Everyday I'm fighting that face in the mirror
with my emotions never getting clearer
Looking at a face
that I cannot see
a face that isn't me
A face I call my
own?
A face I do not condone
I look in to my eyes
I despise what I see
these eyes are not me
I stare at that smile
A smile that can tell
some stories for a while
That smile isn't me
That smile is what people see
They see
That face
That isn't
*Me

my eyes
ask you silently.

i dont want the answer
the way i want you
but i can't
help myself.

can't help but
imagine that
this is the last time
you
will grace
me.

i can't remember
a life
without you and the
heady suffocation
of your
gut-curling, heart-pounding
presence.
you've clean-slated me
the way
broken glass can
purge human vision,

your intoxicating soul wrapping me up
in its heated hollowness,

in that warmth
which keeps me up at night
and makes me
wish i could
drown
in the heavy circle
of your body.

and i can't imagine why
i fear
your vanishing
when more often than not

you,
your soul,
and your broken glass

are
the stuff of my
haunting dreams.

I hide under the covers,
trying to control my breath,
I know you hear me,
but you allow me this moments
panic,
this moment it's thoughts,
you allow me this moment,
and I can't help but remember,
that,

you give me the choice,
you allow me the decision,
you give me your beating heart,
and say do what you will,

and I do what I will,
because I can't decide what to do when I am standing over the edge of a canyon,
and all I want to do is fly,

you allow me this moment,
to see everything we are,
and everything we are not,

and underneath these covers,
it is warm,
but I feel the cold air find me as,

the tenor of the room changes,
and I'm so afraid I won't be,
enough,
that the experiences that litter your past,
will call you their lover again,

I'm so afraid of losing you,
I'm pushing you out the door,

And I meet your eyes one last time,
and their is ocean in turmoil
and I am the one who churned the waters,
but I know someone's calling your name in the distance,
even though they might never call mine.

I used to do
a little bit
of drugs,
and even though
they didn't wreck me
too bad,
I gave them up,
but I like
to get high,
so I have invented
the imaginary drug experience,
and what you do
is to say the name
of the drug, inside,
as you breathe out,
and then,
holding your nostrils open,
you forcefully inhale, fast,
in other words,
snort,
the air,
and my notion is
that the body/mind
will understand
that you want this drug
and it will produce
an endorphine,
(brain chemical),
which is like a mild form
of that drug,
and then,
you get a little bit high,
but it's awfully subtle,
so you have to be aware,
and there
you have it,
safe dope,
and you can't
get busted.

Dear black haired boy
I write to you to say
you used my heart like it was your toy
and I let you
just to call you My black haired boy
To be in your arms
away from the harm
Was all I wanted
but you taunted
my heart
Getting hurt from the start
But in the end just wanted to
be your brown hair girl
who made your world twirl
instead treated me like i meant nothing
made me feel like crumbling
You sent my life tumbling down
only able to show a frown
from your hateful crown
you fell
crushed by someone else
crawling back to your brown haired girl
who welcomed you with an open heart
which was still broken from the start
just waiting to be healed
at the hands of my black hair boy
even though my heart
was nothing but a toy
To said black hair boy
who never really gave me a choice
but to use my own voice.
Sincerely,
no longer your brown haired girl

It was in the park.
When I saw the scarf whirling in the wind,
The elegance in its movement was inspiring,
When the sun hit the cloth,
It twinkled under it's rays.
I continued my stroll in the brisk winter air,
Wondering about the poor soul with no scarf to keep warm.
It was then - when that thought crossed my mind - I saw a pair of mittens sitting on a bench.
Unlike the scarf, the mittens were rooted to the bench on which they lay.
A light coat of ice encased the mittens,
When the sun hit just right,
It twinkled under it's rays.
I continued my stroll in the brisk winter air,
Wondering about the poor soul with no mittens to keep warm.
It was then - when that thought crossed my mind - I saw a jacket hanging in a tree.
It looked as if a body still haunted it, because it waved furiously at me,
Probably hoping I could help it down.
The jacket gave up waving to me when it realized there was no way I was going to be its savior, but
When the sun hit the jacket,
It twinkled under it's rays.
I continued my stroll in the brisk winter air,
Wondering about the poor soul with no jacket to keep warm.
It was then - when that thought crossed my mind - I saw a blanket, with a man and women upon it.
And when the sun hit the eyes of the man,
They twinkled under it's rays.
And I realized, there was no poor soul without material to keep him warm,
There was a lucky soul, with a human being to keep him warm.