my head is filled to the brim

with other **** i have to do

like job applications
going to class
reading ******* textbooks
dress rehearsals laundry
writing papers that won't make any sense
drinking too much coffee




when all i want to do
is lay shirtless on your floor with you

and write poetry about the palms of your hands

For my embalming, Julia, do but this;
Give thou my lips but their supremest kiss,
Or else transfuse thy breath into the chest
Where my small relics must for ever rest;
That breath the balm, the myrrh, the nard shall be,
To give an incorruption unto me.

Sweet western wind, whose luck it is,
  Made rival with the air,
To give Perenna’s lip a kiss,
  And fan her wanton hair:

Bring me but one, I’ll promise thee,
  Instead of common showers,
Thy wings shall be embalm’d by me,
  And all beset with flowers.

He touched me and I said,
“Lock it up, dear
lay off my skillet, *****
I’m running wild fire, anyways,
You know nothing about the smell of burning lilies,
You know nothing of me
I like your winks but only because
the way the lighting frames your face
so beat it solo
and face the clouds alone.”

There was a time when I wanted someone to love so badly
I would stay up late at night imagining his face
I would fall in love with the imaginary words he would say to me
The graceful way his hands moved when he spoke
A very comforting laugh that made the world stop
I knew someday that he would stroll into my life, if I thought about it long enough
Convinced that he was out there dreaming me up, we'd be together soon

I wanted a man with deep thought, a warm and large heart
Someone that would sing along with me, and be silent with me
Knowing when to do each would be the difficult part
But not for him - he would know me right away.
We would laugh at how long it took us to find one another
We had been so close for so long, how did we not see it?

This man, this imaginary person that I have loved since my youth
He has not come.
I have been fooled thinking that he is alive in many others
Eventually though my heart is betrayed and I see that it's not him.
His shape and demeanor has changed over the years.
I fear that I have altered this man so much that he is no longer capable of being real.

If he is though, I'll find him eventually.

Hello!

      I mean

He
            Did you see the way she looked at him? That, that
            is either the craziest stare in the stars of our eyes or
            an indication of infatuation!
                      
                           I say, infatuation? Thought we'd done away with that long ago
                          
             It comes back in a different way however, with years of experience elsewhere
             when you end up realizing who your true friends are and how you've strayed
             from constructive friendships to chafing ones

llo!


I mean

           Hello!
           How are you?

"She's my girlfriend!"
he shouted as a boy placed his hands over her mouth and planted a fake kiss on her. His lack of sobriety allowed real rage to fill his eyes and he tackled the kissing boy. As they began to struggle against each other on the sticky hard wood floor that was probably covered by layers of party fouls, she thought, ' he called me his girlfriend. Why would he say that?' Her best friend sitting close by said it out loud
" Oh my gosh dude, he just called you his girlfriend!"
Through this short span the boys were finishing up there tuff and he began to find his seat next to her again. Placing his arms over her shoulder she didn't mind the sweat, or the alcohol. It actually reminded her of most of their nights together. She wanted to kiss him. He was busy talking across the room to an equally as drunk buddy about who the bigger beauty was. She didn't drink. But she didn't mind it. Taking people home was pleasing, plus there was a greater chance of getting him home, with her. The party was picking up. The boys with the I-pod were getting drunk enough to start up their typical loop of songs. Being from Texas she knew that she would be dancing. She loved dancing. Even when the boys she was dancing with were drunk it was fun. Plus, he couldn’t country-dance so she got to dance with others and he was forced to watch. Dancing always reminded her of home, a small rural town in Texas where you could be a outcast and popular all at the same time. She did it all in high school. Cheerleading, sports, theater, you name it she was most likely involved. However, she felt like everyone in town, or majority disliked her. She constantly felt eyes burning on her too white to be here skin. So she left for school out of state, planning on never looking back. She did miss the dancing though. Every prom she made it a point to dance with her father, and to not sleep with her boyfriend.

Having *** on prom night was too cliché.

A boy grabbed her hand. My Maria was blaring through the speakers and it was about time she stood up anyway, the mindless getting nowhere conversation she was having with her friend was only justifying how ****** up her situation was. One of her biggest surprises in moving was that Canadian boys liked country and could dance to it. She never thought a taste of home would come from a drunken kid from Vancouver.  He was a best friend with her interest but that didn’t keep him from pulling her close, so close she could tell that his last drink had just enough whiskey to float the ice cubes.

The party had reached the relaxed stage. Cute petty arguments were filling the air. He stood behind her and grabbed her hand. Surprise ran through her but she couldn’t show it. It’s suppose to happen, maybe he does like you? That was one of her favorite feelings. Brushing hands with someone, or having them grabs yours. The shock, the spark that runs from your finger tips through your stomach and out the top of your head.

Once, when she was young a boy held her hand in the movie theater, cupped, a true moment of tragedy.

Her friend saw what the drunken boy had done and began raving to her about how perfect they looked and how you can’t deny that something was there between them. She had two close friends. One who was somewhat a romantic until she got drunk and proceeded to call every guy within a ten-foot radius an *******. She came to college somewhat naive and with her heart still in a different state. A boy she had liked since high school kept here grounded. She needed to move on but she didn’t see it that way. Her story lead to a car stopping in the middle of the road letting her out to her eventually de-virgining by a, to say the least, experienced Canadian boy who wanted everything but also decided that nothing was good enough.  The other friend, who was more of a realist but still wanted things to turnout a certain way was also there. She haled from California, a sunshine girl who was unbelievably ditzy but unbelievably smart. Speaking her mind was never hard for her. She did make one vital mistake. Believing a European boy when said he was different. The only thing different about him was that he spoke broken English and wore tighter pants than American boys.

She had always been in a group of three, from school to school. There is a comfort in three, even more so for them, not only because they were all above 5' 9" but also because they all wanted the same unattainable thing.

He went home.
He went home with her.

A whirlwind of emotions began to ride up in her. How could you of been so dumb to think that it would work. At least the commotion of getting everyone down the stairs safely took her mind off of the fact that no matter what, he wasn’t going to love her. In the drivers seat she could hear the name-calling and the I can’t believe its being said by everyone. But the three of them knew it didn’t matter. Her willingness to let him come running back was always going to be there.

The next day lead to greasy food and stories of the night before. The futon mattress in the living room sprawled out on the floor laid out the venue for the party talk.

She played on a futon when she was a baby. Her parents have countless pictures of it. Innocent and fragile, not much had changed other than the addition of bitterness.

Why would he say that? She thought again and parked the car in the garage and helped carry the taco bell bags upstairs. She hated taco bell, being from an area around the Mexico border spoiled her pallet. Her friends crunched down talking about how guys are all *****. By now the night before had only faded somewhat in her mind.

He woke up that morning to a girl next to him. She had been awake since eight but let him sleep because it gave her more time with him.  They had a past and that made for great *** but also a girl burned in his eye that wasn’t her.

For him the night never happened.

If she could reverse her thoughts she would. She hated wondering why. She understood him being a 21 year old that wanted to get laid. But why grab her hand? Why act as if you cared for  her. Oh god she thought. It’s so simple.

Its because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

You know what I mean when I say that it's strange
To come down from heaven and walk through a range
And serve as a target for all of your pain
You should know what I mean by now

                                            You know what I mean when I say that it's true
                                             I haven't found anyone who's close to you
                                             But I couldn't start looking because I'm a fool
                                             You should know what I mean by now

You know what I mean when I say that I'm tired
Of all of the cheats and the ****** and the liars
Yet I'll sit and roast with them above the fires
You should know what I mean by now

                                              You know what I mean when I say that I'm done
                                              And your little mind games have lost all their fun
                                              And I'm through with sitting here, I'd rather run
                                              You should know what I mean by now

I lift my eyes
Up from the dirt where I am standing
Up from the hurt that I've been handed
To the river where I find myself again
To the hands that offer me a second chance

i have yet to set roots in anyone
my mind and my body always wandering
through the streets of foreign towns
the only constant has been a vacant strip mall and interesting strangers
the men i meet on these streets have come into my life like a storm
their attention pouring down on me, drowning me
nothing has ever compared though, to the feeling i get from you

when i walked into his apartment i felt as though i'd been here before
there was a man long ago, they could have been brothers
two worlds colliding together right in front of my eyes
i wasn't sure if i should hold on tight or run away

the fire faded and i was left standing cold alone on another corner
my heart was beating so fast i thought it would jump out of my chest
how i could i let this happen again and where would i go from here
there was nothing left to do but continue to walk away

i walked down that street, got into my car and drove away
finding a place to stay for the night because nothing feels like home anymore
quickly adjusting my clothes and my attitude i picked myself up
looking back now, i should have known better
i should have seen the signs, but i was blinded by his intoxicating conversation
once again.

there was only one thing left to do
waltz straight into that tall venue with friends at my side
hand the girl with the pink and black hair my ticket
and forget my troubles
remember that your roots are not planted there
they are in your heart
and your heart belongs to the man on stage.

that's the moment i realized that i was home.