As I kiss goodbye
The last days of 17
I feel my youth leaving me
This sorrow is the most I’ve borne
For growing older has never left me forlorn!

As I wave goodbye
My teenaged youth
And into adulthood begin to troop
I realize that I’ve much to learn
Much to live for, much to earn!

As I hug farewell
My dependencies
I relinquish my crown as Dancing Queen
I feel I’ve squandered this prime year
I hope I’m not too old for immaturity, I fear!

As I whisper farewell
To this white winter’s hymn
Where my cup was nearly filled to the brim
Could I look back with wisdom of a sage
I would meditate on more lessons from this age!

As I say goodbye
To the oldest I’ve been
And the youngest I’ll be with my dreams but a whim
I relish all I did as this number
Yet I’ve heard that where adults lie, dreams aren’t left as mere wonders.

I wore my Sunday best,
I am ready to shed this year.

I bore sorrows through eyes as yet unharmed,
I know better now.

I learned love and love learned me,
Now we sit hand in hand... most days.

I put myself into a box,
I pulled myself out again.

I have enjoyed it all,
As time turns everything golden.

Am I doing you justice, o 18th year?

I was told that 19 is an incredible age to be.

Now I am on its precipice.

I think I will jump with both feet first.

We had just met.
You told me that you were tired of your roommate,
So I came and saved you.
We sat in the stadium and talked.
The way the stars illuminated you was incredible.
The air felt electric and I never wanted it to end.
This evening I will not forget.

We had just started.
I told you that I was still nervous,
So you came and saved me.
We sat in the drive-through and laughed.
The way the lights touched you was magnificent.
The world felt okay and I never wanted it to end.
This evening I will not forget.

We had just begun.
We were both so certainly uncertain,
So we came and saved each other.
We sat in your room and smiled.
The way you were so close to me was overwhelming
The room felt so comforting and I never wanted it to end.
This evening I will not forget.

We had just confessed.
We were both so incredibly happy,
So we continued to love each other.
We sat in your car and listened.
The way you sang was beautiful.
The moment felt so transcendent and I never wanted it to end.
This evening I will not forget.

These evenings I will not forget.

I balance myself
   so delicately
on haves and have-nots.

"What do I have that you do not?"
      this gives me life; purpose.
I have done what you lack.

"What have you done that I have not?"
       and suddenly the world falls beneath my feet.
I am not so good as you anymore.

I balance myself
   so delicately
on haves and have-nots.

I wish I could knit you a blanket
Of all the words you deserve to hear
The words that should never enter your ears would roll off like rain on a rooftop.

Unfortunately your kindness is so pervasive that you’ve left your sunroof open.

I wish I could knit you a blanket
Of all the warmth you deserve to retain
The cold of the outside world would melt away like ice in the sunshine.

Unfortunately your heart is so forgiving that you forgot to turn down the A/C.

I wish I could knit you a blanket
Of all the happiness you deserve to receive
The cruelty of others would dissipate like breath in a mirror.

Unfortunately your mind is so compassionate that you have forgotten to take care of yourself.

I wish I could do for you what you do for so many. You take away the sting of harsh words, you weather the cold so that we may not have to, you face the cruelty so the cruel can feel comforted.

Your heart is gold, and I cannot knit you a blanket.

But perhaps we can share the warmth of a quilt just a little too big, and someday you can tell the sky the words you wish you hadn’t heard and let the trees drink in the cold air and give you back happiness, and sunshine, and a world just as it should be.

Until then, I’ll be waiting, with ears for listening and hands for warming and a heart for smiling.

With a quilt just a little too big for one.

O, come now my brothers.

Come weep at the river that I myself have dredged.

The toil, no, the fruit of my labor is borne.

Unto you all who may reap its rewards.

O, come now brothers.

Your sweet notes I hear, crying out.

Watch as I slice myself open.

And turn the river red with blood.

I have made this decision.
I have made this
I have made
I have
I
Will this decision make me?
Will this decision make
Will this decision
Will this
Will

Here we lay, victims to a divine and unyielding power.
Yet in another land it is I who stands on the precipice.
I do not fear, I do not love, I do not long in this, my creation.

Here I lay, at peace in a world of my own making.
I may finally ascribe divinity to myself.
I do not hide, I do not reach, I do not withhold in this, my creation.

Do you mind that I might seek you out?
I am not certain what this feeling is, this glowing fire that I have lit inside of myself.
Sometimes I hope that it might consume me entirely.
Yet I strike the match such that it burns just enough to pleasantly warm my thoughts.

Do you mind that I might think of you?
I am not certain why this feeling is, this divine light which I myself have cast upon you.
Sometimes I hope that it might fade into nothingness.
Yet I stoke the embers such that they may never turn cold.

Do you mind that I might wonder about you?
I am not certain how this feeling is, this burning sun which sets often and not at all.
Sometimes I hope that it may warm you as it does me.
Yet I stare into the flames such that they begin to fade without my intervention.

Enamored.

Oh, but what does it mean?

I am enamored with you.

In which way?

Enamored.

E-N-A-M-O-R-E-D.

Verb; be filled with a feeling of love for.

Or

Have a liking or admiration for.

You are enamored with me.

In which way?

I know that I am enamored with you.

And I know in which way, too.

But this word,

This word that so easily slipped off my tongue,

Now catches in my throat.

We are enamored with each other.

But in which way?

Feelings
They come trickling down
Washing like waterfalls wonderfully whispering white lies in your ear
“Why don’t you listen?”
Enticing,
“Come closer, dear.”

Feelings
They come angrily,
Stomping like soldiers soullessly
hurling daggers at your heart
Waiting for it to start
Or or maybe to stop
Beating

Feelings
They envelop you in their embrace
Eagerly reaching like they need attention
or they will die
Yelling
Until everything else
Becomes a lie

Feelings
They are why we live
Holding fast to us like they will never let go
We know they won’t
For fear of leaving us lost, wonting
In a world without beauty

In a world without

Feeling

My first poem did not come to me
Shrouded in darkness
Not shuttered with wisdom
Nor carved with sharpness.

It walked with others
Hazily defined
It breathed my sorrows
It glimpsed my mind.

My first poem did not leap
Across the abyss
‘Stead wand’ring through meadows
Tracing Earth’s kiss.

It read all old memories
Built a new bridge
It called to the past
It raced through the mist.

My first poem was imperfect
Shapeless in ruin
Thin bone of poems proper
But extremely human.

I                                          enough.
  don’t                        good
          care              are
                for     you
                    now

With you, I want to be gentle.
I ask only that you do the same for me.
I will touch you carefully,
I will leave you if you ask.

With you, I will be gentle.
I ask only that you do the same for me.

I will hold your hands delicately,
I will speak softly and listen well.

With you, I hope to be gentle.
I ask only that you do the same for me.

I will protect your heart,
I will hold your hopes and your sorrow.

With you, I know I’ll be gentle.
I ask only that you do the same for me.

I will learn your story by heart,
I will keep it safe inside.

With you, I swear I’ll be gentle.
I ask only that you do the same for me.

I tried to preserve you in a glass jar against my better judgement.
So here I am, sitting across the table from the phantom form of you.
Would you like some tea? No, I shouldn't entertain your presence.
I would like some tea, but you'd never invite me over, would you?
Oh how I wished it so, how I tried to manifest you into reality.

I always knew you were doomed to remain a fairy tale.

Against my better judgement I tried to preserve you in a glass jar.
So here I am, sitting across the table from the phantom form of you.
Would you like to leave? No, I will still trap you here.
I would like to leave, but you'd like that too much.
Oh how I wished I could, how I tried to leave you behind.

I always knew you were doomed to remain a fairy tale.

The glass is cracking, you are escaping, finally escaping.

I would like you to stay, I would like to leave, I would like to preserve you in a glass jar.

I would like to preserve you in a glass jar.
I would like to preserve you in a glass
I would like to preserve you in a
I would like to preserve you in
I would like to preserve you in the sunlight.
I would like to preserve you
I would like to preserve
I would like to
I would like to end this finally.
I would like
I would
I would have done anything.

What is happiness?

It’s cutting the brownies right as they come out of the oven
and burning your tongue on them because you ate them too soon

but it’s worth it.

It’s the leathery scent of the old saddle you used to have
dusted with memories that make your eyes wet so you wait to blow the dust off

and it’s worth it.

It’s the puffy red wrists in winter
after your gloves came off and you didn’t put them back on because they were too cumbersome

but it’s worth it.

It’s the hike that made you fall and skin your knee
but you kept walking because it was so beautiful

and it’s worth it.

It’s saying ‘I love you’ for the first time and not even caring if they say it back because you mean it with all of your heart and you’re still scared

but it’s worth it.

It’s riding a bike own your own finally even though everyone else has known
for years and you’re a little behind and ashamed to admit it

and it’s worth it.

It’s friends and laughter and adventures
and telling your deepest secrets
and hearing theirs and hoping to heavens they won’t tell

but it’s worth it.

Happiness is many things.

and it’s worth it.

I sit at the base of a tree, and it is summer.

Here is gold streaming through the leaves, dappling the ground with sunspots.

I look past my boots into a pasture full of souls.

Here are Aesop's Fables by my side, drawing familiar faces close... or pushing them far.

I feel the warmth of this heaven before me.

Here are joys and tears and adventures both big and small.

I hear the sound of a river tangling and untangling itself among rocks and sediment.

Here is James Taylor reminding us that this old world must still be spinning 'round.

I know you are here with me, even though I do not know you well, I have not met you yet, and you are my best friend.

Here is my past and present and future, and I feel our first kiss and the secrets you kept safe and the night we lay on the rocks under the stars and the only time I remember you holding my hand and how loudly we sang in the car.

I will live here, I will die here.

Here is my happy place.

hey!

i dont know what im doing actually
im 17
im stressed sometimes but a lot of things make me happy
do i have to know what i want to do already?

im excited for the future
but it also scares me a lot
isnt it crazy how people are just a bunch of contradictions?

isnt that word weird?
a contradiction shouldnt work
so if people work and they are full of contradictions
are they really contradictions?

or do the people really work?
as people, i mean
i dont know

it can be pretty wild man
theres a lot i dont know
sometimes i worry
do i know less than everybody around me?

i know more in some areas
but probably in fewer areas than they do
im so impressed at the ability of humanity to know so much

but we also dont know that much
we make a lot of mistakes
i make a lot of mistakes
so maybe

maybe humanity is just 17

maybe humanity has as many questions as i do.

I don’t know what home is

I smell it in the smoke of a leaf pile
I see it in the mist that envelops mountains
I hear it in the soft patting of rain on roofs
I feel it in the sun that kisses skin
I taste it in the swirling dust of roundpens
Most often.  

But once

I smelled it in the perfume of barbecue
I saw it in the land that rolled on forever
I heard it in the crunch of snow underfoot
I felt it in the sting of rugs on knees
I tasted it in the crunch of donut holes

And sometimes

I’ll smell it in the must of old homes
I’ll see it in the color of muraled walls
I’ll hear it in the music played far too loud
I’ll feel it in the love of parts unknown
I’ll taste it in smiles given and received

I don’t know what home is

But somehow I always find it.

If I had an orchard, I’d read beneath trees
If I had virtue, I’d give it where I pleased
If I had a timer, I’d spend my days wisely
If I had more kindness, I’d live less blithely
If I had a garden, I’d sow it with seeds
If I had a forest, I’d write in the breeze
If I had peace, I’d give it freely
If I had patience, I’d make living easy
If I had a brush, I’d paint the world over
If I had drive, I’d fix the ills we’d discover
If I had empathy, I’d nurture with feeling
If I had confidence, I’d shatter the ceiling
If I had a novel, I’d write the right answers
If I had grace, I’d become a dancer

Perhaps I have all of this, and do not realize
Perhaps it’s all within me, lying in disguise.
I know I have gardens and forests and trees
I know I can dance and write with the breeze
So maybe I will
But, perchance I won’t

I’m afraid I will fall.

I don’t have the gall.

Well, as long as I know that when I look inside

I have it all.

I miss what I never thought I'd miss:
cicadas chirping
phantom insects
now crawl from the air vents
when the sun rises
dust is but dust.

I recall what I never thought I'd recall:
the city
walking up and down its streets
now running in my mind
when the alarm sounds
all is illusory.

I feel what I never thought I'd feel:
memories so real
leave me be, leave me be
I miss my home
where is this place
is it right?

I miss what I never thought I'd miss:
thoughts are swirling
I cannot understand
why here, why now, why this?
I have found my happiness
I have found it.

I’m not a pessimist.

But I hear the drumbeat of inadequacy
Keeping time to the echoed songs of a forgotten world.

I’m not a pessimist.

But I feel the bass of a billion irregular heartbeats
Ticking to to the sound of a broken clock.

I’m not a pessimist.

But I see the angry smashing of waves on skin
Crashing with the clicks of a slowing metronome.

I’m not a pessimist.

But I smell the metallic scent of a broken machine
Grinding to a halt while the societal dance speeds up its pace.

I’m not a pessimist.

But I taste the bitterness of infinite gray nowheres
Drifting endlessly while the band plays on.

The difference between

Love

and

Infatuation

Is that love is an impossibly bright sky, but it is also the night sky

It is a stormy day, but it is also a sunlit afternoon,

It comes in flavors that we have not yet tasted,

It completes you in its presence and in its absence it is hollow,

Infatuation is the bright blue in the sky, but it is also the darkness of night,

It is the storm itself, and the sun burning above,

Its flavors seem sweet at first but quickly become sour,

It is a perpetual feeling of never enough,

It does not complete you,

But we all must feel it, for love and infatuation are often confused,

But I assure you,

The mask infatuation wears is not love.

In you, I see something
It reminds me of peace.
Hands remain tangled,
After we’ve fallen asleep.

Forlorn figures fade
Faithlessly away.
And my faithful frettings
Found moorings in faraway fields today.

In you, I feel something
It reminds me of warmth.
If ever you need flour,
Please knock at my door.

Ancient ancillary angels
Are visiting me now.
And my divine daydreams
Discover a home in delightful dallying about.

In you, I find something.
It reminds me of love.
Mayhaps it’s too hackneyed
But it feels blessed; from above.

I saw You again last night.
You smiled at me so beautifully.

This stunning mirage of You,
It blessed me when I awoke.

I held your hand.
I remembered what it felt like.

You still exist with me in my mind.
I still love you so much it hurts.

I watched the roofs of the buildings
The turrets, spiraling
Fresh August.

I closed the window
The noise, overwhelming
Metallic singing.

I lay in the bed
The city, wailing
Blanketed shouting.

I woke in the morning
The ground, sinking
Unstable standing.

Lavender words written on perfect lined paper
I wrote you a letter; I’ll save it for later
Lavender tongues speak colorful phrases
I wrote you a sonnet; it only took ages

Lavender words penned in purple glow’d ink
I read you a book, it did make me think
Lavender songs turned clandestine quickly
I read you a poem, you listened with me

Lavender skies turn purple at night
I looked up and saw them; the world was alight
Lavender clouds unleash torrential showers
But here in the woods we’ll hide out for hours

What do I see when I look in the mirror?

I am made of measurements.

I measure the space between my thighs,
The width of my arms,
The time since I have last worn my glasses.

I measure my achievements,
The weight of my successes,
The heaviness of my failures.

I measure the sharpness of my jaw,
The veins on my hands
The blue in my eyes.

I measure my intellect,
The depth of my vocabulary,
The numbers on my report card.

I measure humanity,
The accomplishments of others,
The good and evil of society.

I measure myself,
My looks,
My mind,
My intentions,
My actions,
My triumphs,
My shortcomings,
My reputation,
My future,
My past,
Me.

I had a dream you messaged me
I heard my phone vibrate in the night
Blinked through dusted eyes and saw

Miss you

A small garden bloomed somewhere nearby
The harsh blue sunlight hit my face
And a warm smile was there

Miss you

I grinned because I wanted to say it
But I couldn’t, not first at least
I was afraid you were giving up

Miss you

Written in your effortless slang
The most casual of phrases, stripped of its vulnerability
Like you, but somehow still intimate

Miss you

A reassurance, a calming tide
After the tsunami
A gently rocking wave

Miss you

When I awoke, the dust in my eyes clouded my vision
I could not see, for the sun was too bright
And the warmth on my face was replaced by numbness

I miss you

I did not remember the dream until later in the day
Perhaps it was for the best
My muddled morning mind knew I could not have borne the truth

I miss you

And because you are silent
So am I, but I know I will give in
I just hope you will first

Because I miss you.

How I long to give in to the mortal pleasures of the flesh,
Yet lusting for the release of the physical world I exist,
Paradoxically halted by my own humanity.

Am I this name, this face, this soul?
Is this body inseparable from me?
I look at my digits and exalt in their beauty, these vessels which carry me through life.

How I wish to ascend to the heights of consciousness,
Yet praying for the escape from this eternal solitude,
Perpetually stunted by my own humanness.

Am I this heart, this blood, this mind?
Are those people inseparable from me?
I look at their digits and exalt in their beauty, those vessels which carry us through life.

How fleeting, how trivial, how small everything is.
How permanent, how significant, how immense everything is to me.

I love her.

Sometimes, I sit with my love for her. We chat awhile. I ask why it has come, why it is so powerful, why it never leaves. It tells me that it has been waiting for her for a long time.

Sometimes, this love breaks down the front door and enters without asking. On occasion it finds me with my head in my hands, weeping or worrying or wondering. Other times I am joyous and allow the waves of excitement this visitor brings to wash over me, erasing all other thoughts. When the love does this, it usually takes the additional liberty of freeing the butterflies in my chest. It is worth noting that I never ask it to do this.

Sometimes, the love is silent. Perhaps it is asleep upstairs, or dozing softly on the couch where I am reminded of it only in its gentle snores and even breaths. There are times when its slumber is deeper than others, when I am upset or angry and want to wake it up and demand its attention but find that it has been locked in its room and somehow I have the key in my pocket.

Always, the love is present. It has made a home within me and it has changed around the decorations so much that I don’t even remember what some parts used to look like. It has hung artwork that I don’t think I’ll ever take down, even if it decides to leave. I like the renovations, though.

Oftentimes, my love opens windows that were once shut. The air smells a little sweeter. The sun shines a little brighter. Every time it comes home, I ask it to tell her to stay. I hope it has made a home within her as well. And maybe, someday, its two homes will be one.

I love her.