Shower me with presents of your presence
Heal me, if only for a second.
Feel me, if only for a stroke.

Look at the stars
and try to tell me
That a sheep doesn't know
the taste of a rose.

creativity is sometimes hard to find

but the only way to find creativity

is to be not creative in the first place

if you are already creative

then how can you find the creativity you already posess

discovering creativity

is one of the most rewarding feelings

so let the world be filled with uncreative minds

and let those minds

have the opportunity

to find the creativity

that was hiding

in the depths of their minds.

Giving into the surfaces
allowing them to support me.

I'm sliding down
and leaning upon
and collapsed.

Writing on the backs
of parking tickets and paychecks

Writing on the back of you.

Drawing pictures with my fingers.

I'm a fan,
letting all the ashes rush.

I'm a fan,
but not an addict.

I'm a fan,
creating movement of the wind.

I'm a fan,
but not an enthusiast.

Waking up to an ellipsis
from a phantom
and wondering if it's
a dream or a nightmare.

I wish I had the reassurance that they were always right behind me.
But I let them go, as they planted their feet into the ground.
I left part of my body attached as the wind pulled me forward,
and now I am sluggish and un-whole.

I let him go tonight and the wind only blows towards tomorrow.

My shoulder blade is slicing into his chest
but I don't mind,
because his skin is against mine
and I'm stabbing him at the same time.

My heartstrings are out of tune.
They're often plucked by nimble fingers;
but they don't play beautiful music anymore.
They're twanging and waning,
waiting for nimble fingers to take the time to tune them.
Their melody will swoon only then.

I'm just trying to show people
how things are;
not how they should be.

I'm unique.
I'm too unique.

I'm a mover
and there's movement everywhere.

Move with me.

I don't have a hand for you to hold,
but my wrist is always there
for you to pull alongside you.

I wish I was in control of my own happiness.

I envy your power,
and it's now or never.

Nothing is forever.

I'll often stand and stare
and just look at the road in front of me
feet cemented into the pavement
with those yellow lines that separate lanes
painted over my ankles
like track marks

One of these days
I'm going to have to get a chisel
and start digging my feet out of the ground
Although there will still probably be
those ugly yellow track marks
at least I'll be free
to walk the path ahead of me

I'll be able to finally cross the bridge
that I've been staring at for so long

Maybe one day I'll be able to cross it
without the fear of it collapsing

Until then I'll just run really fast

I'll try to get over it.

I've learned that happiness isn't something that you pursue

It's not a goal.

It's a lifestyle.


And I've learned that happiness isn't a situational thing

It's not a special time

It just comes in the package with your personality traits.


And I've learned that I haven't found happiness

And I shouldn't go looking for happiness

And that happiness won't find me,

because I simply don't know how to be happy in the happiest of times.

Forever waiting for my decrepit friend
with my heart nailing my spine to the earth.
I need this Cimmerian Shade to remind me
that this isn't how things determinedly end.

...and I read the news and still feel uncomfortably serene,
despite the dead heroes and all the entitled people.
There's no luck anymore, just a fistful of my abysmal choices,
and I'm kidding myself if I think I haven't always been the antagonist of this epic journey.

...and all I challenge you is to come over and waste some life with me
and to blindfold me from your behavior like a child that's convinced of unicorns.

...and my cheeks smolder with my incinerating charcoal soul.
I suffer as I admit my desires and my charcoal soul will continue blistering until its substance is melted and twisted like wax.

...and I was captured in a landslide that only I can palpate,
curious as why nothing has seen me being removed ever so slowly,
like it's my undying fate.

I'm summoning everybody I know and everybody I don't,
to the races to see how fast I can run with my wounded spirit.

Place your bets.
Beat the odds.
Get lucky

You're the Harold to my Maude,

Bad timing...

Except we've both died a few times
and now neither of us is living.

So I guess we're two Harolds
and we both wanted to be Maude.

My passion
was always to be passionate.

My dream
was to always have dreams.

Now I'm a failure.

Depressed for time and pressed for happiness

I'm always right

So I'm right when I say I don't deserve anything good anyway

I don't wish to see
the world in black and white
but a dull sepia
would be nice

People are just furniture
used to decorate living rooms
and add comfort to them

A walking corpse, undead amongst a society of necrophiliacs.

The shards in my chest were never whole;
immuned from feeling broken.
They were born sharp and jagged--
ready to stagger through any heart
like a dagger that has never spoken.
History lies within the ground with ragged heartstrings out,
waiting to be found by someone with something to cry about.

All I have left are
could have beens
and
what ifs
I wish I was still a zombie

I drag myself on these legs
when I don't even know where
I'm going to.

I never had an interesting cover
and the title on my spine is old and peeling
and people don't publish reviews about me anymore.

Happiness is curled up in the selfishness,
wrapped around in layers of blankets
warm and safe.

You can't keep it safe
and the happiness can't take anyone with it.

I was born blind
I can wait for somebody to
put their sight in my sockets
But then
how will they see
what I see?

Stockholm Syndrome
I'm in love with my captor
and words would just leave this
expression incomplete
as incomplete as I have always been
as incomplete as I always will be

Thank you, my love
for capturing me
and holding me hostage
and holding my hand

I understand.

I guess, in the end, we all just have to accept that the universe is weird and never on anyone's side; that everybody sees things differently and that things are never going to be how we imagined or how we want them to be. If they are how we want them to be, they're probably better than we ever imagined. When they're not it ***** and is heartbreaking. It is for me anyway, but that's the beauty of it. It probably isn't for somebody else. Jealousy and nostalgia are beautifully ugly creatures. Goodnight.

Legs crossed
Slouchy socks
Pulsing foot
Waiting for nothing
With a stomach full of money.

This is a shout out to this season
and its amused ****** expression
as it taunts me and my need for a fix.

Hi.

(It's been so long and I miss you so ******* much)

I figured I'd call you to cheer you up but you're not answering your phone

(I called because my will power ***** and I know you've been hurting. I'm crushed that you didn't answer because I just want to hear the sound of your voice so I won't forget what it sounds like. I miss that cherry pepper melody of compliments and lies.)

And mines almost dead

(Losing hope of finally hearing that song, so spicy and sweet)

and we're still four hours outside Minneapolis, so...

(Here comes four more hours of thinking about you and brooding about the past that I'll have to endure. Four hours of wondering what we would have talked about if you had answered.)

I don't know if you're sleeping or if

(I really hope you didn't see my name on your caller ID and endure the torturous ringing of that vintage telephone ring tone and feel the vibrations and hums of my call in your hands all the way up until now when I'm recording this message, because deep down I have false hope that you miss me as much I miss you. God, I ******* miss you.)

...

(Static/bad reception)

dead.

(Like I wish I was)

Talk to you soon maybe

(Maybe I will feel this brave tomorrow, or maybe I'll just regret leaving this message and never talk to you again. I haven't decided yet.)

Have a good day at school

(I wish you still told me every detail about your day. I wish I was still sitting next to you and holding your hand and not able to keep my hands off your *** as you told me about your classes.)

tomorrow*

(Tomorrow never seems to go as planned.)

Sometimes things fit and sometimes they don't
I spend my life trying to put pieces together
and when they don't fit
I just tape them and glue them
and they look a mess, but they hold for now
and that's going to have to be good enough

Sometimes things fit and sometimes they don't
and this time they fit
perfectly.

I guess I like it better when they don't.

I know I'm breathing
because when I tuck my chin
I can see my chest swelling

I know I'm alive
because if I weren't then
I wouldn't feel anything at all
I wouldn't remember anything

I wish I couldn't remember
I wish I couldn't feel anything at all
I wish I weren't alive
I wish I couldn't see my chest swelling
I wish I couldn't tuck my chin
I wish I wasn't breathing.

But I am breathing and tucking and swelling and living and feeling and remembering
everything all at once.

all the time.

And there is simply no worse feeling
than missing someone that doesn't miss you back

And there is simply no worse feeling
than gathering hopes from cherry trees and putting them in your basket to bring home with you
then gathering hopes from your basket and laying them into neat rows, smallest to biggest,
then looking at them and realizing they're not cherries at all, they're not even fruit, they're rocks.

No worse feeling...
than having all of these hopes,
hoping
that you wish you couldn't breathe, tuck, swell, live, feel, remember

Just like me.

But you'll keep breathing like me
and tucking your chin like me
and swelling your chest at the thought of another girl that's so unlike me
and living like me
and feeling what you used to feel about me for that other girl that's so unlike me

Unlike me.

I wish I was unlike me.

I wish you still liked me.

The roses bloom every Spring,
though they look more beautiful
dressed in snow.
My rose is a sweet pale lady
taking me away from the
seasonal blueness of my history.

He told me, "Pretty girls don't light their own cigarettes."

He hands me his lighter now.

I might not be in the middle of a hurricane
But that doesn't mean it isn't windy
and it doesn't mean the constant rain
isn't making me cold
and it doesn't mean that the clouds
aren't making everything darker
than it should be
and it doesn't mean that I can't
see hail and sleet and snow
in the distance
and it doesn't mean
that I'm not dreading its presence
in my life.

I might not be in a hurricane
but that doesn't mean
the weather is nice
it doesn't mean a sight of the sun now and then
wouldn't suffice

However
If the sun says hello
I won't know how to greet it
I won't know how to look at it
probably not directly in the eye
because that would make me blind
more blind than I am now, anyway
and I don't know how I would spend my day
with the sun screening my back
I would probably just start running
so I could feel wind on face
because that's all I'm used to
and the wind is what puts me in my place.

Only real eyes
can make you realize
what lies beneath
real lies

You have beautiful eyes
     it's too bad you keep them closed
          and it's too bad you keep them clouded with tears
You have a beautiful mouth
     it's too bad you keep it closed
And I'm sure you have a beautiful voice
    but you glue your tongue to the roof of your mouth
And you probably have a beautiful body
     but you wear so many layers, nobody knows
And I know you have beautiful toes
     because you're never on them, you wave them in the air and show them off
And it's likely that your heart is heavy
    but you don't let people test its weight
And maybe your soul could be strong
     but you never let it out for exercise
And I'm sure other people could see you as I do, and feel the same way as I do
     but you never let them look at you

Because you live in the mirror
    and the only one that can see you is me.

I'm a feral child
and suddenly,
I'm home

Punch a pillow in one spot
          it explodes in another
Lay your head face down to dream
          pillows explode at the seems
Sleeping feathers on your tongue
         where spicy memories are still young
Itchy feathers mix in your lashes
         drowning in tracks of tear-burned rashes

In a tragedy I'm collapsing from a canopy above me
falling onto a cobblestone platform beside you, fatally.
You remain dormant as I shriek at you and shove you
in an attempt to animate and awaken you.
And like before you have no passion for the golden stars
on your agenda that you persist on our own personal Mars.
Your delusions still follow narratives like a script
with fabrications that you wrote, reserving our crypt.

So now I melt into your back until we dream together in a morgue,
forced down by the weight of our cancerous lips in this cancer ward.
Nurses of alabaster and indigo serenade and encompass us
with cumbersome shovels cradling earth meant to bury us.
You tucked us into our tomb a little too soon
and now your blood runs cold as mine runs maroon.
I want to dig you up but you want us buried together beneath the moon.

I'm screaming and swearing and sullen and aching and laughing and sobbing and  apologizing.

This falling keeps me at peace,
because for one last moment
I am in one piece.
I am whole,
with the belief of no release.

I made the slit
Dug my finger tips in the crevace
And pulled until the wound bled free
All you had to do was smear the blood on my face in the shape of a heart
I broke my heart over you
And now I'm all apart

Hovering;
      Encompassing;

With a chest that has
      endured twenty-four years
             of ambiguity,

I am rooted  
      beneath the landscape
           of my integrity.