MY CHILDHOOD ROOM
FEELS LIKE A MUSEUM
no matter how many times
I dust the shelves.
The trophies look more plastic than ever
and the cat collection is a little out of hand.
The books are still my pride and joy
but their covers haven’t been caressed in
years?

Has it really been
years?

I light a candle and cradle my thoughts in my cranium
tapping my toes in tandem with
THE TERRIBLE SQUEAK in my ceiling fan
I asked my mom to get that fixed
does she forget everything when I’m not home
do the doors go unlocked when I’m not home
do the cats go unfed
does the truth go unsaid
WHY DO I NO LONGER FIT MY CHILDHOOD BED.

In the silence I can hear her.
I hear the little girl with the long braided hair
ask her mom for a book
For Christmas.
I envy her.

This Christmas  my list consisted of things
I know my mom can’t buy.
This year I asked for peace, for a stable career after college,
for a meaningful relationship that doesn’t
breed in the dark cracks of insecurity and small talk.
I asked for love, I asked for bathroom mirrors to stop insulting me,
and for people at grocery stores to smile more.
I asked for patience, I asked for the sun to show her face a little longer
so  I could finish everything I promised I would do.
I asked for joy, I asked for rainfall I could dance in, for a snowstorm where I can make snow angels and not care about the ice
that slides down my sleeve
I asked for knowledge, I asked for the stories of the unheard to be shouted from the skyscrapers
and for politicians TO STOP SCREAMING.
I asked for trust, I asked for lying to be illegal
and for people to feel safe when they hold out their hearts
in front of them.

I asked for someone to listen.
Because I know I can’t do this by myself.
It’s okay that we don’t fit out childhood beds
and growing up means growing out
of our once-favorite things.

We can stop asking
for books for Christmas–
as long as we write a new one
together.

Here’s to the creatures
that know how to love.
The morning birds
who leave their nests at night
just because the one they love
needed a wing to nestle under

The night owls
who leap out of bed
soaring to their companion’s side
just to sing good morning

The lions that keep their claws curled
so tightly away from their sweethearts
that the nails pierce like needles
into their own paws

The dogs that wait up all night
by the foggy moon lit windows
awaiting the return
of their adopted two-legged family

The otters that clasp the paws
of their darlings,
drifting with them down the stream
rather than alone in to heavy sleep

The animals, the mammals,
the dust, dirt, and air
the sway of the sea
the embrace of the sun
the breath of the trees
and the kisses of the petals

We were made to love selflessly.
We were born as gifts to keep giving
to the creatures around us.

No matter how many times
I am scratched and scared by the selfish humans that refuse to see something
other than their own reflections

No matter
The cheaters, the liars,
the ones with claws that don’t curl away
the ones that devour the hands that feed them
the humans who pay no mind
to the good in nature,
picking and pricking each other
with tongues of thorns
and fingers of fire

No matter
the empty promises
the wilted memories
the crumbled, half-hearted letters of apology

I choose
to give,
but not
to them

I have days so low
I wonder if gravity is depressed—
maybe his tight hugs
around our ankles
were not enough
of a connection,
so the Earth trembles
until she splits
and gravity drags us
to her burning hot core
In a way we all are like gravity
pulling each other in
hard, fast, recklessly
desperately wanting some
perfect planet
to see our
inner-most core

Yet why must we bring each other down
to let each other in?
You don’t have to choke me to hug you
You don’t have to shovel away my surface
to see what lies beneath
I’ll show you
layer by layer,
I will shed my surface
and shine brighter than
the stars of the greatest magnitude.”

We all have a universe of colors inside of us
too bad we never paint with the primary ones

a dash of her
a swirl of him
mix it up
splatter your face
and then
tell me when
you are ready
to show the world
these colors--
the ones you call your "own"
because it's safer that way

It's safer to sway in the shade
of another creature's color
and call it your own,
because at least you won't be alone

We're all just cool, sad, fine, tired
hungry, *****, happy, and uninspired--
we've all seen the rainbow
but where are the colors in between?

what about jubilant, irate, ecstatic
effervescent, elated, broken, sporadic

where is indigo, chartreuse, pavo,
teal, aquamarine tangerine or colors thought unreal?

our own primary colors
are not just red-yellow-blue
the people that surround us
are not just her-him-me-you
primary colors are those
that cannot be made from mixture


paint with your colors,
the ones the world has never seen
after all,
no one holds a paintbrush
like you do.

just because I like your eyes
or your twisted words that tango
in flashes of crimson and cranberry
with ideas of my own
I refuse to lay down my armor
at your traveling feet

You are a wanderer just like me
the world is not our oyster
but the massive emerald sea
and we hold our breath
as long as we can manage
brushing the sea ****
with our finger tips
and swirling with
the schools of fish
until we are gasping for air
at the surface of the water,
squinting in the sun to see
each other

I may never learn how to
breathe underwater
so don't hold me like you hold your breath--
I am not a temporary exploration

I am the sand and sunshine
where oxygen abounds
I am the quiet storms
and the furious clouds

There is a whole world above the sea
where you can breathe
and in that world,
you'll find me.

Stars have their dusty days
the sea sometimes turns a sickly green
when the emerald sparkle loses its shine
wedding rings get rusty
children’s joyful eyes
sometimes sting with salt
flowers wither with winter
mothers yell at their children
all the most “perfect” images of life
have their dull and dark moments

today it is okay
for me to fade to gray.

I will be a tinder box.
I will be the match that strikes
against the darkest of arteries
running through their hearts,
and light their flames again.

I will be the oxygen.
I will purse my lips
with the breath of encouragement
until the flame is a wild fire
until they know what they are capable of
until they burn brighter than they ever thought
they would.

the sun came up a little late this morning—
she slipped and slid across the sky
in slippers the clouds had made her
when she was just a kid

when she stood up straight
and stretched her gold ray arms
to hug the creatures below,
I could have felt her embrace
from light years away

she is the youth of the sky
eight minutes behind
shining in her prime
a million questions burning
in her mind
yet she moves on
each dawn and dusk,
she brings the morning
in her smile.

You have this sweater
you always roll the sleeves up on
when you leave the house
even when it's 28 degrees outside
because you fear the former owner
will recognize her wine stains
splattered across the cream fore arms
Deep dark Jackson *******
splashed and flashed in furious reds
the night when her husband said "drop dead"
she slammed the wedding gift crystal glass
so hard down on the toppling table
it shattered
and the Red Sea parted
the moment her lips did
splashing the suffering secrets of
hours, months, years
across her form arms
and away to the ears
of the man who couldn't listen
the night she rolled up her sleeves
and left.

I hope one day it will fade
Like the breath or smudged finger print
on a freezing window on a car
that’s driving a little too fast

I hope that one day you find her

Whether that’s me or she or we
never speak again,

at least I know you’re happy

I hope you remember

I hope my eyes are burned into your membranes and every night 

when you fall asleep you see a flash of blue
and feel a sting of red

I hope I am the forget me not and the remember me always

I’ve always been the stranger flower in the garden,

but you loved that

I hope you love yourself

like I loved you

Fully, compassionately, with a loss of all fear—

soaring on the wings 
of child-like faith

I loved you like I loved Santa, 

the tooth fairy and 

the Easter bunny—

I loved you like
I knew 
you weren’t real

I loved you like
I knew 
you couldn’t stay—


But love yourself in a new way
Love yourself within the steely
strength of a thousand straight backbones

A thousand concrete cubes

A thousand “I love you”s
You were my first kiss 

of the old year 

and my last poem 

of the new

please tell me 
I
didn’t waste my new words

on you.

I’ve been burning candles at my bedside
and watching the wax drip

I’ve been twisting my ankles in circles while sitting
and laughing every time I trip

I’ve been waiting for a sign tucked deep in my covers
yet my dreams are nothing but the sighs of my past

I’ve been striving to break from these threads in my head
and tonight I found the scissors to snip them at last

You know you’ll never finish a marathon
just by running your mouth

Today we have ambitions like birthday candles
once a year, a glimmer of hope,
a spark of life when we shout to the stars
our resolutions that will save us from this pollution
of lies until—
the wax melts and morphs into the frosting
we eat it all the same,
we are none the wiser,
but I’m tired of eating cake that tastes like ****

*******
is becoming our best man
and maid of honor
the only thing
tying the rings
around the fingers of our college lovers
and praying that this promise, for once,
won’t be broken
like our hearts in high school
like our bones in middle school
like our crayons in pre-school

Sticks and stones may break my bones
but words taught me a new kind of pain
words were the threads that I weaved into my childhood quilts—
every “goodnight,” every “sleep tight,” every “I love you”

so when those threads were unraveled
by the claws of divorce
and I was tangled in a tattered quilt of promises
I forgot how to sleep at night

I tried stealing words from sweet boys with gold eyes
just to patch up my quilt
yet every thread of their tongue
disintegrated to dust

But real strength cannot be found words
"goodnight" means nothing until I begin to dream
"sleep tight" is empty until I am enveloped in silky seams
"I love you" is a check that has not been cashed until your lips
meet my forehead
and you close the door gently behind you
because you don’t want to wake me

We’ll never win marathons just by running our mouths
we have to pick up our feet
stretch out our toes
and move.

scraping salsa off a festive snowman infested paper plate
I asked myself about the meaning of life

my last tortilla chip cracked under the pressure of my thoughts
and I was left with salty finger tips and a half empty stomach

I guess when you’re living in personalized, small-sized pizza
of a school the food is never filling and questions are never answered

No matter how many times I tell myself I know what I’m doing,
I wake up every morning just as lost at the day before

cracking my dreams like chips, bitter as the salt on my finger tips,
I’ve become a half empty stomach impossible to fill

one of these days I’ll be a home-cooked meal—
mashed potatoes salted just right,

sweet biscuits that crumble, never crack—
iced tea with the taste of sugar, just enough to savor,

I swear I could go on forever about my idealized platter
that one day I will feast on in my confident contentment.

I love the way
you grab my hand,
lovingly, tracing it like a palm reader
who wants a better future for me
than the one you see,
you gently caress my face
and let me rest
next to you
now.

On my morning walk home
I laughed at the scared squirrel
who ran out of habit
and not because I was going to hurt it
On my morning walk home
I laughed at my self
who ran out of fear
even though you will not hurt me.

You have to remember how you felt
when your gaze grazed the Monet painting
you loved so much
that one weekend when you were freezing your *** off
but thawing your heart out

You have to remember why red is your favorite color
and blue is its emotional companion
and some days you're both
and some days you're blue
and some days you can't stop burning red

You have to remember that you are not an empty eggshell
no one is trying to shatter your skull,
only you are
You are not a moldy coffin
You are not a parking garage to stop in
You are not a dreary day because even when you are gray,
you bring the brightest lightening I've ever ******* seen
You are more than one person's pair of unforgiving eyes
You are not the meager morsels of a pastry gone dry

You are alive, you are well
you are the fire when the world gives you hell
you've always had the power
to silence the slicing knives across your thoughts
your dreams haven't abandoned you,
they are not white horses leaping the fence when you aren't looking
your heart isn't asleep, she's just tired

so put the mirror down
it's time to let her rest.

I want to look in the mirror and get butterflies
I want to become my own lover’s eyes

its so strange that I am the person who knows me best
and we still haven’t fallen in love yet

Looking at myself at arms length I can honestly say
I know your November birthday
and the way the Beatles make you twist and shout
I know your favorite books from cover to cover,
the magical mysteries you couldn’t live without
You hate monkeys, oranges and lies
you love horses, strawberries and quirks
you paint your eyelids a light silver every morning
just to hide the places that have so often hurt
I feel your every tear graze my eternally rosy cheeks
I know that Sunday mornings are the best parts of your weeks
I know what you love and I know what you need,
why won’t you take a chance on loving me?

You see these wings?
They’re my wings.

I didn’t paint them on my eyes,
strap them on for a pageant, play, or Halloween night
I didn’t tattoo them on the small of my back
to feel the sting of satisfaction of an image I can’t see

My wings,
are right between my shoulder blades
with spreading feathers like a warm hug after a long winter’s day
when you come home to the one that loves you
and they stoke the fire and stroke your cheeks
until they fall asleep at your feet

My wings,
have tips that stretch around the world,
brushing the cheeks of crying children
lifting the chins of the concerned, confused mothers
and smoothing the hair of the disheveled, drowning fathers

And it breaks my heart that
my wings,
have always been there
from the moment I clutched the bars of my crib
screaming my mother’s name in desperation
to the moment I released her hand
in a promise to be home at midnight
on my first date with a boy
who had smiled at me in Spanish class

And my wings,
were here when the same boys that smiled
turned to a new wind,
and took flight without me
My wings,
were here every single day I couldn’t roll out of bed
couldn’t make it on time
couldn’t call my mama back
and couldn’t find my **** way home

My wings,
have been waiting
for me to finally believe
that they’ve always been there,
and when the world feels like too much

my wings,
*wake up.

Today I am a cracked canoe floating atop a restless ocean

My map was caught in the furry of a wave and melted away
into papery sea foam that oozed
through my hopeful fingertips

I taste nothing but salt
every time the wind whimpers your name
but still, I paddle on
with quaking palms and knotted shoulders
I paddle on
until the wind sleeps soundly
in the embrace of yesterday,
I paddle on.