I said i’ll laugh in a minute when your jokes gets funny,
Don’t act surprised, your not made of money,
Iv’e seen pain in heaps of bare blood junkies,
Don’t push me around, Audrye.


My heart is covered in charcoal black,
You mark your steps in spots exact,
And slowly make your cashed attack,
You’ve got your eyes set, Audrye.


I’m pined and scared in paisley shade,
These foreign motels have set ashamed,
The torn wallpaper drips like raid,
These cuts are new, Audrye.


Mind over matter, and brains over brawn,
You act sympathetic, but sympathy is far gone,
Explosions of flesh, Odes and Psalms,
You know when i can’t breath, Audrye.


Pure lovers we were, white crested in brow,
Neither pure lovers or lovers are we now,
We once had blankets of untouched snow,
Im ashamed but with no regret, Audrye


The doors to the room have all been locked,
and all airways and stairways have all blocked,
Let the heat build and all carbon stocked,
I’m taking you with me, Audrye.


All my attempts futile, of death and suffocation,
We will both die surely in horrid frustration,
‘This time is sad when so beautiful and amazing’,
-Two men watched her pass, Audrye


The one was new to the room and rose
He had slipped through the barriers, set to appose
her eyes did see him in red roman robes,
He lifted the brail frame of Audrye.


With the lady secure in his tangled grasp,
he took time to notice the two lovers past,
not a single piece of solidity left tact,
He left in silence, holding Audrye.



Days did go, and health too strive,
She found peace in the home she did arrive,
He nursed her wounds, but wished nothing to bride,
She had found piece at last, Audrye.


Body first and mind the second,
Her flesh was healed but time revealed the present,
What the man found was scarred, now free but pregnant.
Was there no escape for Audrye?


She laid crying in her sickness new,
Her tongue was cut, in pure silence she grew,
She pleaded to leave past lovers adieu,
But bore the child of a dead man, Audrye.


Now months time past, and not a single word said,
The man tended her breast, and never left her bed,
Her pure white that blackened, now turned red,
She saw his compassion, Audrye.


One word came with one more week,
And a sentence saw darling aprils peak,
The haunting shadows had little to reap,
Who is this man? said Audrye.


He new her price and new her shame,
He truly loved with out knowing her name,
How could he care without expecting the same,
Love is funny, Audrye


As the child reached morning, his home still open,
As she sat and cried, a widows hoping,
It had been a night of a pain, the man watched her broken,
He stood from the window, Audrye.


The night of the expected came and she wept,
Ashamed of the burden, holding love and regret,
Silently she passed his door, and slowly down the step,
This was her mistake only, Audrye


The gravel pushed the souls of her feet,
Crying in pain she screamed at the streets,
A contraction, compassion, she woke him from sleep,
She searched away for help, Audrye.



He cursed himself for closing his eyes,
He knew why she ran, and knew why she cries,
He had to tell her this, his love uncompromised,
He went for her, Audrye


Her body was still, and leaned on an oak,
As he made his way on foot down the road,
The country air was thick, and low,
But she saw him through the fog, Audrye.


Tucked in the thicket to hide from his aide,
Hoping he’d pass, she couldn’t bare such shame,
Across her lap, the new born laid,
Wrapped in her coat, Audrye.


As he rushed onward, forward in search,
He nearly passed her sunken perch,
But a cry of wisdom from the blessed birth,
Stopped him in his tracks, Audrye.


Nimble and weak, he lifted her once more,
With a child makes two is what a family makes for,
That night they lay together, all three on the floor
Culmination of bliss,
On her brow a gentle kiss,
Audrye.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

I remember the promises we made
On the cold streets of Chicago at 2 am.
I can still see your breath,
When "I'll love you forever"
Couldn't have felt any better.
I remember throwing around a football
Acting like every day was the fourth of July,
Feeling like we were already a family.
I remember hours spent in ecstasy,
Grasping your hand in pleasure.
I remember laughing like I would never get enough,
Happiness becoming second nature.
I remember each day of those three years with you.

But is it possible to fall out of a love
So deep and suffocating?
Because I've been breaking those Chicago promises,
And pretending that I miss you.
I've been losing my mind,
And crashing towards insanity,
Thinking of the things I've done
To **** our forever love.

the eyes are probably the truest--
but even my dad said that people
may see colors differently

19 years of boring days,
19 years of tears,
19 years of things drastically falling apart and never making any sense,
that is 19 years of trying to figure things out, like my body, and who the heck am I?
19 years of loving any guy who dare speak to me,
and 19 years of heartache figuring out that they didn't love me back,
19 years of dreaming and reading and wondering,
19 years of thinking, about everything really,
About God, and life, and why in the world am I here,
and 19 years of drawing,
19 years of human pain, like that time I had to get surgery for a broken leg,
Then there is a ton of mental and emotional pain, like heart break,
And other ****,
19 years of loving my family and friends for being there in my desperate times of despair,
And 19 years of not realizing that they were there the whole entire time,
19 years of trying to find my unrealistic and perfect Mr. Darcy,
which of course does not exist, well to my knowledge at least,
19 years of crushes on all the wrong guys,
And 19 years of never acknowledging the prime and proper ones who were gonna treat me right,
19 years of having to schoolwork, and now in college its more work then I have ever imagined,
And sometimes I just break down and cry because the stress of it all is depleting me of all my energy and time,
19 years of not knowing how to function around certain people, like at all sometimes,
And 19 years of having some of the greatest friends in the world to go out with on random nights to smoke hookah,
19 years of happy days,
And 19 years of having your heart ripped out of your chest and beaten on the side of the road until it can barely beat anymore,
19 years of having sucky days that make you want to jump off a cliff and **** yourself, or anybody at all really,
Like the first person you wake up in the morning and dares speak to you,
19 years of feeling tired, like every day,
19 years of eating delicious junk food, drinking water, laughing so hard I can't even breath, spilling coffee, talking so fast I forget what I am even saying and slipping up on everything.
19 years of foul plays and just really bad mistakes that you thought were gonna turn out good, but hit you really hard in the face,
So 19 birthdays to celebrate all these crazy and silly happenings that make me wanna go insane,
But I'm not so sure where I be without it all, without

VII
 
 
As you fold
and crease your words
sheet upon sheet
a running commentary
flows,
ebbs and flows:
 
your present reading;
that playlist of songs
to sing in solitude;
reflections on ‘proper’ letters
and the lost art of spelling.
Such word-gifts . . .
 
. . . and you ask if I mind. . .
when what you tell me
fills those empty rooms
I put aside for you:
to live undisturbed
in my imagination house.
 

VIII
 

The end in sight,
the samples stitched,
book-bound.
Show me,
and turn the pages
in your silent way,
 
no comment required,
none given.
The day is closing.
Time parts: for a tired child,
a birthday meal,
and now your mother’s smile.
 
Whilst at work in her kitchen
you thought-visit
my peninsula home,
pondering a duet
of music and sea-breathing silence,
distance everywhere.
 
IX
 
White and Yellow,
the final sheet,
a sign to stop.
With the care and formality
of closure the writing
ends, with just
 
your name.
How else could it be?
There’s no other word
embossed on
these coloured pages
I pick up, I put down.
 
My fingers trace the braille
of your pen’s indent.
the pressure and print
of letters formed.
Your very touch now
lies beneath my own.
 
 
 
*Legend has it
that anyone
folding
a thousand cranes
may have their heart’s desire.
 
For now,
just eight orizuru
with words
of friendship
written on their wings.