every morning,
i'll eat the same old,
boring, bran or wheat cereal.
Daydream of the *** schemed,
pretty scandal, leather-materialed,
***** houses.  
to be a compared to a lesser-valued human being,
born to be used, born to learn the meaning
of the word abuse.
and it feels nice, to have my hair pulled,
to be ignored, to be reminded of the the
***** deeds, done for cheaper than you were
willing to pay.
Suave, sweet, sickening,
hit me, & you upper lip bit me.
feed my animosity, I was born
an angry child. the daughter of
****-****** carpenter.
but you, you're catching on.
and for all the learning that I have
left to learn, I hope you knock some
real sense into me.
Something that makes me gasp to
breathe, a feeling more real than
ever before.

the clustered up foggy breath,
my molded basement, my solid
brain teased me.
I ran, I ran further than
I thought I'd ever be found.
The worst part, I turned
myself in. I know it won't be long,
until i fight this feeling once again.
This is a Hell's Winter.
Remember, tip-toe and watch your back.
Speak less, and you'll remember the
name of the game.

In my dream, the Nike Corporation
set flame and fire to the development,
cookie cutter, ****** houses.
I raced away in car full of hopeful and
***** kids, who knew a better place to
call home.

And even home can feel like a smothering
mess, so what then?
Will there be a day that this paranoia will
resist the simmer setting?
Pick up your swords, don't forget your guns,
and please wake me up.

These dreams scream for a louder life.
school-books, normality, sobriety,
gravel underneath my skin.
And just when you thought
puking until you were thin was enough,
you're kicked in the gut.
Bleach-blonded bombshells, breaking
barriers, crossing borders, barring resistance
to breeze through your body.
When I die, please bury me
with my brighter side.

Sweet baby,
split-pea soup.
croissant carbs,
sliced tomato,
onion crisp, and
spinach greens-
ooh avocado,
please!

look out the
kitchen window,
my dog's head in
the compost pit!
"LIBBBBBYY!"
homemade soup on the back-burner

******, scratch it,
there ain't even any
tomatos or onion to
throw on this french
bread!
ohh, but mama,
let's get real,
since when was
there ever any
money for all these
S.Pellegrinos!?

I'm not complaining,
and I know ain't
isn't a word,
but for Christ Sake!
Being home is always
wild.

To sit by the fire,
or to be a free-running
child?

I can't even make lunch
without getting excited,
and documenting my odd
life.

Could have made that Bumble-Bee-
solid white albacore,
or Skippy,
squeeze that Skippy-
it's the skippy you squeeze!
Figured I'd go a little
more home-made today.

How long will it be
'till Mama starts asking
for rent?

All those Doctor bills,
wild insurance-
you slay me!
Mental health,
Hunterdon and Rutland,
you really did me deep.
And to keep paying those
Doctor's with those degrees,
sheesh!

Rode my bike to the TDBank,
to take out the last of what I
had, for Mama.
Talk about hell on two wheels!

So now my choices can be narrowed-
Do I hit the restaurants and do
the night shifts, waitressing in
that filthy grease?
Do I get a portfolio and try to model,
without Mama's approval?
I sure do have one impressive
resume, but this state wants to
take my license away.

My student loans are
in over my head, here
at least there's a futon
and a warm bed.
Chicago means an air mattress and
Vegas screams something I can't really
be too sure about.

I guess it's true, home
is where the heart is.
Home is where my toes
are warm and where my lunch date,
Libby, never leaves my side.

This U-turn situation,
it's not so bad. Yeah, sure,
I was supposed to be in Utah,
canyoneering. And this New Year's,
I would have, should be, could have been
backpacking through Nepal-
a dream.
Sometime I just get a little sad.

So I'll read some books,
watch some films,
give Libby her beef-flavored
pain-killer pills,
and pray for a pretty little
white-christmas miracle.

snow drift,
ride the busy street.
many windows,
and far too many wonders.
i put boots on,
ready to take off,
and in that instant
a knot in my heel.
is this a sign to slow
down? stay put  
in my old town?
but the old town
brings back old
stories, truth,
and fables.
to start fresh,
I guess so.
so travel west-
as west as Chicago
gets.
to see my Katherine smile,
it's warms my soul,
it brings me back home-
even when I'm far
from home.
To hear the blunder
from outside,
it's great.
Things I'd miss most
are shooting stars
and constellations
near the moon.
But who am I kidding,
you can't see shooting
star in New Jersey anyway.
To throw the Newports in
the freezer, to replace them
with fudge-pops could be a
start.
Starting fresh could mean
starting over.
I cannot help but
hurt from wanting
what the heart
wants.
And who knows,
a year or two later
my heart could be
closer to the Sun and
the Moon-
floating in Space,
or dead on the floor.
I can not help but follow
what the heart wants
right now.
to sip tea and coffee,
not knowing what I really
prefer, not hearing from
my Mother, knowing that
she really does not
approve- how can
I not just want
anything more
than just some
personal space?
to sit on the couch
and read every book
or magazine that comes
my way?
how can I tell the people
that I love that I had
a breakdown? I lost
control of myself?
I screamed, I kicked,
I spit, I swore?
To throw it all away.
how many times
will I wash my mouth out
and learn to watch
what I say, when this
breath down my
neck has never
been more cold?

I read the writing,
30 years old, or older.
My Grandmother wrote,
left handed,
after a stroke.
Funny how,
it read just like
mine.
Now, what was written,
was a copy.
But 5 pages deep,
I was deeply
impressed.
What a woman.
Pictures only show
me who you used to be.
Your husband used
to call me his girlfriend,
even on his deathbed.

I wanted to quit smoking,
in honor of you.
I cried a bit
at the library,
and just for an hour
I was taken away.

To touch the same paper
you put your pen to,
it truly was an honor.

Reality hits,
your daughter is
here, to collect me.
Because that is all
I am.
It's rough,
it bites,
it truly ***** me
dry.

And when I look at your
pretty pill bottle,
and try to make sense
of a cancer that made you
ill, how to glorify
a gust of sickly
pills, I am confused
by the nurse,
the doctor,
the pastor,
the preacher,
the passer-by
and the master.

I wish your subtle
messages could
be a bit more clear.
I'm confused by the
new neighbors,
and saddened to see
myself to be just so
naive. Some tell me
that I'm 20,
a birthday tells me
I'm 19.
Who bears the truth,
the truth within,
is you.
So please,
come out and say
hello, born to die,
don't you hide,
my hair is growing
old lengths once
again-
it's a sign.

pancakes started my rugged day,
I quit hittin' the hay,
roughly around 10am.

I refused High Focus,
and wondered why
the medication the
prescribed was so
blah.

I know why,
but we keep these
things to ourselves.

Once I took my headphones
out, I began to hear
the blasphemy
around me.

The man at the library,
talking business,
taking business.
Telecon, christmas shopping,
Mr. Walker dead too
young.

And as I sit in these
seats once again,
the same I sat in when
the SAT's were the only
importance to me,
I wonder where I was.

So I took off on
Mama's crossroads
road bicycle.
It felt good,
gosh it felt great.

One stop on the narrow's
at a waterfall to fly back to
a blackout and memory lane.

Over the Delaware,
away from NJ,
take me to PA.

One stop at the homestead
for a buck-fifty coffee
fix and a few chapters
from On the Road.
Thanks, Jack.
I needed those laughs.

So I carry on,
on the toe-path
along the canal.
Some circles
and squares to remind
me of hopscotch,
or maybe a sign.

A light up of an American
Spirit, and I can never
seem to escape everyone
when I'm on the run.

Passer-by's,
a woman and her Labradors,
a handsome man with shades,
a blonde, gelled, comb-over,
and a cell phone to the ear in one
hand.
oh, and ME, the smoker
on the cycle.

I know I said those packs
were my last, but really,
I've hit rock bottom,
a broke rock bottom,
and this pack is
surely my last.

So I made it over the
Delaware, searching for
a treasure hunt.
The Frenchtown Market,
was beat, so I peddled
on Rt.12 and made it
to Chris's Citgo-
if you care to know.

Made it to the center
of great-gasoline
smells, and found my
treasure hunt.
In fact, the generous man
gave me two.

Pedal to the metal,
click-clack the sound of
metal banging from
something, hitting
something, on a bike
I can't call my own.

I continue on Rt.12
and pass by the dead
deer, a water break,
here and there.
Hot sweat, cold sweat,
de-layer, zipper up.

The fake flowers,
a compliment,
a pretty hint,
that some one maybe
loves me.
And I keep my eyes
fixated on what is
in front of me-
a car passes,
I LOVE YOU
writes the handwriting
on a white vehicle.

So, pedal to the metal,
I carry on towards
the library,
to a place I feel
safest.

No intentions of even
renting a thing-
except maybe ******.
However, finish what I start,
can't seem to do that so
easily these days.
Ohh, but I'd like to.

That's a start.
A quick stop,
for a quick slice,
and the time to skim the
Treasure Hunt.

Oh  a beautiful day,
I made it from start
to finish.
I'm sorry I can't
seem to do as you say,
and the options,
and choices,
they really do slay.

the day came,
I put my laces back
in my shoes.

Let freedom reign,
give me just
3 clues.

True blue, darling.
You sang these songs
4 years ago.

Why I waited until
now to listen,
is beyond me,
myself, and I.

The day came,
the day went.
Days spent with
rubber-bands
over mt asics.

The circle-spiral
across my chest,
in the shape of a
beautiful
orange sun.

Shower-shoes
for my water
quest.
Barcode number read
7097277340-8769
laser-band,
laser-tag,
all of my clothes
in a brown paper bag.

Just when I thought I
sipped liquid gold,
I remember there is
velcro shoes that
strap tighter
around my feet.

I skipped, I galloped,
I stripped, I tripped.

I'm sorry Mom & Dad,
will you forgive your
baby girl?

I looked for a corner,
somewhere quiet in the library.
how exciting, an e-mail with opportunities
from a professor who cares.
i want it, but I can't help but
feel a little sad,
wherever you are dad.
tough love.
scrunchies, a book of matches,
and crumbs from crackers
sit in my pockets.
laundry basket, mile high
way past the brim.
i wasn't kidding when I said
you'd find a bottle of whiskey
hiding in there.
and all I wanna do is get through
college, I think.
I want to be a strong woman,
for now,
a young lady.
flash-backs to all the fun times.
my hand writing drifts
in shapes
to the sound of
a music box.
the curtains created
pretty shadows that
danced upon my arms.
I tried to be cool,
reading the newspaper.
I wanted to look
oh, so serious.
I am a joker.
I am your equal.
Yeah, salty dog?
Which aspect?
Can I say these things in poems?
I read the words,
why can't I marry my cousin?
these things keep me from
my sleep.
sweet dreams, candy-man.
oh, canyon creek,
where shall I go?
a mind hole?
a gold mine in the
gutter of my mind?
blind.
thanks Conor,
for the milk thistle.
is it fair to choose what
we want to hear?
did they know that 2013
would be so strange?
Professor Coker
wants something typed,
******* i gotta go pick up my bike.

Leafless trees hover the the sidewalks,
leading to places that I should,
and should not be.
Between you and me,
you see me much easier,
than I seem to see you.

I can play the part,
when I choose to.
But can you not tell,
I would prefer to climb these
tree limbs, rather than walk
beneath.

I reckon you would choose,
to bequeath to me the ability,
to walk tall, when I feel so childish,
and so small.

As fruit flies flood my bedroom,
I flee the scene, hoping not to be
seen.

I am afraid I live in a town,
that I am far too unfamiliar with.
I'm running out of hiding places.

I know this feeling must be temporary,
but is this just a test?
For now, I suppose I am meant to
just digress.

Oh, but how pretty the autumn is,
how exiting it is to see the sky change
from clear to night.
I choose to wait.
Let my fate find me,
because you cannot,
and trust me when I say,
CANNOT,
fight fate,
my dear.

I can run, and I can hide.
Try to find me, you may
get lucky.
Knock on my door,
that is where you will
find me.

And when boredom strikes my mind,
I will look out the window.
Don't think I never saw you there,
you knew exactly where I was.
I'm sure it wasn't hard to spot a
naked gal front & center of a dimly lit
bedroom of a well-known building.

You spied with your little eyes,
and I fled the scene.
Too bad you couldn't wait,
just a moment longer.
You would have seen me,
standing there.

I swear, if time passes
and turns into a year,
what the hell do you want
from me?

In all honesty,
I've made amends to all
the men from my past.
Well, except for one.
My biological father.
but he doesn't matter,
anyway.

But can you not tell?
Can you not see?
My heart is bleeding blue.
True, deep, dark,
blue.
I promise I will
never **** the life
from you.

Hot cross buns,
one a penny,
two a penny,
darling, please.

You can't knock it,
no, not ever!
Not until you try it!
Treat me like a lady,
kiss me on my hand.

For now, I glance out every
secret window
of this spooky
ghost town.
I suppose I will learn
to settle.
But I beg,
find me hiding.
One of these nights, I'll be
somewhere similar to a sanctuary.

I rode to the cemetery,
this Sunday morning.
I chained my bike to
the last log of the labyrinth.
I danced softly in the
center.

I walked up that hill,
while cars passed for
a burial service.
I wondered if I was rude,
not dressed like everyone
else, dressed in black.
I was afraid they could
tell, that I was looking
for names.

I hated feeling watched.
Even earlier when
I sat at the bar
of a diner for breakfast.

I kept to myself,
smiled to strangers,
so they knew that I
was friendly.

Could they tell that
I was hurting?
Could they sense
my quench of
thirst?

As I look too see,
and raise my head,
the corn rows are
to the right.

To the left,
a distant barn pillar.

The last time I felt
this way was six months
ago, or so.

In the month of April,
the Spring breeze
was there the ease my head.
I slept in the sunshine at
the top of the graveyard hill.
There next to me, a gentle,
wandering soul.

As I look to my right again,
barbed-wires keep
me from the corn.

This bench that I rest my body on,
engraved where my langley-legs
drape the edge,
"KEEP SEARCHING FOR A HEART OF GOLD."
In a handwriting that was too
familiar.

This shoots my compass magnet
North, South, East, and West.
19 years later, an Autumn
Breeze sways my way.

Sometimes the sun sets
when I am restless.
Other times, I will not rest
until the sun rises.

When I saw the name Ripley,
to the right was Bliss.
Behind the bush of pink flowers,
a rose bush I could only hope,
I did see the name Shannon.

I saw Melvin near Cahill.
I saw Hutchins, Tobin, and
Soloman.
I saw Thomas, Owen, Jones,
Donahue, and Roberts.

I searched for the names
that called to me.
They thanked me, they
apologized, and I did
likewise.

I searched for a name
like mine, and then
fell in love with the name I
was given.

As the burial service continued,
I followed the bits of grass-path
and gravel road, back towards
the labyrinth.

I am fire,
here to shine,
here to give warmth
to those who need it.
And one day, I too,
shall burn to ashes.

If they must, they might
try to simmer the flame.

Colorado forest fires
are a natural way to give
the Rockies a chance
to resurface.

And yes, my eyes have traveled
from stars to soil,
and now my eyes are set towards the
Himalayan, East.

I was always told to carry on, don't look behind at your past.
But you also told me to watch my back.
I can't help but be teased by my past, when I'm constantly watching my back.

A few told me to not question, "why?"
and well, again I repeat myself, but, why?
why is what gave me the answer to whom my real father is.
why is the demon that lives within the five Ws.
Who? What? Where? When? Why?
or so it seems that some teachers and ivy league schools would like replace "Why" with "How."

oh, wretched fools.
you can not erase this word from the world that I live in.
not today, not tomorrow, never.
and let us remember, it is the fool that sleeps.
and although I adore my precious slumber,
where I dream like no other,
wake me. shake me. shatter and break me.
free me from my dreamland prison.

watch me strike. hear me scream. you call me crazy?
well it's true, I haven't gotten much sleep these days.
send me to my room, send me to bed,
rest your weary head.
and when so scared, I will run to the safest place,
I know.

I'm sorry,
but am I?

Deep down, you can't tell me you do not
feel it. And I was not kidding when I said
that I am Mother Nature's child,
looking for comfort from the sun.

Uncle Mike always said it, "You're not as stupid as you look."
and to this day, you both ask me why I say this.
you ask me why I am so insecure, was it the divorce?
was it the attempted kid nap? was it the ten different Father figures in my life?

The wolves in Holland, the wolves in hell.
Like a child who played the lion attacking
Daniel in the Den.
It was my sister who was playing Daniel.
The star singer at Readington Reformed Church.

If only every memory didn't trigger
every bit of trauma, that I've been trying to hide.
So I ran from why, I hid from why, I spat in the eyes of why.

However now, I love to meet and greet why with
a firm handshake.
I do this because I love why, and why loves me.
For why and I are similar and we both can play
this game of life together.

And at times when we add fuel to the fire,
we will remember, that fire is warm,
and fire protects.
But we must watch each other,
and remember that fire does burn.

Baby, the fire in my heart,
it burns and yearns for years to come.
and no, I can't say I'm sorry if it ever does burn out.
My secret fire never burns out when I am alone.

Pro-******,

absolute identity.

Absentminded,

******, insanity.

Black on white,

white on black.

Coffee stained *****,

my lips are far from pure.

I’ve come to see my morals have change,

and I would not want it any other way.

he told me it was like being in love with a question mark.

if he had known, he wouldn’t have bothered.

he noticed the distance and soon became confused.

and it was at that moment where I became slightly aroused.

the bright lights, the cold wind, my warm body,

such heavenly sounds.

and i was dropped into a different past world.

i was in the kitchen, making tacos.

also listening to 60’s jazz music.

i was making dinner for my mother.

i learned that today, all I want in life is simplicity.

so let me be a wonder, and leave me alone.

you and i
we’ve always had some battered hearts
and i think i picked you up and i think i at least did a little good
for youand it makes me smilemakes me feel worthwhileyou and i
we were cute and acted innocent in the start
and i was shy and you were notand i guess we played our part
its true

and it makes me smirkmakes my heart workits sad that i
am not as smart as i used to thinkbut i’m trying to take the plug out of the sinkand let the ***** water drainfor youit makes grinit makes me puke until i’m thin

and i will try
for my own good and through your eyesjust have some hope, i meani’ve been there for you even when my heart was blueits true

i’ve stuck with you
so stick me with meand thats when i’ll knowthat this love is true

for quite some time, i’ve been trying to decode her.

as I slip through these days, I only figure her out more and more,

and it’s simple why she likes to keep her distance.

she likes to give love to those who haven’t felt it,

she likes to play and melt away under your skin.

she only wants to drain the ***** water from your sink,

give you pain to make you think.

i’ve heard her say sweet things in the dark before,

little whispers, soft legs, and blistered feet.

she’s always played the part like some sort of baby broken bear,

but maybe she’s known what she’s been doing all along.

i hear her sing her songs,

i see her cry her tears.

a genuine jewel and a colored gem,

a diamond with many facets.

a sleepy tiger lily,

and a leaning weeping willow.

days to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years.

every second spent daydreaming in that vacant house,

full of tainted and painful memories,

made her mind wander and let her head bloom.

no explanation.

no mix or match of any words, music, or memories

could touch her.

except, the sense of knowing

she was there, alive in that corner of time in the world.

but, it was everything.

everything that spoke to her, every song she heard,

every feeling she felt

moved her, broke her, bathed her,

remade her.

I’m in the warmth of
a womb above the sun
it’s numbing, the humble light
under your thumb
it’s glowing, luminous red
in the bed, sunlight ****
I’m ******* on the moon
like bitter sweet *****
I put the craters in your dress
But I digress…oh yes
I must confess
I was aiming for your chest
in the cruelest sort of ways
but where it stays is where it stays
like las vegas and tearful days
cause no one sells until you pay
no you’re not sold until you’re paid
no you’re not golden in this trade
black from blue and blue for grey

forty years there,

he claimed he had not

missed seattle.

so they placed me by

the exit escape.

looking through the window,

I saw my flashing fate.

one vile

two viles

three viles

four.

How many full of blood?

You asked them not to rob you.

Only you understood.

Sorrow screamed from my

empty gut.

"Worry not,"

you whispered.

It is not your fault.

We live on,

It was not our time.

The warped screwdriver,

made in China.

Touched by millions

passed on the life

inside the object.

Forget my desires,

wakefulness, please

lead me.

**** the money that drives me.

**** the money that drives you,

too.

sloppy-copy,

this wasn’t at all what I had

in my mind.

floppy disk,

explain to me only the gist.

and I beg of you,

please hear me out.

swear to you that I meant that.

behind closed doors

and cinder block walls

your drunk face spits

words you cannot take back

tomorrow you deny

that you could ever

be such a fool

and say such things.

i remember the boy who called me

his daisy

and i remember another who would call me

tiger lily.

in my mother’s eyes,

i am her petunia.

I continue to hide

to be disguised.

I silently choke

on the poison

in your cup.

it was the curls

that i combed,

of a little girl,

that i soon began to see

myself.

i begged for curls,

and she begged to have straight hair.

and even though my mother continued

to curl up in a ball in bed,

i watched

caroline grow.

When Caroline’s Mother

Susan,

told me that I was

a good girl,

I ran to her when I

ran away.

when I was 14,

i jumped off my roof

in the middle of the night.

Why this?

to sip the first of

the ****** poison.

with him.

deep within, maybe he knew.

calling me on my telephone,

was my half-sister, and my

mother’s eldest sister.

they told me that

if i came home,

they would never tell mama.

and they didn’t.

when caroline asked

for coca-cola in the

evening, i let her have it.

even though that was

the reason

why

she never went to bed

on time.

and because i was young,

and because i never knew better,

that is why it is my god-given right

to one day be a mother.

for now,

caroline and i,

will have each other

as each of our Mothers

suffer from a cancer

deep within.

I was never an artist,

I was the athlete-

so said my mother and sister.

This meant I ran faster,

kicked harder,

ran away but came home

only to find you

hanging that noose.

I was 9 years old

and I saw you in the dusted

garage.

I saw you standing on that

stool.

Is that what you wanted?

Were you trying to prove

a ******* thing?

Did you want nothing

to do with your

two precious daughters?

Did you want your cheating

husband to turn around

and beg for forgiveness

and tell you that he loved you?

yeah, I was 9 and

I opened that door and

saw that noose around  your neck.

I screamed ****** ******

and fell to my knees.

Please mama! No!

She cried and stepped

down.

She ran to her bedroom

and I followed screaming.

All I remember from that night

was daddy leaving us all behind

one of many times.

my head is clear,

so I thought.

but when I fall,

I fall harder

each and every time.

my head is clear,

I can only hope.

but do i resist

from all that makes me

sick and bleed?

I’m on my knees

trying to please,

oh, what a pathetic reason.

I can give you all that you

want, or not.

but I can try, oh

I can give it everything

that I’ve got.

only because I’ve been had,

and I’ll have been had

a few more times I’m sure.

only until there is nothing left

to give.

dip me in danger,

then take me out.

I’m broken

and dizzy.

leave me in the sun,

to dry

or to be colored.

if we don’t act fast,

I’ll evaporate into your

past.

there’s a fee to becoming

free, and my debt

is digging deep

and spilling into the sea.

take my money from me

take my virginity

it’s lost at sea

along with all of my hopes

I want purity

something heavenly

cause I’m drownin’ now

and there’s no land to swim to

just some dark clouds

I don’t think I’ve ever screamed so loud

but sometimes the sun comes out

and I scream pretty loud