lean on
to show problems
to trust to accept
fully
ev
er
y
thing that's wrong
with you
?
It is a scary notion,
being left out in the ocean
of feelings felt but never spoken
and further ruined
by one who was believed
to be too worthy
to be safe.

i have lots to say
just can't say them
with words
out loud-
they remain in my head,
forever and always,
locked away
never to be heard
by ears
or minds
of those who should
know what happens
when I'm breathing

or at least
those I wish
to care

knights and *** holes-
engineers of our days
they are stupored little trains
can we get a round of applause
for all the little boys and girls
still brushing their teeth and bike chains
licking up snow from dumpsters
getting high on imagination-
that's what they're calling it these days-
my grandma once said
if it burns in the summer
it'll cry in the winter.
maybe she meant me.

Come here
splendid heat wraps me up in a warm sauna towel
and bakes me at 350 til I'm crispy crunchy
and surprisingly Cali-girl
maybe attractive to strapping young lads with tan bulging biceps
it's hard to tell
the sun makes everything look instagram and amber
kind of like a living hipster photo album
only more mainstream because it's the whole world and even I can appreciate.
Oh my my
are the colors so colored today
they are living
coexisting
the sku blues with the leaf greens and the crap browns
they're all friends here
and there and everywhere friendly as friends
and bright as radioactive goo.

I am not ferociously aggressive, but there are activities that I will not can not partake in.
I will not be a grammar-phile in poetry, for sometimes, a sentence just begs to end in a preposistion. Of.
I won't be the surrogate to the emotions you wish you had for me;
if you truly felt them, you would proudly show off the pregnancy bump, endure hours of painful labor and breastfeed those feelings until the inappropriate age of 2.
I refuse to lower my standards and waste any amount of any time with any man who can't appreciate:
sure, all men are created equally,
but over time they can warp,  change into slight congruence, and then become foreign, rude, selfish.
(Not all, ofcourse, but some, and that sum is one not worth crying or trying for).
I will never lead a boy into thinking he has my thoughts or affection
for such a crime is critically and clinically cruel
and I do not have the scalpel or shears to perform such inhumane procedures and experiments.
I do not believe I will ever have total peace, because I do not think such silliness is worth truly worrying about.
I think I could do almost anything else, like spit poison or turn myself into an inside-out person,
or maybe even solve a math dilemma
but staying stable for too long would make my molecules freeze like zero degrees Kelvin,
and I would turn into paradoxical nothingness.

Don't listen
to any words
that anyone says:
not mine
not theirs
we all lie,
it's a human ailment,
non-truth-telling
and you know what?
We're all diseased
sick with the thing
not wanting to be seen
for what we really are:
afraid
boring
unoriginal
maybe even
down right ugly
so don't listen
my dear
when they say a word
because it's not what you'll hear that matters,
it's inconsequential
it's what you see
what really happens
when lights go out
the curtains close
and the masks come off
it's then
when lines aren't being rehearsed
and the reality of the beast of the heart
seeps through
that you'll know.
You'll know
that I'm unworthy,
that everyone is
that we all ****
and blow
and show off
for no good reason other than selfishness
and I can only hope
that at the end of the day
the performances
when you see all that is
what it really is
you can accept
what I am
and be at peace with a world
that isn't perfect,
not good enough for you
but one that you're patient enough
to continue gracing
with your directions

used to be so sweet
and shy
that one time
but i guess he was misleading
now an aggressive werewolf
wanting what he wants
unfairly
and it's scary
but i like it

Well
not so sure I think or feel
but it was a hot day
the kind to make your skin melt
and you want to take it off
so your bones can breathe
but ****** is illegal
in Kalamazoo
so we must be polite
to the locals
eat the bacon fat like good people do
love air like lemonade
bitter and delicious
refreshing in the right circumstances
loving the smoke
so sensual
in and out
controlled and contorted by lips
pillars billowing
cliched
but so **** fine
thick and formless
it disappears
but for a moment
it's yours
theirs
yummy
wrists crack like silly skeletons
jumping around
clowns in the heavens
what are you saying
my dear boy(s)
you think you're in love?
I think you're in
for one hell of a ride
if you're into
cremating your dignity

it's so rainy
drippity drip
drop
like it's time to read a book
all day
in a day
and drink hot chocolate
and bake warm cookies
getting fat and lathargic
because what else is there to do
when everything is so perfect?

Ifs and ifs
and I know what I want
but how
to find
it
him
without things
getting weird?

Like this
like that
we go into the night
cold
it's like an invigoration
invitation
to be naughty
get drunk
and laugh
until the cops come
and then some more
at the misfortunes of us
and ours
take it like it's light
and easy
because at the end
it's the end
and tonight
is pretty ******* awesome

He used to say
The kind of **** to make you smile
You know,
The words that mean a certain something to you and only you
Because the rest of the world is too stupid to realize
Beauty in the simplest degree
A nothing in the sense of the word
And those words
Make your bones feel like art
And not the ****** kind
But the type that makes you cry
Because you don’t know why,
But you know it means a hell of a lot
Because it was from a living soul
Not a dead one,
Not a corrupt one,
But one so pure and appealing
Capable of suffering though never had a bad day
Ever
And those words were the things worth singing for
Worth breaths in the night sky
As clichéd as lovers in lust and kids in confusion
It was all and all and all
One could ever.

So what is it
that it is
that it does
and where is he
that beautiful boy
when I need him the most
he is off
doing who knows who knows what
and he should be here,
should be
should think of me
because he doesn't
and it doesn't make me mad
it just
makes me pathetic

Not a biological accident, I breathe with purpose
sipping in the ethers and spirits
chakras and energies
smoke and incense.

I am no fool, only inexperienced,
and really,
can you fault the naive?
We don't know what we're missing,
let alone can feel the gaping emptiness that the aware  suffer to know,
and sometimes
I rather enjoy being utterly incoherent and oblivious of reality.
Not dumb just numb.

I do not require much, only sunlight, oxygen, dirt
and ofcourse guilty pleasures
chocolate
fashion magazines
shirtless rugby players.

I am no cosmic miracle
only a human who deserves respect and decency,
a mix of my mamma and my dad and a bottle of Merlot
shaken and popped in an Easy Bake Oven
I am just a little old me and a little old maid
and I can only learn to accept such facts.

you want what I want
when I want something you want,
which is me
wanting you-
a little funny paradox
hall of mirrors
with naked bodies
ours
you want
to use me
like a weapon
a tool
to absorb your needs
your problems
and difuse reality
so that for a while
you can feel alright
making me alright
but it's not alright
it's very wrong
and for some reason
I think it's alright

Ooh you make me
So frustrated
With myself
But it should be you
That I want to punch
Because
It’s hard to read
You,
I want to,
Just know what you’re thinking
About my existence
And speaking with you,
If you get the silly feelings
Smile randomly throughout the day
Because you know the other is doing something somewhere,
But I can’t know such things
You won’t tell
Perhaps you have nothing to say,
And it’s all in my head
This thing I want to call a maybe us
And really
We’re just two people
In the world-
But really
I can’t accept that
Because really
You’ve made me happier
Than any other ******* I’ve met
In a long, long
Ever.

hello lovely,
see you
seeing things
trees
air
and what do you think
perceive
what is your analysis
my dear boy
no
you are a man
the type who makes all others ashamed for pretending
to be even an imitation
you limit their ability
by simply being you
and you know
I enjoy it
it's enthralling to know
such a soul
so strong and right
nothing wrong
with being smitten
although it'd be nice
to be smittened on

well well well
what do we have
there
and around this bend
over-exertion
extending into
what I like to call
reality
of some kind
not so kind
or so mean
but a neutral time and place
intermingling in his face
inside of it
so silly right
to imagine being so complete
you know
like there's no holes
at all
just a whole
but complacent
like a lamb
and I shall be
a solvent in veins
scratching at the door
that lets the brightest of the thinkers
into the dark.

Perhaps
perchance
they think I'm a ******
a ****
a tease
a nerd
too quiet
too annoying
flat-out
intolerable
maybe
they find all others who exist
to be more enjoyable
better fit
to be human
and maybe
it's just nothing
that doesn't matter
but still does
because
it's difficult to think clearly
when the self is self-lonely

It's worse to know
you're imprisoned
and to be aware of the world going on around you-
would rather be ignorant
of others' bliss
than fully conscious
of my self-inflicted unhappiness
and I know that I'm ******
up
out of luck
because if we make our own,
honey I don't have the skill,
can't allow myself freedom
for then
who would stop me?

Come on over and see for yourself
What 30 years of long nights
Faster than the speed of speed
Crack can break your mother’s pride
Lungs like bubbles
Used to be lovely
Now nothing but a sorry sight
For any eyes
Especially mine
Wouldn’t like to look upon
Empty skull of a used to be person
And see only
A lifetime of poor decisions
And a desire for peace of mind
Never satisfied.

He should have called the cops-
saw the crime take place
a robbery, not so well-devised
to many eyes it was unethical
though stealing typically is
when you're an onlooker with money and other ways to sooth your writhing soul-
he should have pretended to be contemplating the wall
its cracks, smooths, colors
stains
he couldn't, though
he couldn't be an innocent bystander
wanted to be a heroic action-hero
took a brick right from the wall
it flew
made home in the robber's face
but he was made of steel
only stronger
He should have never come around
should have felt the danger in the air,
known his nature
he should have worn a bullet-proof vest

Monsters make marvelous pets
and friends
and gods
don't need to be scaley
just powerful
enough to crush bone or spirit
enough to spit logic into the wind
splat in faces
take up spaces
non-believers, over-acheivers
angry beavers
all the same really
made of carbon and hope
floating through the time line
expanding and contracting with the seasons of the universe
be the bee
the ruins on mountains moved with seismic surges
survived storms
bend in the breeze
scream obscenities
loader than sound
faster than sight
perception deception
cartoonish *******
and that is how
the world is made.

I enjoy the word "sweet," it accurately describes the succulence of your lower lip
I wish to ****
and bite, and bruise.
"Hard" is your body, lean and tough
and assumedly rough
intense
passionate, all those lovely sensual adjectives that cheesy soft-erotica novellas
(that I "don't read")
use to describe a Man on a horse,
or in a fireman's coat, covered in soot,
saving kitties and pleasing cougars.
You are quite the male that I crave,
absolute perfection in human form that tempts and tortures my guilty thoughts and heaving breaths
so that I feel like one of those helpless heroines who swoon over a sensitive, wounded man.
But God do I want to inflict wounds on you, and lick them clean.

You have been a bad boy;
go to my room.

Cleans like bleach
Mr. Magic does
liquifies organs and minds
nice of him though,
makes decisions for others
though they claim to want control
they really want answers
results
someone to say "Hey, here's how your life will be; no questions."
Mr. Magic
a mad machine
flushes eyes out with Listerine
doesn't need trademarking
just free parking
on the roofs of other cars
cherry stars
eats them one by one with the blood of
Christ it's hot out today
Mr. Magic
mop up this heat
we need slower heart beats
our veins getting runny
he'll help though
brillant guy
class act fer- sure
just tell me this Mr. Magic:
why so sad
all the time?

Dear you
Why are you so sad?
You must know
How absolutely magnificent you are,
How when you look at me
I believe
Space shatters
Because the molecules in the air between us get tighter,
They can sense your immense
Whatever the hell you are,
How ******* amazingly you exist
There
Everywhere you go,
You’re you
And it makes me proud
To say I know
The most interesting
Perfect man
Who breathed the same air as the unworthies.

I know, I know
I just don't want to accept.
I want to alter people
their feelings
and stupid reactions
but how?
Thinking and worrying?
Meditating on the matter?
I can not let things be
because they are not what I want;
I have the power to incite an intrinsic riot
and swerve off of this path of passivity and safe play
so I can begin living as I should, as I want,
in a way that will make it worth living.
Stop making things so difficult
and allow me to ruin it all
in the name of fun.

O sing in me muses
a tale of some beauty.
Beauty, meaning longing and sorrow
and love that leads to a ******, bitter demise.
Let me feel the cold sweats,
those breathy, exhaustive evenings
filled with the scent of sweet ripend fruits
and slowly drying paints.
I want to be an inspiration for a piece to hang forever
in limbo
in galleries
in Midwestern living rooms.
I want to hang from  branches in olive groves,
purely Greek
but with Nair and Netflix,
making sweet love to the ideals of ancient existence
while surviving the blackest of plagues
(modern immune systems are a Godsend).
Sing deeply into my rib cage, O muses,
so that my bone marrow may vibrate to the point of explosion
causes fragments of calcium to pierce skin
and make beautiful stained glass on the hill side chapels.

it's a hard knocked life
for a bus
rolling down the highway
which way
go left go left
stop!
don't know why i'm here
anywhere
and it doesn't matter
really
but it gets you down
when your existence is brought into question
like why?
and more importantly
how
can you make it feel
not so empty?

Tropic and toxic
glasses full of Soviet enterprise
very expensive
blood diamonds and muddy bricks
thrown into the street
raining jujubees and tongue twisters
oh mister, let me tell you
a story
that time
it was true, I do not kid
and the knights of the feudal manor had no manners
at all
heads of tin
bellies of yummy, gummy
gruel
their disgust spread like the plague
all a mind sickness
slithery what-you-have-its
all up in their
phases of the moons,
too many to properly attest to
not very good questions,
unfair
studying never helps the potential
obscurity in life's energy
pouring through airducts
blocking chances of survival

Quad-
relatteral
interspatial
species
journey to the center of
the quaking
in my tummy
rumbly
glass faces
melt to goo
milky substances
ethers in space
love this time of the year

Admitted affection
or fear of rejection,
accepted attention from sweet souls
or incite admiration from attractive ones
Skinny-dipped, touched lips
with anyone
or even hold their hand,
been free
or properly controlled myself when necessary,
only potentially destructive
but without the nerve to do so,
never fully accepting though the concept makes sense,
I read a book or two on the topic,
the practice much less tangible,
maybe only for the few who have the guts to try,
not for those who sit and wait for confidence to make a move
to play Russian Roulette with another
I never owned a gun but still shot myself in the foot
same place, again and again
just stuff myself with food and alcohol
numbness better than reality
right?
Not quite
I exist to try to live though it's so simple it's a mockery to attempt to apply words to the concept
stand up stand proud sing
be the type of person you admire
never have I ever
felt quite fulfilled
though maybe such things are mirages,
messages to be pretty but never found or acheived,
never have I ever
believed in my self.

Literally a perfect situation:
approach the stupid guy.
He's all alone and vulnerable and adorable
but what?
I just let my sorry excuse for confidence
slide away into the back row like the awkward teen I am
lurking, admiring from afar
obsessing like a **** starved weasel
with a pint of bacon fat
until my worry muscles are broken and ripped and sore and bleeding
and my brains must be bashed out with hammers to get rid of the suffering
the stupid, stupid thoughts and self-reproach
worth just measured by a stupid stupid boy's approval
or lack there of of caring.
How cute, my ignorance of importance
my value on externals
and stupid stupid desires
that are never going to happen,
and yes
I am ranting like a little girl in a diary
and yes
I am putting it all out for any unfortunate reader
and yes
I have zero *****.

Lazy
don't want to do a thing
laying around
is too much work
thinking of anything at all-
exhausting.
What to do
when it's so beautiful outside
and so dark inside
and yet
it's so much more rewarding
to attempt to do
nothing at all-
no breathing
no blinking
no existing
no molecules moving
just
nothing

My my my
how time has flown
fully grown
cities living organisms
concrete equivalent to soil
buildings burst through the layers
windows errupt
beautiful
slower
wind in grass blades
everglades
marshes of alligators
chomping at nobody
publicity stunts
running for president
he shall be
doing
so grand a guy
sweet, heat
low and usually
a bit
timid
nevertheless
combustable.

so there
it's all settled
be it and leave it
up to the gods
to decide
the innocent from the guilty
and then
to figure out
what exactly to do
with all that
apathy

believe it
and let it be heard
that all that is here
is not
but a thing in your
bed
take a good look
next time you're out
about
walking down the street
and you see a man
just a man
nothing more
nothing less
and he's standing
nowhere to go
that you know
and he looks
and he is aware
of what you will never be;
he is aware of things
that you can not know
because
they are his things to know
and our things
to not care about
or at least
**** on in our dreams

you say you love me
then you say I hold you back
you say I'm amazing
then you laugh about how I thought "this" would last
you ignore me until I break
then you hold my hand and say you missed me.
you are more messed up than I ever imagined
and I feel embarrassed for continuously fighting a battle
that you left months ago.
I wish I could be as heartless as you-
just shut my eyes and hold my breath,
try to forget until it all just disappeared-
but I know you.
I remember when you were by my side while I cried
I remember when you told me I could never do anything to make you stop loving me
I remember
when we were just a boy and a girl, so innocent
first meeting
first kiss
first admission of love
I remember
but you want to forget
want to run away from difficult feelings and responsibility
you don't care about how I feel
and I feel an awful lot of awful
as you leave and erase me
I ache and break.
I. Hate. You.

but why can't you just love me like you used to?

Macro-indulgence
can I help you
you seem lost,
not helpless
no, you're strong
you can make waves of clouds
wear any being out
of time
just want to help you
you know,
just want to make things better
so that my things
won't seem so bad

Original origami
feng shui of the tai chi
Lao Tsi
tao becomes all becomes tao
but for now
all becomes crazy
so funny, circumstances of life
like a silly little jigsaw puzzle citcom
situational irony,
"Oh, let's invite him!"
Oh, let's re-visit a drunken nightmare
too incoherent to say "stop"
thoughts stuck at the back of a throat
let's choke our chakras for a bit
get our green juices and black juices good and mixed up
like a splatter painting
****
I wish
kept it in like a champ
my own personal fault
too bro to be ***
not bro enough to be respected
interjected with comments, admissions
such nice compliments from terrible mouths
I know I can handle my liquor
I handle a lot
with shrugs and smiles
more liquor
just hand over the bottle
show you sometihng real impressive
ever seen a girl go super saiyan?
Humble be thy game
shallow be thy name
gnoming around
oh please, get a grip
even in boarderline unconsciousness
I know you don't find me that intriguing,
that brilliant,
just another girl too nice to hit
too paralyzed to think.

Ow, my pride.
Sweet sixteen queen
hurtling towards womanhood
frisky and eager for escapes
all of them
exits, tunnels, heaven
turn off the light
I'm reading a ghost story
in here
my head
found a limo to ride along the way
real cheap and clean
recommend it to a friend even
odd, how gravity works
it does, right?
Ups and downs
sexually charged until about age 67
until then
let's be terribly naughty
why not?
Can't take lust with you
where you're going
can't even take life.

Lordy it's a pretty day though
humidity may ruin the glue
must use less water or else
the whole contraption will fall apart-
balloons pop wire melts
oh no Machu Picchu is ruined
just a globby mess of beer bottles and pizza boxes
how can I describe
how you look like a less attractive Jason Segel
and not even nearly as cool
still pretty smart though
but something tells my brain
there are plenty more even better
maybe a male model with a heart of platinum-
or chocolate!
what a perfect man
eat your heart out.

Our Father, who art in heaven
I have some confessions.
I am terrified.
Of what?
Everthing.
I break into plague-like bubonic hives when I worry about THE future, my future,
any future because it does not involve any of the nows.
Moments of newness and unclarity, of strangers and distant conversations of topics I know not of yet,
weeks in agony trying to earn money for rent,
days waiting for a sign, in the form of a plus or minus, to dictate whether or not
a parasite grows in my womb.
Father, I sin daily
for I am a glutton
in my eyes.
I see flaws in my appearence,
though no horrible disfigurements exist;
in my thoughts, this is even more unforgivable,
the invention of sorrows that are not mine,
the pitiful desire for perfection.
I feel I do not deserve the wonders that I have.
Grant me the ability to feel secure and grateful
rather than worthless and guilty.
Oh brother, woe is nobody
for all is too good to waste,
yet nearly impossible to entirely feel.

two tales
of three cities
identical
expect that
one was made of straw
tall
he has eyes like nothing
nothing at all
not even extraordinary
actually
very ordinary
so unappealing
but really
****

Empathy goes a long way
with wusses, don't you think?
The tough ones don't have feelings
just razor-wire for guts and time-bombs for hearts
emotions replaced with Hulk smashes and knife gashes
she said
"Let's be friends" she said
"We can chase air and lick butterflies"
He said "Only if you die first"
he only had dead friends
they smell amazingly disgusting and have WORMS for EYES!
She cried.
He almost felt sad, he thought
but he realized it was just hunger
for scared screams and others' insecurities
impurites of rhythm and logic just soft chalk cells
washed away by ***** from an angry bladder
getting madder and madder
maybe, if feelings were so prevalent.

Every day at a quarter to three
Jasmine drinks her cup o' tea
she takes is slow
two lumps of sweet
and when she's done
falls to her feet
she prays and preys
for bugs on the ground
she licks them up
spits them around
she then gets up
walks to the door
steps outside
calls neighbors "******"
she's not so nice
though was once sweet
was probably all
the kitchen heat
gave her nausea
made her sick
made her marry
a stubborn *****
no air conditioning
not a soul to help
he beat her mercilessly
made her whelp
then she cried
she gave a shout
and knocked that ******
out.

She spoke up in class
"Just why does this work?"
Peers giggled, such a nerd
wondering about things with her mind and her thoughts
"Good question," frazzled teacher replies
students make ****** jokes about student and frizzy-bearded teacher.
She couldn't get a guy her own age
her coldness gave males de-rections
but not the teacher, oh no
he loved her.
After classes, late at night
the two would walk the campus watching stars watching them
smiling, those stars giving the two permission to hold hands and give shy glances
darkness allowing the two to feel tickly inside and not feel guilt.
"This works like anything else: simply, once practiced enough."
Boys in the back row roll eyes, take notes, try to ignore the big-brained girl and her too-old boyfriend.
"Why don't you show me, then?" - met with surprise, looks from other students
discomfort rippling throughout the classroom
eyes looking at watches, the clock, cell phones
to decide how much longer the suffering of a publicly performed private romance must last
they weren't stupid kids
they just knew when they knew things
and kept questions to themselves.

it can be fun
to not not rhyme
or make sense
because anyways
oranges are good for sickness
which I of all people
should know
just in case
it gets too sick out there
and then
with nowhere to turn
you stumble upon
a grove of orange trees

I feel naked  in your eyes
skinned, dissected, analyzed
like you already know my thinking,
my secrets, the things I hide even from myself.
You must already know I'm a worrier, and I get high on anxiety like it's my ******* job.
You know that sometimes I make myself eliminate my meals in unhealthy ways to avoid love handles.
I'm almost positive that you know I feel naughty when alone at night and ease my frustration
while thinking of your body.
Your probing eyes
must see my weaknesses,
how I am only a human, a little girl who can not stand to be disliked yet will not accept affection.
Those eyes have seen my fears and insignificant dreams,
like how I wanted to teach immigrants to speak American and give my organs to small, sick children.
Your mind must have some opinion of it all,
all of me, my characteristics and problems and how they mate to create my personality and mannerisms.
I feel so judged and critiqued under your scientific stare,
but the way your eyes stay still and barren, void of all emotion
makes me feel that you are an epicenter of passion that craves to bite into my skin
and I want to let it happen.

so him right?
too perfect for anyone's good
even in his "flaws"
I see more glory than the most tearful of gorgeous moments
could bring the most dreadful of ******* to their knees
including myself-
a heartless *****
I suppose
but not so much with him,
no
with him
I am the most feeble of all human-like things,
honored to be vulnerable before him
and it's a shame
but it isn't
it's a blessing to be even considered a maybe something in his mind
let alone a one and only
and every day since the second that we met
I wake up a little bit better
more of what one should be
because I know that he Is
and knowing that he approves of me
is more important
than any pointless thought, any reluctance
a former me may have ever been silly enough to believe.