How can I be so dispensable?
Useful, perhaps,
but dispensable.

Like toothpaste
that you squeeze
and squeeze
and squeeze
until I’ve run dry
and there’s nothing left
that I can give to you,
so you don’t put me away
with your knick knacks and treasures
but place me in the trashcan
without a second thought,
a fond memory,
or kind goodbye.

Goodbye.

Sign on the dotted line-
I’m always the last one.
Last one to sign it off,
say goodbye,
make the last call,
Last one
to resign.

catch your dreams, they say,
those glittering, fluttering, taunting, phantoms
vague and undefined,
but promised to be sweet

make us proud, they say,
because only cowards don’t follow their dreams,
meek and useless,
you waste of flesh and blood

You know, I have heard
that the world is filled with some beautiful things,
and my heart pounds-
head spins- thinking of them.

But my god,
I feel so
****
tired.
and there has to be more
than this.

torn up lace
and cracking glass bottles
         holding tiny sails and ships

feather pens
and creamy gold paper
         hold words from soft ruby lips

and out of the hand
slipped the delicate chain
and down it fell through the cracks….
until nothing was left
but the memory

of the legend of Pirate Jack

Propped elbows on the rug,
     bare feet swinging at the air,
           and a dandelion crown
                 rests on my tangled mess of hair

                 I shake the cool tin box,
           and listen to its clatter
      before I  spill its contents
and arrange them in a pattern

(lines or swirls or rectangles, it really doesn’t matter)


All of them are special,
      their weight magic in my fist,
            perfect lovely liquid drops-
                   I am amazed that they exist.

                   One of them, however,
            stands out from all the rest-
       'pure black,' I whisper reverently-
It is obviously the best.

So I took that marble,
     and put it in my pocket
          next to my lucky button
            and my secret golden locket.


            And this is how it feels
       driving home so late at night,
    when the road’s dark and empty
and there is not a hint of light-

Like I’ve got a secret
     that no one can understand,
        solemn, silent, and serene,
             a little lonely in my hand.

We are all *****-
Our veins run with mud
our hands clench around broken bottles
spilling our souls onto the ground.

We are just humans,
Beasts in this overgrown Eden
Leaving wreckage behind us, between us
Burning the rivers, killing the angels.

We have lost our innocence
It has escaped from our clinging hands
Lost in the heart of the unborn child,
Choking on the dirt of its mother’s womb.
It had no chance.

Let the cool rain wash away the dirt from inside,
As we stand outside and let the drops slip through our parted and cracked lips,
As we cry for redemption through art
As we beg for beauty to make up
For the ugliness of humanity.
Let the cool rain wash away the dirt on the outside,
Wash away our mistakes
Our downfalls,
Let the daisies grow through the rubble,
Let the sun shine without the haze of dirt.

when rosy light melts through the window,
shot through with golden rays,
and the world is between heartbeats,
drifting through the milky way,

when perfect harmony is hanging,
tying silence and the sound,
and after jumping off the swing,
before you’re headed for the ground,

For but a moment there’s a stillness,
a suspension, paused in time,
a fragment of tranquility,
when all the planets are in line.