I'm not lonely
sleeping all alone
you think i'm scared
but i'm a big girl
i don't cry or anything

I have a great
big bed to roll around
in and lots of space
and i don't dream
bad dreams like i used
to have that you
were leaving me
anymore


Now that you're gone
i don't dream
and no matter
what you think
i'm not lonely
sleeping
all alone

How do I say the words
I feel in my heart?
How do I tell you that I love
The way that you make me smile?
If I knew how,
Then I would tell you
How much you mean to me.
I'd show you the light
You bring into my life.
I'd say you are perfect—
Not the flawless sort of perfect,
But the sort that makes me want to be,
A better me than I am right now.
And even though I can't feel you close to me,
I can still feel you in my heart.
Yes, you have a place there.
And you fit perfectly,
As if you've always been there.
These feelings are new to me,
Like a pathway unexplored.
But I think I want to walk it—
To take the road less traveled.
If i offered you my hand,
Asking you to walk with me,
Would you choose to take it?

poetry is motion graceful
as a fawn
gentle as a teardrop
strong like the eye
finding peace in a crowded room
we poets tend to think
our words are golden
though emotion speaks too
loudly to be defined
by silence
sometimes after midnight or just before
the dawn
we sit typewriter in hand
pulling loneliness around us
forgetting our lovers or children
who are sleeping
ignoring the weary wariness
of our own logic
to compose a poem
no one understands it
it never says "love me" for poets are
beyond love
it never says "accept me" for poems seek not
acceptance but controversy
it only says "i am" and therefore
i concede that you are too

a poem is pure energy
horizontally contained
between the mind
of the poet and the ear of the reader
if it does not sing discard the ear
for poetry is song
if it does not delight discard
the heart for poetry is joy
if it does not inform then close
off the brain for it is dead
if it cannot heed the insistent message
that life is precious


which is all we poets
wrapped in our loneliness
are trying to say

2 years ago I wished for death
I breathed in pills like they were oxygen
Between the scars and my wrist and the tension in my bones
Nights were infinitely longer than days

6 months ago I fantasized her sweet kiss
Every thought dedicated to the romance
Every decision dedicated to numbness
3 am daydreams of helium tanks and ******

A month ago I drank myself out of consciousness
Until I was no longer forced awake
By the pulling between my temples
As if a void was in the center of my mind

This week my pillow beckoned to me as a long lost lover
Tonight we caressed each other
Tll I drifted into a blissful slumber
But plagued by mares of the the nights to come

What can **** a man,
But is used several times a day?

What has a positive word in it,
But a horrible meaning?

What is simple to say,
But hard to fulfill?

What creates hopelessness,
But started with joy?

What word
Is the most important,
Most life changing,
Most devastating,
Most deadly,
Seven letters you've ever heard?

The answer is
*Goodbye

Cliche: The world is yours for the taking--
       The last poem in a purple notebook--
Creative (possibly): The world is yours for the making--
       150 degrees--
where Africa is the continent placed
       UpSiDeDoWn
and North America,
       against all logical sense,
is in the south.

       Little boy in sixth
grade.
       Go to the man who painted the walls white,
dropped textbooks in every teacher's lap,
       and taught them how to
babysit.

       Tell him that we
need more than one flavor
       to splash our palette.
A subtle flavor so small
       that it's dust-like.

Make him give us something
to change,
to express our love,
to make our blood dance with passion,
and permanently graffiti the walls
with our heart's emotion.