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

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

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.

pretty sure you’re magical
you have eyes like sunshine hitting a cup of  black coffee
at just the right angle
to ember and glow
molten and gleaming all at the same time

I only know because you spend hours looking into mine
into me
this started with you
but now it’s me too

I think the longer you stare
truly see something
the more complex and beautiful it becomes

you took me to the beach yesterday
we walked along the low tide
and you waited complacently for me while
I stuck my head and hands in the tide pools
I want to hear them
smell them
see from within them
you looked for bugs
while I communed with hermit *****
we traded pretty rocks
and put -most- of them back

you waited again
squinting in the sunlight up at me
while I scrambled onto the landing
of a derelict rusted husk
of a spiral staircase
leaning at the same angle as the tower of Pisa
so I could get a better photo

you lost me a couple times
you will learn that I tend to wander
I found a flounder head
we discussed over a mysterious carcass
whether it was a seal or a shark
I say shark
You say seal
you tried to hide your mild disgust
as I poked, prodded, and smelled it
still curious about it’s identity

and it dawned on me
you may be the first person
who actually has the patience for me

a shroud of cool air
wraps around my bare shoulders
it’s 4:08 a.m.
I can’t sleep
I feel loathed to burden
the person who lies peacefully next to me
with the suffocating tendrils of
anxiety, shame, doubt
I fear the poison will spread
restlessness, contagious
painfully conscious

I am plagued by dreams
pain and anguish
blood and glass and teeth
shatter and sting in full color
dead or drowning
grotesque and livid

I’m either
awake and fretting or
asleep and writhing
disquiet as a state of mind
seething in my agitated paralysis

I am steeped in spirit
and it flows far smoother
than prose
apologies

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

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

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

I finally know where I stand
and I’m more lost than ever


but at least I’m not alone
but at least a lot of things

wound down to the end of my tether
in awe at the web I’ve crafted
inevitably to catch myself

did it break a fall?
or hold me captive?
I have caught me
between myself
and being free

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.

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 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.

—

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?

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

4 AM
I'm wide awake
it'sthecoffee it'sthepanic it'sthework
It's the insomnia.

I'm not in bed because
I'm avoiding lying awake
avoiding the realization of cold feet
avoiding permeating questions
ofgodofdeathofohmygodI'lldiealone
of why...

I am alone
and the city sleeps in spite of me
of me...
theremustbetheremustbe
another of me

we'll not sleep together
andwe'llramblewithoutpausesforhoursandhours
to each other, until we fall
to quietly
to   slowly
to     sleep

I'm lost hungry and broke
I'm eating a 3 dollar sandwich
on the front steps of a bank
and chain smoking
I missed my bus
it's raining
passively
on my hands

I need a lot of things these days
and I have a lot of doubts
but nothing's changing
and nothing's getting better

I dropped out of school
I'm regretting a lot of things these days
but not that

pay my rent
keep my shoes tied
remember to eat and bathe
when I can

misplace and forget
nausea
exhaustion

I choke down my sanity
with a glass of water
every morning
the pills, the dependance
that's what makes me nauseous
and the cigarettes, the coffee, the whiskey
those too
like I said, the dependance

I'm not alone
and I'm not lonely
but my hands are cold
and my bed is colder

if i wrote for you
a million metaphors
i think still
we'd have a miscommunication
because this is gonna take
a lot more than ideas
a lot more than time

i was so **** tired
an hour and a half ago
i didn't have dinner
correction: i don't have dinner

what am i?
if i were okay i'd be asleep
god, why does hunger
have to hurt so bad

the space between
my shoulder blades
is burning up
my neglect for basic human needs
stays lodged in my throat
head pounding
teeth clenched
trying to hold on to
what i have left of exhaustion

please
sleep

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
*******

shoe fell out of a
stroller
I pause
I take a minute
"ma'am, I think you lost
a shoe"    pick it up
hand it back
"thank you"
continue walking

missed the bus
again
by a minute

like liars
like spiders
like terrible habits

I'll come back
and I'll slip
silently
into terrible
likeness

nothing, only
I will be
ghosted
in opposite
I am a mirror
reflecting transparency

careful, taking
touching, I am
unnoticed, I will leave
footprints, imprints
tempers adjusted
and retinas
burned, branded
with blank spaces
empty, a vacancy

I am a mirror
I am invisible
I am taking everything that you ever loved

you know, it's mornings like these...
lonely mothers on a bus
a man whose expression says less than I do
forlorn looks, contagious
passing from face to face
on air so thick like syrup
leaving impatient hands and eyes
sticky with fatigue

and comfort I take
for granted with ease
but on mornings like these...

out a window
I pick a fight
with an absent god
he stares back

and wary feet carry me here
I've never seen a place like this
so many people, their minds
somewhere else or maybe sleeping
they don't want to be here
who think of nothing but
what they don't have
and where they aren't

I pass my own eyes
a symptom of stillness--
the disease that kills itself
on mornings like these...

this is a place dead and thriving
a city hope-barron, bustling
blank, blank faces
float on a restless breeze

moving, always moving
but going nowhere

this ghost town abandoned
yes, but no one ever left

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

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

I heard a man speak today
he showed pictures of beautiful nothings
arrows and seat cushions
things that are invisible
unless you are present and minding

we take our autonomy for granted
how often in a day are you
entirely aware of your existence?
how often are you truly conscious?

I'm terrified that most people spend their
every waking moment
on autopilot
in a daze

answering questions
standing in line
repeating their lines

-hello, how are you-
-I'm good, how are you-
-I'm good, thanks-
-alright, have a nice day!-

in school, children are taught
how to read, how to speak, how to stand,
sit write play argue listen share repeat
and in turn, to
hate disobey stagnate ignore want
to give up

no one teaches children
no one teaches anyone
how to notice anymore

those photos brought me back
brought me to the realization
that recently, I have forgotten to notice

I must remember to look more closely.

unstoppable.
our being
is unstoppable.
being like when
you look up from life
from your absorption
just until a blink--
you look up and find
another looking back
and being is the split second
where every potential
exists at once
between you
and locked
in the gaze of two strangers.

I sometimes feel that I'm shouting
in the ears of all the wrong people
the deaf, I suppose

that I've

floated paper boats down a stream
that led into a storm drain
just out of my sight

entered a crowded room
only to find a hall of mirrors

sent a chain letter
that got lost in the mail
the day after I sent it

raised my hand to speak
and the teacher called on
the motivational poster in the back

entered a contest
and all the judges called in sick

wrote a message in a bottle
threw it in the ocean
and found it again on a different beach

went to a party
where not even the host
bothered to show up

made the mistake of expecting
to be heard and seen and recognized
for things I've only half accomplished

I need to live
in a box with a lid

a box because
without walls I might see the world around me
and wonder
a box because
without  walls you might look in
and I would have to look back

with a lid because
without one I would suffer through
sunlight
and opportunity
with a lid because
without one I might climb out
and never come back

I need to live in
in a box with a lid

because I need the time
that solitude provides

but mostly I'm afraid
of someday

I always find myself
alone in my room reading
craigslist missed connections

it's better than books

it's an endless list
of lost, lonely, and lusting people

there are the one's who just want to
find that one smile again

there are the one's who made mistakes,
full of heartbreaking apologies

there are the one's who are posting
to the wrong page, they want something else

my favorites though
are the one's who aren't calling
for a lost and fleeting love,
or for anything
they encourage, praise, adore
the faceless stranger

these rare and beautiful people
selfless enough to take on
the loneliness of hundreds,
nameless
and thankless

you asked: "we're doing
something for Valentine's Day,
right?" I blinked. "uh, sure."

sorry about that.
I've just never really not
been single before.

surprise. up until
now, 'til you, I'd pegged myself
as "undateable."

I thank you for not
seeing what I see in me--
but what do you see?

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 woke up at 5 am
couldn't fall back asleep

I keep thinking I wish
I woke up
before the sun
I could do so many things

I like my time alone.

but I did nothing.
I got the time I wanted
and I ------- threw it away
like my -------- life
you know the one I
didn't want
the one that everyone else
wanted for me
the one  that everyone
else wants.

I'm a pathological pushover.

I wish I had wasted my time better.

you didn't tell me
about off-color lights
or storm drains so deep
that echoes can't find me

you didn't tell me how the summer
is warm to touch
but would scald my feet one day

you didn't tell me how the ocean
would show me the curve of the earth
would show me the tides
but then sweep me away
when I'm not looking
and lose me to the undertow

you didn't tell me that this
is all I have
and all I can ever know
but it means nothing

you didn't tell me to cover my ears
if life got too loud

you didn't tell me how to land on my feet
or stand back up
or how not to fall

you didn't tell me I had to wait
for better things to come
or that they usually don't

you didn't tell me that something
that's one thing
could be another thing altogether

you didn't tell me that closing my eyes
won't make it stop
or go away

you didn't tell me that I won't ever have a voice
or that you never did

Last summer, on my birthday, I received a card in the mail. Every year my grandma sends me some silly birthday card, I'm used to it. Last year, I turned 18. On the inside of the card along with the sentimental gilded text, was an explanation. My grandpa had picked out this card for me 12 years before, and for whatever reason, it never got sent. My grandpa died when I was 8. Now, 10 years later, I have one last card, sent from both grammi and grampi. I forgot to say "I love you," I forgot to say "goodbye." I can never go back.

I love you.

Goodbye.

I wish there had been more, maybe an "it's okay, you forgot." An "of course I heard you, I'm here." An "I love you."

An
"I'll come back and meet my other granddaughter."

A story.

Something.

I have a card, and a transformer stopwatch (long broken), a tiny box (that used to hold a wooden beetle with moving legs, but no longer), and a memory of a smile.

I lost the pocket knife.

I forgot his voice.

I miss the pens in his shirt pocket. I miss playing pickup sticks. I miss him playing the piano, and letting me ruin it, pressing the keys. I miss him reading me stories. Over and over, as many times as I wanted.

I miss the absent look he got when he was thinking about something else entirely.

I miss when he forgot about veterans day.

I remember him, dying, stuck in a bed, drinking water through a sponge (it was one of the most terrifying things I've ever had to watch). He never lost his mind, or his memory, he lost his body first.
The last thing he said to me was "you be a good girl."
The last thing I said was "I will" (and I hid behind my mothers back, while she said "We love you").

Sorry Grandpa,
I'm not perfect.
And that's probably not
what you meant

He knew he would never see me again.
I had no idea. (Why was that the last thing he said?)

He was a composer.
Two weeks before he died (that's also the first time I cried for him), someone arranged to have a symphony play his music for the first time in concert. They drove my grandpa to the concert hall in an ambulance. That's a gift no one will ever live up to. I wish I'd gone.

He was one of the most amazing people I've ever known,
and I didn't even realize it until after he was gone.

I'd give almost anything to have a conversation with you.

Goodbye.

I love you.

Goodbye.

I love you.

Goodbye.

I love you.

I wish you were still here.

Two Christmases ago, my grandma started crying while we were singing silent night, because Chuck wasn't there to sing bass. We were missing only one part, and no one could replace it.

I wonder if there are recordings of him talking, just talking somewhere.
I'd like to hear them.

I wish I could have sung with my grandpa, Christmas carols, anything.

Goodbye.

I love you.

hands
relics and rebels
count time in small cuts and hangnails
know more than their wearer
see clearer the pinprick of life
the pain emanating, stinging
and with grace
cautiously teaching

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

save breath for later
lungs in a tupperware
container
ziplock baggies full
of sounds
the ones, the words
I'm too tired to make

hang my eyelids
on the clothesline
to dry, leave the weight
behind

pull all my teeth
plant them in the ground
grow some new ones
place them in my mouth
and let them fall out
that's not how to smile

are you gonna leave me hanging?
that's not a question I can ask
but I'm hanging
you tied fishing line to all my bones
and now I'm ******* hanging
you pull the strings now

and hours later
you walked me home
I wasn't that drunk
but I guess I am holding myself up
with my palms right now
so I don't fall flat on my face

and here I lose
the comfort of metaphor
(well, the stanza before)

I only do it
(get stupid beautiful wish-worthy drunk)
so these questions
these nagging doubts
these nightmares
will stop

but you don't
you keep showing up
everywhere
so they don't

and I wonder why
with a question mark
why I keep wishing
why I keep playing this
semblance of life in my mind
over and over and over:
where you want me
where you can't live without me

hopeless
I'm hopeless
because I hope
endlessly that you
will never let go of me

because for three years
I couldn't let go of you
I can't let go of you

I know that's wrong
that my words are toxic
that recognition would ruin everything
and still
I can't quit wanting
can't quit smoking
can't quit drinking
can't quit you

but don't leave
please don't leave
don't let me scare you
cos I'm scared too

you showed up
right at the wrong time
really, the exact moment

I forgive you
I salute you
for taking the liberty of asking
when I was too weak to

we could be happy
but then again we can't be
I know this is hard
I know how this feels
(you did it to me)

this is torture
for both of us
I promise

I know this is tough
I understand your reluctance
but I also know
that you can see
what you're doing to me
so if you're gonna **** up my life
the least you can do is be in it

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

this morning
I was a good girl

6:20 AM

I got out of bed early
to make myself pretty
I painted my flaws
and I drew eyes on my face

this morning
I was a good girl

6:45 AM

I took my pill cocktail
2 to make me happy
1 to make me healthy
and 2 to subdue the headache

this morning
I was a good girl

7:00 AM

I did't ask questions
I found my shoes
and I left the house

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.

I remember taking my time.
I remember patience.
I remember when meaning was something I assigned, not something I looked for.
I remember when my hair was gold and my eyes were blue and the smile on my face reflected truth.
I remember not needing.
I remember before I had to.
I remember when numbers, were numbers.
I remember when thoughts didn't have a page length.
I remember seeing what is, what was, before I was told to see this way, not that way.
I remember before all I could say about understanding was "I remember."
I remember understanding.
I remember not wishing I were somewhere else.

you gave me "I love you"
and I told you to put it on the table
with the rest of the gifts

it's not that I don't want it
I just have to push a few of my doubts
out of the way to make room
I just have to deserve it

I would thank you
but I was told not to do that
I'm sorry I had nothing to give
I never do
that's why I'm confused

you gave me "I love you"
I guess now it's mine
if only I could understand.
and when I do
I can return it to you

this is the one time it's okay
to regift to the same person

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

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.

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.

thoughts, collecting
creating
birthing children of doubt;

they cry, they scream
and thoughts, though parents
disappear
and leave me with orphans
picking their feet and noses
smiling tirelessly

they have scared away sleep
and eyes wide open
I wait
for the children of doubt
to die like their parents
to dissipate and
leave
me
be

...      
          (I walked for twenty minutes to find you)
you say that he'll hurt me
          (I'm an idiot, how could I do this)
like he did before
          (you were shouting and I was walking for both of us)
when I thought that I was wanted
          (I held you up by the shoulders
          I smelled ***** and you stumbled)
and he wanted, but not me
          (you stopped and cried, I had to make you keep walking)
I haven't decided what all this is yet
          (you say he'll hurt me, but
          seeing you hate me hurts more
          than anything he can say)
you could be right
you say that he'll hurt me
          (I let you smoke a cigarette
          I made you go to bed)
this could happen again
          (I dread the moment
          you walk out of your room
           tomorrow morning)
I could want him
he could want, but not me
          (I love you and I hear you and
          I won't let him hurt me)
I could be the body that holds the space
for the girl that outshines me
but I love you and I hear you
and I won't let him hurt me
          (please oh please don't wake up still angry)

I hear a truck backing up in the distance
that droning, desolate
isolated
a sound so repetitive it's invisible
in-audible
sorry
diction is failing me
I might be drunk
I miss you
I miss you so much
and you're not even gone
well, I guess you're not here
but you aren't even gone

I found a photo of you
I'm packing
I finally started packing
three days before I move
I found a photo of you
from a while ago
before you left that note in my sketchbook
I need to leave a note in your sketchbook
you should probably know how I feel
you should probably know that even though
I may be distant and confusing and quiet but too loud
all I really need you to know
is that I want you
I want you
like I want summer to stay with me forever
I want you
and you think I don't know what I want

anyway, I found a photo
of you
smiling
and *******
why isn't this easier?
smiling
you don't have to say anything
just smile
please
please please
just be with me
a little bit longer
don't leave
just stay in bed
just look at me
like you're still sleeping
(and you are, I'm sure)
and smile
so I know

so I know
finally
for just a little bit longer

I am a temporary installation

                                 they--
                                 don't know who
                                 don't know what

will someday take me down
                              
                             ­    and disassemble me
                                 and put me away
                                 under the ground

make room for the new ones

I am a self-constructed
statue

bear the label
"human being"

just that.