Every thing on here is untouchable
I want something tangible
A real book
Rustling pages
Sliding roughly on my fingertips
That's tangible.

Birds will sing, but I don't really feel a thing.

You can emphasize
The lies
You can hide the codes
In your lymph nodes
Yet fables are sticky as tar
You're running but you won't get far
Lungs beaten by cheating breaths
Drenched in slimy tales, never quenched
It'll only get harder as you start to stumble
And eventually, tumble
All the things said, they'll fill up your chest
Eyes will go cloudy, unable to digest,
Brought to knees, hands on the ground
They found you, lies your heart has been wound around
Chest torn open for all to see
And in the middle, I think, somewhere, there was
Me

When my body used to ache at night
Feeling like bruises were beneath the skin
You'd tell me it was the tickle monster
I'd ask if you were friends with him
And you would nod your head
And I'd say
'could you give him a message for me?'
And you'd say
'well, i can try, but he doesn't like to listen'
I'd ask you to ask him if he could let up at least for one night
Take away all the pain I feel inside my body
And you would put your hand over my eyes
And say 'he'll receive your question'
You'd kiss my lips and tug me closer
Then the next night I'd sleep better
You took your ability when you packed
And left me to deal with a tickle monster
It's funny how we pretend that things exist
To make the pain a little duller
And now my skin aches again as if I've been hit
By a million crashing waves and bodies
And I lay awake and whisper
'Please, receive my message, I don't have a messenger'
'But I'm begging you, I need you now more than ever'
'Your friend has gone, and he left me alone too'
'I guess it's just me & you'
Me & the tickle monster.

Keep in mind that I'm attempting to keep this simple
Today I realized that I'm quite bitter
I also realized that I'm a terrible quitter
But I also decided that when I'm feeling down
I'll make a compilation to get me off the ground
Of things I love, because I know there are many
I apologize if you don't feel like reading plenty
I shouldn't postpone this any longer
I need to make myself realize that I'm stronger

So, things I love.
I love hot long showers
I love photographing flowers
I love a hot steaming cup of tea
I love walking only 6 blocks to go to the library
I love the feeling of a cold pillow on my face
I love plugging in head phones & disappearing without a trace
I love it when a person plays with my hair
I love Chicago, did you know I'm moving there?
I love paper cranes
I love filling up picture frames
I love the smell of old books
I love walking around town, alone, finding hidden nooks
I love deja vu, which I'm actually having this instant
I love writing poetry, hearing your guys' opinions, even if they are ever so distant
I love the long drag of a skinny cigarette
I love standing by the back door after a sunset
I love marbles, elephants, old dusty cameras, & boba fett
I love finding lovely people that I've never met
I love going to sleep at a decent time, which feels like never at all
I love putting up quotes that make my heart flutter on my wall
I love reading books that make me feel changed after I'm done
I love cooking for everyone
I love doing things by myself, no matter how hard
I love the fact that I'll never own a credit card
I love that it makes me happy when I get compliments
I love, also, that if I'm insulted, I couldn't give a ****
I love the emphasis on curse words that comes with them
I love tasting words in your mouth again and again
I love websites that feel like the are created for me
I love whenever I can remember my dreams
I love meeting a handsome strangers glance
I love that even though I meet it, that I will never have a chance
I love taking breaks
I love when people don't know I know they are fakes
I love experiences
I love watching as someone dances

I love all of these things, and so many more
I'm sorry if you didn't want to read all the things I adore
This piece isn't meant to be elaborately written or read
It's only purpose is to flow & to solve some problems in my head
Maybe I sort of want to make the reader feel better too
Realize that the things that you love are full of value
Maybe I suggest you write some of the things you love
Before you push away everything good with a violent shove
I really hope that I helped you as much as a I helped me
Read these & appreciate the simple things, I hope you'll see

I think I'll do more of these in the future.

Sitting outside of Ulta,
A make up store.
Waiting for Brooklyn,
To get done borrowing
Some samples.
The lights in there,
They are very very bright,
And it makes me uncomfortable.
That's why I'm just waiting.
Out here, not in there.
When will I not be so
Ruled by my anxieties?

The thing about poetry, and anything for that matter that you create, is that it's never inadequate. As long as you write, or paint, or create music, or whatever with love and the actual want to do it, not just because it is socially likeable, is okay. Everyone's poetry is equal in completely different ways. Mine is not better than yours and yours is not better than mine type of mentality goes a long way. Because there isn't a way to compare them, because they are sole entities by themselves, as long as you put purpose into them. So, that automatically destroys the possibility of yours not being good enough. Because it is good enough, because you made it, and you meant it when you made it. Only a fool would tell you that your work isn't good enough for that exact reason.

To be candid.
Serendipitous?
No.
Tonight,
Is a late night
It's a sad night.
I'm sad,
I'm increasingly so
I'm devastatingly so.
And no one knows,
I can't say
I wouldn't say.
The things that make this happen,
It's just me
This has always been me.
Late nights with only words,
They toss and turn
And I toss and turn with them.

Riding to the post office
On my red Schwinn
My shoes, they have holes
Because they are my favorite
And I won't stop wearing them
Until I get new ones
I'm in weather heaven
And I park my bike &
Hook it up to the bar
That I keep getting yelled at
For hooking it up to
Walk in, wait in line
And there is a baby boy
In a lady's arms, with
Bright blue eyes and
Fiery red hair, as he looks at me
With wide wide eyes
He soaks in everything that I am
His baby brain over sensitive
Firing neurons that make
Him **** in every detail
Overwhelming his little head
And he grins a tiny,
Toothless smile at me
I grin & look away
I wish I could have kids...
I buy my stamps & send a package
To my uncle
Then I go unhook my bike
Ride this weather like
A bird & try not to think
About that fiery red haired child

Babe, I **** time with a dagger
But believe me, it isn't as fun
As it was killing time with you

Someone left the gate open
I didn't even try to walk through
No one attempts to understand me
That's why I don't like any of you
I'll read my writes & you'll listen
But I know it's only so you can talk
I'll write out things about me,
But they might as well be chalk
clap clap clap
Clap my dusty words out of your erasers
Clear the air so that you can fill it
With your proverbs, your opnions
You really only care about the importance of your bit
And I don't mind
It happens all the time

I am not built for love
I can't keep you warm
The fireplace in my chest
Is soaking wet

From the water that drips
Through my moonlit
Jagged holes

Beautiful to you
In some long forgotten way
You won't stay
In a rain stained skeleton

A visitor in a museum
I'll make a pretty photo
For you to look back on

When you go
All that will remain will be
Trampled leaves and high ceilings
A shadow in the trees

Overly prideful
Incredibly flawed
Aware of all the flaws that exist
Poke at them in my mirror
See them more than you do
You might've been able to recognize them
If you had spent 17 years looking at them, too
They say flaws are beautiful
They say it's what makes us human
What if I don't want to be human?
Now what do you tell me?
Hm?

I'm not going to hope that it is me.
Because, likely,
It is not.

Light spills on the floor.
It's bright and clean and fresh.
The cold sheets are feathery on my back.
I bury my head deep into the pillows.
My toes curl and uncurl lightly.
I collapse in with a breath of air.
The bed is an infinite landscape.
Just my cheeks tucked between covers.
Layers and layers of light cotton.
And a feeling wells up inside of my chest.
I want to share this with another human being.

Tonight I realized,
I really am alone.

Don't ever say those three dreadful words
I never want to hear them from your lips
As you say them, my heart will turn to stone
Don't ask me why, for I do not know
It's a chemical reaction to that spoken phrase
I cannot help that I turn away
If I knew, do you think I'd would do it
Why would I want my insides to turn icy
Towards your tender murmurs
Once you say 'i love you'
I'll be gone forever
I don't know why
...

She has tossed you into the ocean.
A trinket.
To sink to the bottom.
To set in the sand for forever.
You shimmer in the sun.
Even though you are so low.
She sailed away.
Looking for a message in a bottle.
I'll dive down deep.
I don't mind the lack of air.
It's worth it for what is down there.
I'll dig my toes deep into the sand.
And plant myself.
I'll sway like seaweed.
And I'll pull you close.
To the motion of the water.
Salt will take over our hearts.
And the blueness of the the water,
Will fill our eyes.

When I was little,
I used to light fireworks
Now I find myself,
Lighting cigarettes
And I'm developing
All of these bad habits
Your tongue is in her mouth
And you take photos
Go away
Happiness is meant for you
I think I'll just stay here.

Well, now, fill your head with things of importance.
Things that are not me.
I'm not to be thought of.
That's not my purpose.

I can't stay away from here,
I don't know why,
But I was kidding myself,
When I begin to freak out
I isolate,
It's a reflex I've always had,
And it can get really lonely,
I question myself,
I loathe myself
I debate my abilities,
Tear back & forth,
Between destroying my work,
Deleting my pages,
Burning my canvases,
Tossing away,
Everything,
So I don't have to look,
At the ****,
That I've made,
So no one has to,
I want to end my life,
But that's just too silly,
I'm not that silly,
My mind gets vacant,
And I grow cold,
I don't get close,
I want to welcome,
Arms that are open to me
I'm trying guys,
Stick with me.

This isn't a poem. I've been briefly overwhelmed with bits of sadness. And, I feel hollow. I feel so, so empty.

Taking away the bad
Destroying the sadness
A fiery explosion of lights
Surrounding a cloud of water

Pull me close to you
Toes touching toes
Nobody knows
Shhhhhhh
How we feel
What is this feeling?

Shadows cast on the wall
Some call them dreams
I call them harsh reality

He let her go among the wreck.
Loosening the ribbon around her neck.
She danced around the burnt down towers.
Turning ash and rubble into flowers.
She sang a song, a catching tune.
Her lovely scent drove away the corpses’ fumes.

This weekend at another heavy metal show
Your existence had been many times doubted
But there your were, as solid and sharp
As the black spot in my chest
Your tall grandeur and dark rimmed eyes
The yellow stain between your middle & pointer finger
Your eyes flicked towards my face,
A tiny smirk was yours to gain
I'd seen that look before a million times
I used to even miss it
Laugh and sling your arm around another friend
I turned away and tugged my collar
High against my cheekbones
Stepping out into the cold,
The thumping said goodbye
In another time, another place,
I'm glad we're not together

The world is lonely while they cry for help and
                    they reach their hands up.
In words, in books, in paintings,
                    they portray their loneliness hidden or blatant.
But even that isn't enough to highlight
                    the lowlights of our lives
It's in our blood, it's in our veins, our bones,
                    it's in the cigarettes that we smoke.
Which fills the air and wails out loud,
                    screaming a symphony of isolation.
It's hidden in the corners of the cities,
                     hidden in the tall green grass of the countryside
It's everywhere you look, in famous words,
                     in ancient books.
It fills your mind, it takes you hold, it's in the tiniest key hole,
                     but enough.
It's enough to spark a burning fire, to long for another's touch,
                     to feel desire
From another human being,
                     to share in what is the only thing worth keeping
Human company. We long, we dream, we scream for it,
                     and we hope it favors us too.
It's overwhelming, it makes me, it makes me long
                     like so many others
We are not alone in our loneliness
                     and what a queer thought that is

*“Wir können uns einreden, dass wir mit einem Buch nicht allein sind, wie wir uns einreden können, dass wir mit einem Menschen nicht allein sind.”

The ripple effect of a rash decision.
Ignoring with a cold precision.
Glass cannot completely melt away.
Yet it never heats up the way they say.
A small crack in the upper lip.
An indentation, a simple dip.
If you don’t read the bible, Jesus will hate you.
But, Jesus, that is something I’ll never do.
The crack expands to a spider’s home.
A girl in a metal chair all alone.
Do you know what the gospel is, kid?
I don’t know if I do, but I wish that I did.
Splicing incision, multiple cracks.
Spiraling around in un-orderly stacks.
Mummy, I’m feeling ill.
Doesn’t matter, you are going still.
A piece falls to the floor with grace.
A trickle of water fills its place.
She throws her square hat into the air.
Whipping away the wafers and wine out of her hair.
The dam breaks away, the glass cascades in a sparkling haze.
Washing away the church daze.
Never. Again.

Hey sleepy head?
                                                          ­    Where are you tonight?

Are you standing in the corner?
          Over by the white christmas lights?

                                                        ­                   With a miscellaneous mug,
                                                            ­                                   Stolen from not-your-kitchen cabinet.

Are you not ever tired?
              Do you never sleep?

                                                         ­                                                    And when you do,
                                                                          What could you possibly dream?

                                     Of red and white flowers?
                                                *no

  ­   Of bombs destroying towers?
               no

                                                Of illustrated novels about foxes?
                                                          ­                                           no
Do you dream of anything?
                Or is your soul as empty,
  
                                                                                                    As your eyes seem to be?
                                                             ­                       And when I kiss you,





                            *why do you turn away from me?

I want to be sitting on a couch
In a wooden house
Wrapped up in a wool blanket
Watching you as you get up
Feeling the shift of the weight
Watch your pale heels walk
Against the hard wood floor
Your muddled reflection
Shines on the scratches
You disappear behind
The red kitchen walls
And the bangs & noises
That you make,
Make me close my eyes
The aroma of coffee fills the air
And it's winter here
I open my eyes again
I can see a doe in our back yard
Licking the salt stone on the porch
I'm glad we live near the forrest
I'm glad we moved away from the city
You are able to write your songs, now
I close my eyes again
Lean my head back against the cold leather
Breathe in the crisp air
This is a world I share with another
It's ours
Then I hear your footsteps
And your lips are on mine
You are fragrant & cool
You taste like you just licked the spoon
That you stir into your coffee
Which you always do
I'm glad that I know you
And that you know me too

I had a memory of when I was little
That wasn't drudged up by pictures
This is very rare
I used to sleep with a bible in my bed
I thought it would keep the monsters away
Kept it under the sheets at the foot
If only I still believed it worked,
Than maybe,
I'd sleep sounder.

Time creeps by here
Lazily waving goodbye, dear
And it slides agonizingly near
Before moving on to the next year

A bluebird chirps.
Chirps "Put it down."
So I did.
A bluebird,
Saved my life that day.

This is it
This is reality
The color of the leaves in the sun
The feeling of harsh asphalt on bare feet
The light breeze that makes your hair dance
The lack of manmade noise
The repetition of footsteps
Propelling you forward

Flowers bloomed where you traced your fingers.
They grew as if fed by your caress.

And slowly, I became a garden.

My bleeding red Dicentras fluttered, as your hands lingered.
Tuberose & orchids twisted together, covering my dress.

Your words sprung up fresh new buds.

But Lavender began to spring up from the words you planted.
And from my eyes began to sprout begonias, purple and dark.*

I realized that you were not willing to accept that I couldn't grow orange blossoms.

You & I knew my soil wasn’t able to be enchanted.
So I clipped all of my flowers, and shot the lovely larks.

You said I wasn't worth tending. Was I not?

*You kicked the dirt and ripped up the last of the lilacs

If you roam around my house,
              look about,
        up & down,
                           you'll find many paper cranes.

When I feel empty, I make so many,
                     and leave them random places.

You can find them here,
                and there,
          pretty much everywhere,
                              lined up on window panes.

I never felt the need to gather them,
                      and I most likely never will.

If I put them all together,
                 made sure it was forever,
           they could withstand the weather,
                             and there would be a thousand.
              
They say with a thousand cranes,
                       a wish is granted in your favor.

But I have no wishes,
               so I'll sleep with the fishes,
           after my hands tremble to the point of refrain
                                  & I can no longer make anymore paper cranes.

Plastered on the ceiling
Mind is always reeling
I don't like this feeling
Watching you stealing
Oh, you're so appealing
What are you revealing?

Counterintuitive
A kite's skeleton
Only tiny little
Wisps of rice paper
Still latched onto the frame
Abandoned
The only presence
That of a lowly shadow
So lonely
Resting beside a bin
Hoping the little boy
Will come play with it
Again
But wind wears away skin
And the weight of the world
Pulls you towards the core
The little boy,
Is no longer small
He is old and weary
Time has tugged little
Kite strings of his memory
Away from him
His skin folds in
Tiny little wrinkles
And the kite slowly withers
No longer painted with vibrant
Cherry blossom flowers