and I am better
I haven't been this happy
since I was too young

but there's a blank in the sentence
that makes up my mind

I thought "happy"
was the one that fit best
but maybe not

at a loss and with empty words

maybe I'm not meant
to find meaning this young

I am a child
I am barefoot
and I am wandering

if I could write beautifully
I could weave words into your hair
like flowers
I could make you summer
out of spaces and letters
I could be an alchemist.

there are days when time is too much
when mornings are aeons and evenings are millennia
watch fingers mindlessly forage for cigarettes
hands shaking watch them pull up socks
fix hat
push stay hairs out of face
mind runs wild
and hands like spiders
and then it's tomorrow
there are days when time is too much
when mornings are moments and evenings are wisps smoke
passing through consciousness and into the night

somehow it happened like this
---------------------what is
meant to be broken
must break

I am meant to be broken
I must be
otherwise I'd be happy
otherwise I'd wake up
and put my feet to the floor
because I'd feel as whole
as the night before

there would be no more shards of me
that litter my mind as I fall asleep
-
but nevermind

some things are
meant to be broken
-----------------------------
and so they break
themselves

is not fragility the
true nature of beauty?

and with things so delicate
I can only be clumsy
and I stumble blindly
with bruises and scars
because I know not how fragile
we really are

a vow
I made a vow
to myself

that I
would
take
my
mind
back

that I
once again
would try to make
music on the
wrong kind of keys

that I
once again
would desperately
with clumsy ignorance
capture in vain
small pieces of
ephemeral beauty
in my trembling hands

that I
once again
would fail to
find words
to carry a thought
to definition
a foggy memory
into focus

that I
once again
would find
that I can hide
comfortably
in phrases

that beauty
is audible
in silence

summer came across the street
I misheard someone say
to another on the bus that day

summer came across the street
summer was there
but not with me

summer was the sun
bouncing off windows
and one by one
striking down the passerby
cursing all that shines

summer wasn't ready at all
for these misguided people
tending to fraying shadows
there is no bitter
no more restless heat
like summer come across the street

you know,
I tried my best to believe you

"I like you"

well I like you too, *******
so don't **** this up.
again.

"I could get used to this"

really cute, man.

you said that the last time, too.
do you say that to every girl
that you accidentally ****?

but see,
here's the problem.

you're trying,
I see that
but you're not at all doing enough
to win my trust back

if you want this,
if you really want this,
you better show it
like a ******* macy's thanksgiving float

because I will not believe you
'til you get on your knees
and beg, crying
for me to return your affection

because I like you

and this could end so,
so badly

but then there's you.
there's you
and your smile
yeah, the one that pulls
at every muscle, tendon and bone in my body

there's the way that you
so longingly wrap your arms around my waist,
and through the brush of your hands, say silently:
"I can't believe you're this close,
I can't believe that you're here"

the look on your face
when you realize that you've said
something you didn't mean to tell me.
that look of fear that I'll think worse of you.

that time you picked me up
and spun in a circle
kissing my neck
then floated away
saying goodbye

you make this so ******* difficult
you,
are a *******

a stupid
beautiful
*******

it's 1:03
in the morning
and i'm so cold
my skin
looks like lace
i'm frozen
numb at the fingertips,
nails blue.
i'm reduced
to this: splinters
and a shuddering
ribcage

this is a different kind of starving

man in an orange
jacket, angry
because his bus is late
because he's from
New York
and deserves better
than you. shouts to
nobody
-----------------------
a little girl with her
daddy in line at
the grocery store
say's "daddy a heart!
a heart!"
and points to a drop
of water left by
a bunch of carrots.
he feigns interest
looks exasperatedly
in my direction
I do not humor him.
she is me.
-------------------------
there are a lot
of people with that
face

that face like there's
nothing left of the world
but the space left
by cracks in the sidewalk

is that my face too?

I have to stop living through
metaphors

don't start writing
surrealist poetry.

these days I feel like I
do most of my living
on the bus.

old man with stormcloud hair
eyes indistinguishable from
an unseasonable sky
and I wonder
if perhaps he's blind.

a virtacle scratch
right down the spine
around and around
a glitch every  time
a word skipped
for every line
your head's intact
but what about mine

okay, this is what I made.
this is what I'm -- made of ?
I can't specify
reality anymore.
there is no difference to me
between the edges
in life and the edges in dreaming
sometimes.
do you ever wake up
when you're already awake?
more like my consciousness
will occasionally splash me in the face with mortality
and a deep sense of presence
and unease.
anyway
this dreaming thing's got me thinking
feeling a little bit maybe
like i haven't woken up in weeks
and I wonder every day.
you know, when I was younger, I had a dream
that I smoked a cigarette.
the sensation was so real,
that although I'd never actually had one
I woke up believing that I was addicted to cigarettes.
the sensation was so real
so like the real thing.
when I was even younger, I had a
reoccurring dream about a house.
I was so young that I couldn't comprehend.
I was fearful and I could not move.
the earth was shaking and
I felt gravel in my skin and
something
was blocking my way to safety.
to safety, to the house.
I would wake with a start and run to
my mother's arms for comfort.
I recently stumbled across a photo
of a house.
a bombed out shelter somewhere in palestine
a very similar house.
and of course now I can't find it
but it haunts me...
--do you ever hear the music?
the music the earth makes when
everything is silent?
it's a kind of humming
so soft and complex that nothing
quite compares.
this is the music that I dance to.
so when I say I don't dance
I only mean that I don't dance for you.
I end up longing for moments
that I've failed to find here.
a sort of nostalgia
for things that never happened
or perhaps for the future.
for a painting I never made
a person I never met.
I forget sometimes that longing
is only that.
but nevermind.
whatever I was
I am no longer.
and that's fine.
I find that I don't recognize
my reflection, my expressions
anymore.
I'm drawing conclusions about who I am
from an outdated sense of self
a person I let go
when being her wasn't an option anymore.
and I lost a few things
in the move, so to speak.
a little patience here and there
some of those calloused morals that kept me quiet
and a handful of doubts that had been lurking
in the corners of my mind.
I'm almost at a loss.
If you were to ask me who I am
I would tell you to ask anyone else
or maybe that I'm a decorative houseplant

oh here we go
write it out
write it again
however I like
we are no less typical
we were

someday
you'll be a sliver of life
quietly stinging in the back of my mind

I hope there's a few new
stray grays in your beard
just for me
I hope you find my hair
in all  your clothes
one or two trailing down your legs
like snakes as you shower
I hope they're green
I hope they make you cry
I hope I haunt you forever

you already haunt me

I wanna sneak around
and leave weird notes on your truck
while you're sleeping
and really I should leave you alone
but I just got this little itch
that you don't really want me to

but I've calmed down
I think I see you
where your head's at
and you're probably right

but so was I.
I'll get there.

there was a time, I think
it may have been your birthday
I was wandering
wondering, and I went there
I asked myself
"what will end this?"
"what will end us?"
I was almost too scared
but the end surfaced, without warning
"it'll be his self-doubt. he'll give up."                        

I was right.
but that doesn't matter
this morning the thought occurred to me
that maybe you knew
that what we had was due to expire
and I consumed that thought
with the expired milk in my coffee
and it consumed me.
did you?
what a cruel thing to do.

that photo you took of me
you said I looked beautiful
you looked breathless
but as the shadows darkened
I saw it.
I looked happy.
truly happy.
I felt a lump somewhere between you and my heart
and a welling in my eyes
I thought
"that's how happy he makes me"
that was friday
today is monday
that photo: please remember me then.
that's how happy you made me

as I find my self older
than I ever was
I must come to terms
with a reality more plausible
than the one I choose to inhabit

I must accept
that people die
that things break
and that time passes

that time passes and
there will be there are
moments that I was to act
but didn't
and now
it's too late

I will find that
there will be people
whom I never meet
there may be
a love I belong to
but I will pass it by
or leave it behind

I need to see that fate
is merely a myth
that future
is a concept I own
as do all

as soon as I see
that life will never
be good to me
that life will never
be anything
or easy

maybe then
I'll wake up
alive and finally free

I remember a time
when we were new
and beautiful

before our lips
were blackened by lies

before the sleepless nights
circled our eyes

before coffee and tar
stained our smiles

before liquor heated
our foreheads and hearts

I remember a time
when we were new
and every breath blink and step
brought me closer to you

you have my will power
sewn to you
so that when you walk away
it does too

I hold time
at the tips of my fingers
it twists and pulls
spinning away
all sinew and seconds
I reach
I grasp
it just slips away faster
it is solid and I am not
it passes through me
leaves me drowsy,
and regretting

I think I'm going to write to no one
no one listens to me.
no one listens better.

and to the end of something good
and the coulda-been's
I'll grieve. to no one.

(because having)
no one is better than you.

I'm finally going to run
off to nowhere, with my
one and only
no one.

my eyes hurt
and
   my head hurts
and
   my doubt
   my contempt
   my spite
              hurts.

this is why I shouldn't be here:
I'm not ready for this
I'm like a cup of tea
my ideas are steeping
they aren't ready to be drunk
by the unrelenting eyes of others

when I find myself doing what
I was sure 4 months ago
is what I love (creating manipulating and destroying)
I can only think about being somewhere else
thinking about something else entirely

I thought I'd love this place
and I do
or maybe I love the idea of being here
I love the idea that this is what I could be doing
this isn't what I'm doing
I can't be here
1) because I'm not
2) because I'm scared of what would happen if I were

I sincerely believe that I should wake up now

the truth is held only by those
who bare no impressions
and leave none
behind

inspiration:
a collection of thoughts/papers/dreams.
with missing letters/words

I stay up for hours
filling in the blanks

I need __.  

circle one: (you/help/coffee/a cigarette/sleep)

the earth is the only love i need
she has no forgiveness
but seeks it neither
she will take
and love [consume]my body
no matter
her change so chaotic and great
that with my stagnation i fall
into her
stillness is impossible
if all around you is moving
infinitely, endlessly
the earth will never refuse me
she cannot leave me
as i cannot leave her
we are entangled
she will bury me
in her arms, in her love
eventually

my life
has been colored,
painted, drawn. erased,
torn and thrown away,
lost and then found.
I like it that way.

all i want
really, all i want
is someone to tell me i'm beautiful
who will hold me and
remind me that I matter
who will take me somewhere new
and say "see?"
who will accept me
though i'm not at my best
who will wake me up in the morning
and kiss my forehead
because it's saturday
and i've found
that all i want
really, all i want
is far too much

i want to climb to the tops of buildings with you
and look down
then at you
and feel like i just jumped

learn the world
inside and out
read the book
          through and
                    between the lines
gather your moments:
with those of chaos
                    put to rest
with those of silence
                    build safety
                    a sanctuary

I need cigarettes
and evenings filled with long sighs

                      and
                                 fragments
                                        mettled
                                          poems
                         and more cigarettes

                          waiting for my angst
                                     to form stanzas

                      tonight I’ll probably just
                                  cough a lot
                                          and go to bed early,

      
            but first I need cigarettes.

there’s something very special
about sitting still
in the black
in the tunnel on the train
a kid paces through the cars
the lights in the door shake
and a feather dances
in the corridor
a man is speaking
to his friend on the phone
he is drunk
but very tranquil
he left the club because even though it was some chicks birthday
it was too boring
and he fell asleep
and a part of me wants to sit in this moment forever
as he slurs onward
in far too many words
complaining that we’re still not moving
like music
oh **** we’re moving
and that guy is gone
and i think i might be drunk too

never knew how blinding the
sun could be before I hid from it.

the dark is a dangerously
safe place to be isn’t it?


I think I found a new emotion
it comes from experiencing
the beauty of things I find
repulsive

all the dream house
developments nestled
like cheap toys

sun glinting off the bumper
to bumper traffic
arcing above the horizon
semis blocking out the sun

parking lots
fractals of shiny beetle shell
car bodies disappearing into the glare

countless things
somewhere between awe and loathing
it’s kind of like a scream
stuck in your chest.


also,  I think I keep seeing people
who aren’t real.
they exist. other people see them too.
but they just seem out of place.
or maybe too in it.
too predictable

I say I hate public transit
but ya know
I think half the time
I like sitting on bart
more than doing
whatever the **** I left
the house to do

my mind wanders best when
my body is hurdling through
space at high speeds

I feel like there’s too much on
        my mind to write any of it down

everything seems to be speaking
everything wishes to be louder
     all I can do is stare at my toes

my mind and body have been screaming
                         for months
    at me
            in general

it’s too much to write down
    too much to let it out

                                 I might explode
                           or just deflate


I feel like I’ve been treading water
          for longer than I can

and my mouth and nose are finally, slowly
filling with water
            trickling down my throat
                           filling my belly
                as I sink
                       beneath the waves

—

i’m learning
every day

how to live in a place
and always feel a longing for home
its empty here
i dont belong
and im not welcome
or im someone else

i dont think i know
the person you see
when you look at me

i feel crazy
like the love i show you
is invisible
or the words we say
sound different to me
than they do to you
our anger misplaced

we’re wrapped up
in something
all tangled
blind behind the mess

but we’re just hanging on so tight
to all the *******
that if we just let go
let it all go
we would find the
knots loosening
we would find our
blindness and
frustration
falling like ropes
releasing our bodies
so
we can be close
touching, even
but not attached

i think that’s what
love is?

my limbs are heavy
I’m frozen
glacially stuck.

time pirouettes around me
flies scribble emphatically in a stuffy room
a soft wedge of light scans the cobwebs
clinging to the wall
a cellar spider hails to me from a box of kleenex

this room is a mental illness ISpy
every little pen cap or thumbtack
every single thing
is another thought in my head.
my heart is pounding with the realization.
another thought here to stay

I spy
the millions of hopes and dreads and fears and doubts
scattered, strewn, stacked, piled
teetering on the edge of collapse
ever growing
yet also collecting dust

I spy
my body
defying gravity
I feel like I’m on Jupiter  
I think I’m becoming non-newtonian
brain still whirring like a contrite zoetrope

three fans drone in my ears
and I jump—
—startled
as the garage door opens
life continues around me

I should at least put on pants.

gender norms are like bottles
they are fragile
and take up space
they can be useful
but get in the way
and if you’re feeling stressed and restless
and wanna do something dangerous
you can take them outside
and break them

Can’t tell if my mind is moving too much
or my eyes aren’t.
It was just hailing,
but now an ochre sun is piercing through
the thick blanket of clouds.

—

Now the sky is blue.
The weather has released me.
The clouds fell from the sky
as this weight will fall from me.
I will walk in the woods.
walking on the gray—
on the haze.
It is beneath me now, in the ground.
As the clouds die, they feed the earth
with their corpses
and the earth will feed me.
With me.
Breathe me.

Life and decay are the same thing.

If I rot, will I not
simply become something else?

or maybe not.
The longer I inhabit this body
the more it seems like a simple
vessel, containing the multitude
that is me.
The universe has given me this gift.
This curse.
This magic.

God and science are the same thing.

“Nothing is sacred” and “Everything is sacred”
are the same **** phrase.

Heaven and hell are the same **** place.

No past, present, or future.
Just everything,
all at once.

Now is a concept.
Fate isn’t real
only because the future isn’t real.
Our perception of time is a coping mechanism.

Why else would the past feel so close?

Don’t just live in the present.
Exist. In everything.

The universe is only as big as our minds.
Our minds are infinite.
We are just blind.