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BONE SALT: the taste of the future.

The only taste.

No life, no death, only ΒΟΝΕ.

Just an average day in my average life
no cause at all for worry or strife.
But then it hits out of the blue.
This terrible feeling is nothing new...
So I sing the

Anxiety song
Anxiety song
Before its over something will go wrong...
In my anxiety song.

My hear beats fast and I can't get air.
I don't think straight. I'm so **** scared.
At about this point, I start to cry.
I really really wanna die.
But I sing

The anxiety song.
anxiety song.
A panic attack can feel so long.
Here's my anxiety song.

You want to have a good day,
but your brain is saying "no way".
Things are not ok .
Why can't it go away
goawaygoawaygoaway
goawaygoawayawayawayaway
[hyperventilates­] [gathers self]

It's the anxiety song
anxiety song.
I'm gonna finish it singin' strong.
It's my anxiety song.

I do not know myself yet,
I'll tell you when I'm older,
I'll tell you when I'm ready,
It's not like it's a secret

I do not understand you
I thought I knew how I was
I thought I knew my limits
What's happening is brand-new.

You do not know yourself yet,
Don't see how kind you act
Don't see how wise you are
I don't know how to process

I think that I might love you?
Which I thought was impossible
Which I hoped was a mistake.
So what am I gonna do?

Little glass axolotl perfect
shades of pink and orange.
Found him at the thrift store
brought him home &
shone him up with some  
windex and a cotton cloth.
Now he sits on the shelf  
and sometimes I pick him  
up to marvel at the smoothness  
of his back, and the perfectly formed gills  
at the sides of his head.
My little glass axolotl  
is one of the things that
pulls me through papers  
with his tiny smile and  
teensy toes. This is love caught in
silica and pigment. Yes this
is what love is.

No, I don't.
Oh one who
takes pride in
denouncing love,

Look at yourself.

Unable to accept who
you are without another.
Creating a false sense of loneliness
by ignoring the relationships you have
in favor of the one you do not.

You believe that you are
rebellious in your isolation
but when it comes down to it
what is more radical:
Cynicism and bitterness
or Love.

To you valentine antagonist:
I Love You.

A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
I wanted to say,
Set yourself free,
sing until you have
a poem and no voice.
Open your chest
and let your heart say
what your mind can't
Act as if you own the day
and all that you live
and all that you see
and all that you feel
you boxed up for inspiration.
Write your mom a letter,
and tell her that you miss her
but you'll be back someday.
Because being a writer is traveling
through a wide and dangerous and wonderful world
and coming home must wait.
Remember to love yourself
even if it's hard to do with
ideas cluttering your brain.
and Reality tapping at your skull
saying is this worth it?
Warn the neighbors that if they hear voices
It's just your soul
changing and creating.
Learn how to accept others.
Learn to let go of everything you don't need
in order to stay sane,
Learn how to grow
from your failures.
A friend asked me
how to be a writer.
All I said was
write

This isn't you.
This clawing-at-your-stomach
This throat-tightening
This fist-clenching
This head-splitting moment.

You don't wish for those feelings
you don't need that
for validation.
You're happy with the way you are,
Thanks.

But sometimes, you wonder what
that sort of closeness feels like.
You yearn for a feeling
you'll never get.
Ever.

Guys like us don't get breaks
with our unshaven faces and manky hair and eyeliner.
Our work-torn jeans colorful tattoos and pierced lips a warning,
Aposematism in human form.
Guys like us don't get breaks
We claw and drag our way not to the top,
but to the surface.
Ain't got no daddy's money.
Ain't got no daddy, or wish we didn't
cause he comes home
talking 'bout how he didn't raise no ******.
(He didn't raise nobody).
Guys like us don't get breaks.
Nothing but mildewy rooms
McDonalds for dinner washed
down with cheap *****
Another Thank you for applying but...
Rent due the 24th.
alone at night again.
Guys like us don't get breaks.

so i read stories and poems
and in most of them the
writer equates love
with touch
and i mean thats fine but here i am
an awkward ace person
i dont need to be caressed
but if you would get
me superman ice cream
and watch the half blood prince
with me and pass me tissues
when dumbledore dies
and ask if you can hold my hand
that would be neat

Summer fills me with nostalgia in a way that I cant explain. But when the air hears up and the black ants crawl all over our house I find myself remembering when we covered the window with sheets so we could sleep when it was still light.

Most years I was alone, friends not good enough to contact outside of school.
I stayed up late in bed reading every night. It was during summer that I stumbled on my first podcast, on my first ****** novel, on my first question of gender.
In the heat of summer I sought change. Alone, I struggled with questions of college and career and the future. I despaired, sobbing into my pillow until I fell asleep.

Summer is full of possibility, of the past, of the future.
I caught fireflies out on the lawn, I put cicada husks in a jar and kept a tally, I invented games for myself and my sisters. I work late nights and come home to a warm house. I eat cereal for 3 meals a day.
The rules don't apply to Summer.

Words are hard.
I know I'm not saying
Anything revolutionary.
For all of the human race
Speech poses a quandary:
Do I speak?

Words are hard.
You know the saying:
Like a stone, words hurt:
Shattered bones, shattered soul,
Shattered self worth.
Can I speak?

Words are hard.
They take more energy
than I have left to give.
Perhaps if I ignore the rest
I'll have a will to live.
Why should I speak?

Words are hard.

My mind, it sings
my ears, they ring
and this is true
because of you.

No simple thing,
no mild fling
the times we spent;
I felt content.

These phrases set
lest you forget.
Here's some rephrasing:
you're amazing!


My only source of some disgust is,
the words I write don't do you justice!

heat and humidity hit
as I walk out the sliding doors
of the 7/11 cream soda in hand
I walk yawning across the asphalt
where water still pools from
summer showers
as I open the car door I
notice the haze of smog
and starlight and fluorescent
lamps and smell the gasoline
from the thousands of cars
that pass through
I close the door.

"This too shall pass," say poets dead and gone,
"And soon the green shall come dispel the gold."
But even green shan't stay forever on:
For autumn has new colors to unfold!

The hurt that is a friend of letting go
Is natural, so give yourself some grace.
And when it passes-and it will, you know-
you'll find the wonder here, in this new space.

Circumstances are but temperamental.
Although the same thing ne'er will repeat,
You do not need to be too sentimental:
Another comes that may be just as sweet.

Though tempted you might be to let tears fall,
This ending is of one thing, not of all.

Small creature, why are you here?
The forest is only a minute away,
and yet you chose concrete.
Did you die of fear?

Small creature, I cannot be so bold
as to stop and lift you into grass
for I have commitments
Did you die old?

Small creature, on cement you lay prone
feet in the air, nose up
food for some passing hawk
Did you die alone?

"you be the princess and ill be the hero
and i will rescue you from the dragon" he says
she stands confused because she is the princess
but she is also the hero and the dragon is
hers and she doesn't see how he can help

"the spell will be broken by your true loves kiss"
they promised but she knows true love is
a lie and though she's kissed many her dragon stays
and stays and when she takes up
her sword she only hurts herself and the ones she loves

"you should give up" says the dragon
and she almost agrees the hero cannot save even herself
but she puts on her crown drops her sword
and casts a spell she didnt know she had
and the dragon falls to the ground asleep

"she lived happily-ever-after,"
the story says and she knows
not everyone can and that there are more
dragons out there but she has learned
and she is waiting and she will conquer

sometimes
words come out wrong and
hang
there
sparking
in the air
ripping shreds of whatever
might have gone right
and though youd like to take
it back
the words are out
to stay

what a gift
to be able to type
long trails of black and white
and take it
all
back
switch and rearrange the letters
create paragraphs you dont want
nothing will last
make a beautiful picture
and then make it
more elaborate
adding swirls of blue and green
changing the shape
guessing
second guessing
mistakes vanishing into blank white space
open for a second chance

i spent
the afternoon on the
lawn in a clover patch
plucking the 4th leaf off

because last month
was so clouded
and i shone too bright

too gaudy

but now i'm here
fixing these little *******
taking their 4th
leaving 3

increasing their chance of survival
like i did with that worm
on the sidewalk this morning
i
picked her up and
hurled her into grass and
I didn't look back.

sometimes salvation is violent.

Are you down on your luck?
short on change?
no place to go?
caught in the rain?
Just **** it up & don't complain.
you're on your own - that's capitalism!

if you're poor you
deserve what you are
cause they're rich for a reason
the things they believe in
social darwinism its
survival of the fittest its
living for yourself dont
mess with no one else
and if you don't make it
then you just couldn't take it
and you don't deserve to live anyway...

do you need an out ?
is there no way in?
are you just waiting
for your life to begin?
Well clearly you don't deserve to win.
They won't help - that's capitalism!

The people who make it
clearly won't break it
cause they  have the smarts
to succeed in the art of money.
So give'm all the funds
watch it trickle down and run.
It's a free market, so
let it loose, watch it go.
If there's monopoly
they want you to let it be
its only a kids game to them. . .

no pain no gain.
but if it's not their pain
their result's the same.
but what have we gained?

Is life a dead end
in the land of the free?
ruled by the rich-
a bureaucracy.
No end in sight that we can see.
Our legacy- is capitalism.

The kitchen table, dimly lit, at which
Sit I, with book propp’d up upon the edge,
And in my hand, a mug bedeck’d with owls,
To the brim fill’d with sweet cinnamon chai.
The room as warm as summer, walls protect.
And I look out at the surrounding black
Becoming lost deep in the rain and wind
Which whirls without, just like a dancer wild
Would swirl a ribbon round and round their head.
But i sit in my isle of warmth and light.
While they are locked outside, in  fath’mless dark.

Tumblr taught me lots of stuff
like how to call out someone's bluff,
how bones break from CPR,
and what exactly bronies are.
But deep inside that rabbit hole,
I hit upon some solid gold.
I live in a small town you see,
and I thought things were wrong with me.
But in my dark blue dashboard space,
I found there was a thing called "ace".
I had a 5-hour googling spree,
and I found that this name suited me.

The human condition
Is longing to take charge,
To make your own mark.
Make the world better,
Make the world brighter,
Shine in the dark.
But these days it's all I can do
To get out of my bed.
If I were the Chosen One
The good guys would be dead.

I'm mundane.
I'm ordinary,
There's no breaking out of this mold.
I could fight back;
Not take this lying down.
My life's spinning out of control.

The villans condemned
The heroes are sung
Their mem'ry goes on.
I fix up my coffee
I do what they tell me
I'm only a pawn.
I'm much too lazy and unkempt
To find where the action's at.
If I don't go out & find some friends,
I'm gonna die alone with my cats.

I'm mundane.
I'm ordinary.
There's no breaking out of this mold.
I could fight back;
Not take this lying down.
Put a stop to this rigmarole.

They make big discoveries
That become their legacies
Their sign on humanity.
I can't even function
Just living my own life
but I still have vanity.
All I want is to change the world,
to have my name be heard.
There are just so many dreams
But all my plans are blurred...

Because I'm mundane.
I'm ordinary.
There's no breaking out of this mold.
I could fight back;
Not take this lying down.
But I won't escape entropy's pull.

My life's spinning out of control.

Our friendship ended in poems,
as so many things do.
The pain, the loneliness...
it all came through.

You and me loved each other once,
but no longer.
Absence will not make the heart
grow fonder.

You made me cry,
so this is goodbye.

What we have is good, and what's out there is better
but we're right here, with cold iced tea.
The meaning of life is in your grasp,
why do you spend time with me?

Why be deep when it doesn't matter?
Why be deep when we have us?
Why find meaning in a world with no answers?
Let's settle for "just because".

I wait for the day when you'll outgrow me.
Cast me aside with your toy trucks & dolls.
I'm holding you back from a shining future,
why do you bother at all?

Why be deep when it doesn't matter?
Why be deep when we have us?
Why find meaning in a world with no answers?
Let's settle for "just because".

You're genuine, I love that about you.
When you're deep, you're not posing,
You're actually knowing
things no one has a business to know.
I don't want to keep you,
but I worry about you, or about me
when you are gone.
I love when we talk
but it only reminds me
that I'm so far behind where you are.
And I'm too scared to say
this to you because
I'll just look needy
& drive you away from me...

I know you will leave, & go chase your sunrise.
I'm only prolonging the inevitable.
I'm happy you're staying and talking
and being, but I realize your life is full.

Thank you for all the times that you:
provided snacks
lent me a blanket
talked me out of climbing that thing
were a shoulder to cry on
gently reminded me we had somewhere to be
told me to let go
forgot how much money i owed you
lent me your notes
put up with my moodiness
and my ungratefulness and my thoughtlessness
were just there

The key slides in,
The tumblers are thrown,
The **** twists,
The hinges glide,

The coat thrown aside,
The hat as well.
The carpet is tread,
The shoes wiped,

The kettle put on,
The blanket grabbed,
The radio plays
a favorite song.

The window looked through,
The ground covered in snow,
in April, no less;
but the birds are new!

the asphalt is smooth
the tires of my bike glide
over hot pavement

the sky: inky black
a bright beam cuts through darkness
the cars will see me

a bottle broken
a car window that shattered
either can deflate

shall we keep going
or shall we stop for coffee
giving pedals rest?

The rain trickles
down the side of the house
turning the garden
into a soup
of mud and dead tomato plants
while she dances
in a yellow raincoat
and bright boots
waving at the camera
as a silvery voice promises
hot chocolate.

Oh darlin' you think too much of me
I ain't sensitive
I ain't steady
I ain't kind
and I ain't somethin' to be tamed

I like you in my own way
but my bones ache to wander the wide empty prairie
which frightens you
but thrills me to the depth of my soul.

I don't got your morals
and I sure as hell ain't gettin' 'em soon
you can't hold me down
but have some faith sugarplum:

I'll come back to you.

Remember that no matter how good you are
and no matter how hard you plan,
you will fail.

Evil doesn't win kid; never has,
never will. You might plan that heist
to the last gunman but the day of,

mark my words, something will go wrong.
The hero will show up, and you
will be lucky to escape with all of your limbs.

It's a suicide mission, villainy.

So why? Why work for chaos and destruction?
Why choose death?
Why fight the system, when every effort is doomed?

Because the system has ignored me.
I am the oppressed, the broken,
the trodden on and nameless.

They hurt me,
took advantage of me,
and then called ME "monster."

How can I support something that never supported me?

I'm not trying to excuse my actions.
I am a monster, but God help me;

I will be a monster on my own terms.

It's over, isn't it?
The sunburned
ice-cream dripped
sand-in-your-toes mess.

I raise you rain.
And clouds too!
And gusts of wind that
can blow the hat off your head.

And cuddling together under blankets
while drinking tea
(you're more of a coffee person)
during the long nights.

So to the cold!
To the burrowing the falling
the flying.
To us who live on yet.

The world is wide,
Leaves not full turned,
The breeze is cool,
The sun is warm.
All edges are in sharp relief
as Fall begins to cut her teeth.

As he sinks down,
Down into the soil
he recalls everything.

Remembers what it was like
to taste the sky, and run
through fields of flowers
and he wonders if the man
whose hand he holds
is worth losing everything.

He thinks of the kitchen table,
and of the note he left for Mother:
"Going now. Back by spring."

He locks the door,
puts the last bag in the trunk,
and as he gets into the car
he looks back once
before turning away from
the sun.

one of the biggest ironies
is how insensitive
sensitive people can be.

we wear our feelings
on our sleeves
and lash out for small things.

in defending our honor
we refuse to acknowlege
that others matter.

we feel strongly
and so won't
empathize, wrongly

assuming that our pain
is greater than yours
which makes it hard to mantain

any kind of relationship.
so please don't
try to start friendships

with us alright?
we may seem
nice but we bite.

I applied under my legal name.
No way around it really, so I'll have to tell the truth later.
Policy, taxes, W-2's blah,
all I know is that neither the government
or the corporation cares that I stopped being a girl at least 5 years ago (even though the pride merch is filling the front).

It's for the more presentable queers.
Those white, married gays and lesbians moving into the suburbs with their kids and white picket fences and their acceptable bodies.
No trans flag in sight, just gaudy rainbow after gaudy "love wins".
Where's my prize?
Same-*** marriage doesn't help when I decide whether to *** like a man or a woman.

blue sky
sunshine
feeling good
life is fine

read a book
roller-skate
knit a hat
life is great

eat a snack?
think i will
what could go wrong
life is chill

now! the joy
all goes away
depressions back
and
here
to
s
t
a
y

Saying what I mean is
hard but structure
gives it meaning.

Syllables into lines
into stanzas
into song into x+y+z.

Formulas like algebra
critical thinking, where
to go planned before the start...

Freeform yet ordered,
words chosen and weighed.
Equation balanced and yet unfinished.

Deeper meaning, or surface?
3.14159....
How long is a poem is a life is a word
is a problem?

I never know where I am
in relation to you.

i wade through the grass mud on my shoes

You're here, and then
your eyes close off to me.

the light flits through the trees

It happens more and more often,
and yet I can't slip away.

i follow the light through thicket and clay

I think about us
so much, I can't sleep.

the light gets away and the mud is deep

You're gone when I blink.

*i sink

He dangled there,
Hovering between going on and going back.
Wrapping his hand around the bar,
Biting his lip and not looking down.
It’s October, but the sun is content.
He swings, swaying, kicking,
He’s floating.
Makes it to the end.
He knows he’s safe.

one, two,
feeling blue

three, four,
can't ignore

five six
mind plays tricks

seven, eight
sleep in late

nine ten
it starts again.

I'm too scared to act,
to commit to what I'm feelin'
On the outside I am calm
but my mind and soul are reelin'

my body is a temple to a god I don't believe in,
and I'm locked in here.

Everybody everybody
tells me it's ok,
that it's always been this way
"just you wait another day."
Everybody everybody
seems to be so strong
I believe that something's wrong
Somehow I have turned out wrong.

I'm terrified, cold,
want to die want to live.
I'm to weak to hold a grudge
but not quite ready to forgive.

My mind is dripping, dripping through that metaphoric sieve.
But I'm still in here.

Everybody everybody
tells me it's ok,
that it's always been this way
"just you wait another day."
Everybody everybody
seems to be so strong
I believe that something's wrong
Somehow I have turned out wrong.

And I feel the eyes behind me
they're watching, watching, watching.
And I feel the eyes behind me
as they stare.
And I feel the eyes behind me,
they're watching, watching, watching.
Can't escape, I can't escape,
'cause I'M TRAPPED IN HERE.

Everybody everybody
tells me it's ok,
that it's always been this way
"just you wait another day."
Everybody everybody
seems to be so strong
I believe that something's wrong
Somehow I have turned out wrong.

So very wrong.

I'm sorry, I'm not who you believe I am,
I'm sorry that what you know's not true.
I love you, and I don't wanna let you down;
don't wanna let you see the pieces,
the shambles of my life.

I'm functional when you're around,
my problems hidden 'neath the rug,
under the chair.
I'm functional when you're around,
but I crumble when you're not there.

My papers are scattered all around my room,
My dishes are piled on the floor,
I can't sleep cause the nightmares keep on comin'
And by day I'm just so tired,
and ready to give in.

But I'm functional when you're around,
my problems hidden 'neath the rug,
under the chair.
I'm functional when you're around,
but I crumble when you're not there.

I know that you'd care about the mess I've made.
I know that you'd wanna help me through.
You love me, but I'm so ashamed of this,
you can't see these tangled threads here,
I cannot let you in.

So I'm functional when you're around,
my problems hidden 'neath the rug,
under the chair.
I'm functional when you're around,
but I crumble when you're not there.

but I crumble
when you're not
there.

People say you won't use the things you learn in higher math
in real life: if x is this and y is this solve for z.

But finding a lost variable is vital to social survival.
If x is how long you've been talking, and y is how interesting you are, solve for how annoyed they are at you.

You then take this answer and use it as b in the equation of your self-worth where a is your natural talent at anything and c squared is how the expression on others faces change when they see you. Then raise all of this to the power of m, which here means your economic status and solve for s or how valuable of a person you are.

But even with this answer, there is some doubt: a fear that you rounded a number wrong or dropped a negative. You think s was positive, but that could have been a mistake so you run these calculations over and over... waiting to be worthless.

I'm not a Poet.
I'm just a scared kid,
who babbles on endlessly
about fears and hopes and dreams.

I'm not a Poet.
I have never been in love,
or found deeper truth
in the flight of a skylark.

I'm not a Poet.
My writings aren't tied with red ribbons,
I own no pet bear or lobster on a leash.
My heart is not a paperweight.

I'm not a Poet.
I won't become your Ideal,
I am flawed and real and Human.
I only write poems.

Wait! I'm not finished.
Don't tear it away from me
I can fix it.
I can fix this. Just let me
dig through what's left.
Something has to be left.
Right?
Right?

The noise builds all around me
the sun comes bouncing in,
2 hours of sleep
5 cups of coffee
and I sit waiting to begin

The ticker-tape keeps running
while the record spins
5 months to go
1 person shut-in
and they are trying to begin.

I sit here and I contemplate on all my recent big mistakes
since I like to procrastinate I'm quite deserving of this fate
And so I tap my pencil faster I don't know quite what I'm after
All I know is that this chapter of my life ends in disaster!

My mind does tarantella
my concentration thins
1 new idea
12 words per hour
and I can't make myself begin
Oh, how do I begin?

-Hey Jake,
You know how we like to hang upside down
y'know with our toes, on the beams
in abandoned
warehouses?
How we haven't eaten
in weeks, or slept?
How God
has abandoned us, and every
day I wake up in mortal terror knowing that my suffering is eternal?
what's with that?

-Michael, we're literally vampires.
Shut the **** up and go to sleep.