someone take me for a ride
run down the side of some old tumbling hill
i'm tired of slowing down
steady snapping of fingers
in my pocket, deep within
i have this rhythm fighting to get out
and it's echoed in the beating of my heart
an uneven, fluttering drum
trying to interpret this morse code
relay the message

but what is the message?
all i know is
my limbs are heavy and my fingers are weak
my mind is strong but somehow
my heart and soul just won't play along
today is a lead-filled day
all sullen footsteps and empty thoughts
and lines scratched into the sand
wiped away by the slow shuffle
up and down stairs
as my feet try and find the right place to be
at the right time
and the clock screams out its lines, telling me
i'll always be too late
i'll always be one step ahead
i'll always be right in the middle
i'll always be like this, nowhere and everywhere
important and invisible

what is the message?
my eyes are dim and my ears are dull
and my senses are sleeping
while i, trapped inside
am trying to escape a cage
whose bars are made of nothing
bent by nothing, shaped by nothing
i am held in by nothing
am i nothing?

i've always had these moments
hours on end, recharge
reflect and deflect the wind
music just loud enough, alone
and staying sane
but lately it isn't the same

there's just something else
a lift in my step, or what?
an extra heartbeat here or there?
i don't know, maybe the air
is getting cleaner

grey days are constantly being replaced
warm wind and soft rain
even the cold is comforting, in a way
weather like this
makes me want to take a picture
and show you, saying
"see? winter can be beautiful too"

feeling like this, alone and in tune
all i can think of is
"i wish i could show you this song"

spent years wandering halls
cutting the "i" from my sentences
forming words from vowels
and emotions from consonants
hard and solid, but nothing
without that internal structure

guess that describes me pretty well
all consonants, harsh "t" and definite "d"
and the ever-slippery "y", like me
never making up its mind

felt like a half-learned language
still do, really
like someone forgot to learn the proper nouns
forgot to turn the sentence around
grab the sound and speak it

there's an accent colouring my life
awkward and stuttering, unsure
and never fluent enough
to step in time with the music
for long enough to make it matter

words from vowels
and emotions from consonants
hard and solid, but nothing
without that internal structure

poetry should be you, on paper
in black and white
italic and bold
truth of some kind
or lies told to illustrate a story

doesn't matter, really
since poetry is transparent
opaque, solid or wavering
poetry should be fluid
weaving through the fingers and threads
of the lives of those
who have yet to be truly touched
by their own words

poetry should convince them all
to speak up
and listen

in my mind, i counted down
the breaths until i was almost
gasping, reaching out to exhale
just in time to stay alive, and i am
conscious enough to close my eyes
and describe this feeling as
breathless

short words in each pause, and i am
only listening with half of my heart
but the meanings are not lost on me, no
i am aware of the definition of this feeling
short words joined spell
breathless

call me drunk, call me unsteady, call
the emergency line just in time
to lift me off the floor
but in reality, the more i sink down
the less i need saving, so just
take this as a sign that we should
fall together, call me by anything
other than my name, call me
breathless

breathless as i breathe in, breathless
as my lungs are filled between the words
that form my ribs and crack my skull
and bend my spine, and as our fingers intertwine
the oxygen spills forth from skin to skin
and even my hands are having trouble
staying steady, as life rushes in
while the world disappears
and it all falls apart while we fall in time
with the rise of your chest and the downbeat of mine
and the constant press of carbon dioxide
against my cheek begins to lessen, and i am blessed
with keening, sweet silence
and through the clouds my mind is clear
with the knowledge that there's nothing wrong
with being breathless

In the bag,
you can find a dictionary;
you can find words
like
“alone,”
“gone.”

You can find
a week’s worth
of candy wrappers,
too many empty pill-bottles,
blunt pencils
and ripped pages
and crumpled notes
and band-aids
that didn’t help.

If you looked deeper,
you might find lottery tickets,
forgotten phone numbers
and puzzle pieces
and more empty things,
bottles,
containers,
bags,
hearts.

More words:
“lost,”
“missing,”
“unknown;”

some dust
and pennies
and elastic bands
and plastic knives
and drastic decisions
and

nothing

except
maybe

a few more words

the scratch and scrape against my soul
of days gone by, of words unknown
to my ears
the rush of air across my cheek
hair on end, fingers tingling
unsteady footsteps and too much oxygen
all at once
life comes rushing in

life comes rushing in
and i run into hiding
guess i just don't want to be trampled
guess i'm just not ready
to stand up, turn
and join the herd

the back and forth, neither here nor there
seems like the words, the letters
are never in the right order
it all makes sense to my body and logic
but something's off, something's wrong
it's a puzzle i have yet to put together
afraid to set that last piece in
and see the whole picture for what it is

life comes rushing in
and i hold it back
Moses parting those red waters
my hands, pressing on either side
against the **** tide, against the **** grain
against the refrain of harsh truth and soft air
and sweet breath and smooth hands
and familiar sounds
and safety

i'll stay in danger a little while longer
still afraid to feel safe
still afraid to calm down
still afraid to let the Red Sea wash over me

blue skies wavering above
and i blink them away
i'll stay under cloud cover a little while longer
still afraid of the sun's rays

life comes rushing in
and i turn away, holding it at bay
like Atlas, shouldering the weight
but never looking it in the face

neither here nor there
the Red Sea fades away

feet just tappin’ it all out as it comes along
got this down, inscribed in my mind
findin’ more every minute of the day
feelin’ like old-time slang
like easy chords and lyrics
that just spell out my day like i can’t
my words are nothin’, not even
written down the way i say ‘em
just can’t describe today
the way the music can
and that’s alright, ‘cause i’m the one
who’s gonna put music to it
will you play the drums for me?
just need me a walkin’ rhythm
and i’m good to go

i'm seeing you in bright green and blue
calm, cooling colours
neon against my eyes
full of this feeling, but empty
ready for more

bring on the whole nine yards
every shade of serenity you can find
every familiar colour comes to mind
when i think of you

i see myself in dark red and grey
regal and lonely in muted shades
soft against my skin
every warm, safe feeling comes to mind
when i cover my body in the morning
and when i hide from myself at night
amid a curtain of navy blue
and light starry sheets
above the rooftop

bring on the whole nine yards
from red to blue to sudden violet
to pink across my cheeks
every shade of my existence comes to mind
when i think of you

under a long sweep of colour across the sky
i exist
when i think of you

i guess i just hoped i could wake up
like i always do, only alive
throw the bedcovers from my
aching, beating body
leave the curtains open
because i don't feel like hiding
keep my head up, keep the air flowing
out of breath, but in sync
and through pain or whatever comes my way
feel it all, feel everything

but no
i woke up like i always do, grey
slowly disentangled myself
from the crumpled blue sheets
left the curtains closed
because the pointing fingers are everywhere
kept my head down, kept the air controlled
through my lungs, out of time
and through pain or whatever came my way
i felt nothing

someone took a needle
threaded it, tied a knot
double for luck
and then sewed me down to this feeling
sticky strands that prevent me from walking away
and i was forced to stay, forced to hold on
to the side of the rollercoaster car
no choice but to let it all play out
up and down, trying to ignore
the rising, sinking, rising again
in my stomach
up to my heart, up through my mind, and down again
but today i let go

just to brush the hair out of my face
to see you better
just for a split second, i let go

and the feeling dropped down to my toes
leaving me hanging on again for dear life
no, i’m not ready
for a “look, ma, no hands!” kinda deal
i’m still holding on, knuckles white
and shivering
waiting for the ride to end
and half-wishing it would just keep going
fight or flight, or just give in
let the scene play out
and my mind tells me, get out while you still can
but the rest of me is soothing
saying, stop looking away
at the apex of the hills, keep that eye contact
all through the drop, down to the bottom
forget the fear, it’s just part of the beauty
**** common sense, **** logic
harsh words trying to slam some sense into me
i guess it’s just the fact that i can’t analyze
a rollercoaster ride
when i’m still on it
but i don’t want it to end just yet

honestly?
your happiness makes my throat drown
in some sort of almost-tearful
rise to the occasion
of your smile
and every sad word, or quick avoidance
dries me up, aching
with a strong want for the alleviation
of whatever it is that drags your footsteps
whatever it is that brings you down to my level
and closer to understanding me
and perhaps it's that fear of complete openness
that makes me rush to brighten your day
or maybe it's just the fact
that i care
either way, i do what i can and more
to paint the clouds away
for you

i am small
gotta crane my neck to make a connection
look down to feel safe
close my eyes to feel whole again
look in the mirror to remind myself
that i am taller than i think

i am small
in that i lower my voice automatically
when afraid that i might be wrong
in that i look away spontaneously
when afraid that eye contact
might mean more than i want it to

i am small
in that i describe myself that way
and therefore i am
gotta have some excuse
for the crooked, sneaking way
i move through this world
gotta have some reason
for the volume at which i express myself
at 2 hours into the morning
loud and clear upon virtual pages
trying to tell myself
that i am louder than i believe i can be
and that i am right, have been all along

i am small
and i don't mean in age, of course
because my years betray nothing
of true experience
to be honest, i feel like i've lived
decades within my own mind
it's more that image, that casual description
thrown about
of a girl who sticks to the edge of the staircase
a girl who smiles just enough to warm hearts
a girl who looks away before her eyes can speak volumes
a girl who only wants to be a few inches taller, really
even if it's just my soul that grows
or my self-confidence

i find myself assuming the role
of quiet observer, looking around
discreetly, and with more interest
than i let on, i am transfixed
by the simplicity with which complications arise
between crooked pathways
and straight lines
of people, walking around
interacting on levels that confound me
and it makes me feel like an island
yet uncharted
sand untouched, bare of footprints
and most of the time, i like it
the feeling of being clean
unsullied by those complications
and i sit on my shore, watching the ragged ships
sail by
and the gulls circle, crying out
why?
why do we do these things to ourselves?
why do we hide the truth
and perform the lies?

sometimes, i assume the role
of confidant, of living journal
and i describe the weight of the words dropped on my pages
to nobody, because
it really isn't my place
to trivialize darknesses other than my own
and i understand, i do
but i feel lost, some days
among the black holes of people
who cannot escape their own space
their own star-flecked universes
and their planets crash into mine
Milky Way swerving out of the path of destruction
and getting lost in their dissolving sighs
and i feel heavy
with the ink of their confessions
heavy with the advice that they ignore
heavy with the simple ideas
that crowd my head, circling like those gulls
crying out
why?
why do we do these things to ourselves?
why do we confide in strangers
and never trust our own star systems
to find their way back into orbit?

i find myself assuming the role
of me, of my own name
displayed proudly on my sleeve
familiar letters that seem to betray
my transparent, flickering image
warm and true to friends' eyes, perhaps
but the spaces between the characters
are what appear to me in the mirror
not the black lines
but the grey areas
and i feel that transparency often
when i am surrounded by that sea once again
as i so often am
and the waves just seem to crash right over me
feeling invisible, and yet somehow
too visible
to ever be a part of the current, it seems
as each whisper, each ripple
each glance, each possible missed chance
each glimmering sail upon the horizon
appears to laugh at me
whether it's my sad, slow swimming
or my ragged inward appearance
that shines through the cracks in my face
it all becomes part of an image
that i see burned upon the surface of my soul
and some days it truly feels
like even the gulls are circling around me, crying out
why?
why do you do these things to yourself?
why do you even bother?

sometimes
i read my own writing
and wonder what it's like to know me

hoping the words will open a window
let the clean air in
so i can climb through the frame
inspect the damage, avoid
the broken glass
turn on the lights

wishing the words would be more straightforward
yes and no
black and white
this is how you feel
deal with it

well, i feel done with dealing with it
in monochrome, shades of grey
stealing away the colours
of a cartoon landscape
i think that this would be easier dealt with
if i could see it all through stained glass
diamond-shaped panes
breaking up the scene, shattering
the illusions unseen
and through rose-coloured glasses
black and white become so much more obvious
to my strained, searching eyes

sometimes
i read my own simple, twisted writing
and i wonder what it's like to know me
not the words, not the straight lines
that curve around my soul
but the soft ones
that make up my body, that protect
my smile and my eyes
and the ones that lead gently down to my hands
twisting around each other
in some dance
that attempts to hide the constant urge
to write out my disbelief in the existence
of myself

yes and no
still escape me
but i keep finding shards of stained glass
like a treasure hunt, like some accidental quest
picking them up from the damp sidewalk
discovering them cutting into an open palm
and i take them, then accept the offered hand
looking off into the sunset
through the bright blue and blood-red
of sharp reality

sometimes
i find the words
before they find me

speak up?
well, haven't i
spoken enough?
belief cracks beneath me
and i try to understand why
you'd ask me this
am i the only one
who wants me to quiet down?
doubt hovers above me
as i wait for the ball to drop, waiting
for you to realize
that you don't really want to be here
am i the only one
tired of who i am?

god, at this hour
everything feels like poetry
even the silence is blooming
with words
and i don't know
if that's a blessing or a curse
desolation
or just a plain old desire for more
or maybe just an echoed question
that i ask myself, and answer back
becoming my own interpretation
of each cryptic answer

am i going through something
(well, are you going through something)
or do i just wish i was
(do you really wish you were)
for interest's sake?

maybe it's a mistake
a confusing stanza to read, for sure
but hey, that's how it works
swirls around untranslated
in my mind
and i thank my lucky, silent stars
for the ability to strain out the bracketed pieces
and still appear sane to the world

am i going through something
(well, are you going through something)
or do i just wish i was
(do you really wish you were)
for interest's sake?

nicotine is nasty
(learned that in school
sitting behind you, distracted
but i remember the cancer part)
so maybe it is
but i think the simplest way
to explain the way i revolved around you
would be to say
that if you'd offered me a cigarette
i would have taken it
and smoked it
that's how much i loved you

at every moment
there came a pause beneath the glass
as the cold passed through us
and the wheels rolled on
and the oxygen around us moved slowly
and we were safe

or at least that's how the day felt
warm and soft
a comfort to my scrambled, savage soul
as deep down below me
the beast
(the road)
was defeated

guess the world just seems to me
a place that needs to be defeated
every so often

guess the same could refer to me
now, that's a thought

sure, silent jump into thin air
and the oxygen spreads over my mouth
like a blanket, leaving me
gasping and falling
and reaching out
i'm in a hurry to breathe
i'm in a hurry to hit the ground
running

and it's colder than i thought cold could be
you know, i never imagined
myself freezing to death
and i like to think that's why i'm here again
grasping onto thin fingers of warmth
moving in closer to share breath
and forget the frosted trees above
i like to think it's that fear
that keeps me coming back
and not the simple comfort
not the feeling, not the thoughts
as i step outside for a moment
to freeze the words
before they can take hold of my tongue
and voice themselves

i like to think it's the ease
with which i sink into this depth
that keeps me from staying outside
and not the need that i ignore, masking
it as something more innocent
material, consistent
warm and partially true

i like to think it's the fear
that keeps me up at night
and not the warm comfort
i feel when i'm thinking of you

we place so much importance
on words, don’t we?
like these black lines
define us or something
like these speech bubbles can represent
the real thing inside
so why do we find words for things
that do not exist?
and why are there some things
that we cannot describe?
four letters, four words
an entire book isn’t enough
to explain how i feel right now
when i hardly know myself
and that’s just the thing
we place so much importance on words
as if they can say what we can’t
as if i could just reach inside myself
and pull out this feeling, confused and unheard
and words will fill in the blanks for me
but it’s not like that
we place so much importance
on something we created ourselves
and we write words down, like love
and hate and everything in between
and it seems to me like putting pen to paper
just solidifies the definition
tattoos it into reality’s skin, and it sinks in
and that word takes hold
whether or not it was true
of course, here i am
hypocritical as usual
tearing down the one thing
that lets me speak my mind
but i guess i just wish there was some other way
to figure out how i really feel

should i be scared yet?
i want to ask you this, and yet
the one thing i am afraid of, it seems
is letting those words escape
as we make our move across the plains
of sheer, drunken power
shimmering strength hidden among hushed voices
as the space stretching from my shoulders to yours
grows smaller, inch by inch
until the whole world has been crushed between our bodies
and we are the only ones left
and the silence
is ours to fill, ours to defeat
should i be scared yet? i ask myself
as we are drawn into battle, side by side
and yet it feels less like a war
and more like a dangerous dance
so with my fear pocketed
and the question mark buried at the bottom
i press play, a harrowing decision
and i move away from the buttons
before i can change my mind
and innocently, softly
i remind the world to hold on tight
because you and i
are moving space and time tonight

cold cement reminds me
of the steps outside school
where i balanced myself on the railing
and stood on that column
feeling better
than the people below me

cold cement makes me think
of the road outside my house
and the way the potholes filled
with wet maple leaves
after a day of autumn rain

cold cement, in my mind
is that long, straight road
hot beneath the summer sun
but still cool in the shade, and somehow
riding along that stretch
was always enough to calm me down

cold cement, to me
is the end of the line
and the transition from earth to rock
from open sky
to cityscape

cold cement, to me
is a love-hate relationship, really
as it began to grow on me
fond memories overlapping
the edges of the sidewalk
and washing over the toes of my boots

and cold cement, today
was somehow comforting
below me as i wavered
between burning and frozen
on the steps outside

i am no longer alone

i'm always trying to describe
the wrong things, aren't i?
describing your voice
when it's the words that matter
outlining your face
when it's the smile that really shatters
upon my eyes
trying to write this feeling down
when it's the reasons that are really
important to me
and i guess that's when i realize
i've been avoiding penning this fear
afraid of the reasons, of the causes
that led me here
and this feeling?
it's nothing more than a consequence
or so i tell myself
as i step carefully over
the dark puddles
and onto the hard cement, looking
for the yellow lines
that will tell me where to go
left or right?
right or wrong?
i've been describing the wrong things
i know that now, and i have
each scene played out
in black and white
while the real meaning is lost
in the spaces between the letters
and the missing punctuation
gathers itself into the sky
spelling out the word i am afraid of
fear

on the way home
i listened to music
that made me think of you
blessing each note
with my mind, saying
"thank you for understanding
every single time"
and i say this to the music
because i cannot say it to your face
and yes, i just compared you
to the corner of my life
where everything is sound and i feel safe
and yes, it is
a compliment

it was all i could do
not to uncap my pen
and mark you, let the ink
seep into your skin
let the words, the anxiety bleed through me
and into you
so that you might understand

how do you feel?
you ask
and i want to write it into you
scratch the answer deep
or at least
write it down
and it's all i can do
not to unleash these words
every minute of every day
they're kept at bay
until i can string them together
alone

so that the next time you ask
how do you feel?
i will have nothing to say
except
fine

i'm no Houdini
but sometimes i feel
like more than just an everyday
escape artist
as i climb over the walls
of yet another situation

more and more i find myself
performing my way out
of heavy conversation
writing paths across the words
that i'm walking away from
building ships so i can sail
across the thoughts i've been swimming in

i'm no Houdini, there's no need
to prove myself with cuffs and chains
just the simple strain of too much meaning
if you want to see me

slip away

the snow today
felt like a blanket
and my scarf was a masquerade mask
as i twirled through the day
on broken costume stilettos
with the stain of stupid words
colouring my lips

today, i finally came up with
something to say
that makes sense to me
now, all i need
is some other masked dancer
to say it to

can life just be a masquerade?
can we just judge each other
by tone of voice
and tilt of head
and honest things said
and simple choice
and just
that gut feeling you get?

today, i finally came up with
a request
and i've got the tape paused in my head
just waiting
for something to click
for someone to reach out and press play

please don't call me by my face
call me by my name

today, i told a friend
that i am digging myself
deeper each day
and it was the first time
i could admit it out loud
and the words
displayed themselves
loud and bright
across the screen of my vision
so that i had no choice but to read them

and it's true

"you're in too deep"
i tell myself
as another inch goes by
"you're in too deep"
i tell myself
as my hand disappears within yours
"in too deep"
repeats in my head
as i pull you in with me
"in too deep"
this guilty stereotype
describes my day perfectly
and as these words echo around me
i ask you to join me again
the next day

"in too deep"
i told my friend
and it's true

and she nodded, perhaps understanding
the feeling

i wished i was talking to you
so i could say
"i'm in too deep"
and you could say
"me too"

soft, cold tread
of careful footsteps on the ice
and it's so ironic
that i'm holding your hand
to keep from falling

and i thank you without thinking
a knee-**** reaction
to each time you make my day
while inside my head the obsession
replays
asking myself in circles
twisted, burgeoning circles
is this just the game again?

and i love that rush
icy lights above, hard seat below me
and then your mouth is soft on mine
in the middle of everywhere
and i have trouble opening my eyes
when you pull away
and i am ashamed when you notice
the shifting colours in my cheeks
because i am afraid
to betray
the easiness with which i sink
into you

we are too familiar, you and i
too similar, too scarily in tune
and it didn't take long, did it?
where did this comfort come from?
these questions carve my tongue
into ribbons, and yet
you never notice
when yours meets mine
and the guilt is swallowed
before you can taste it
just in time

and i ask, again
where did this comfort come from?
or are we just two people
in the middle of winter
taking solace in the warmth
of each other?
will we part ways easily?
somehow, i find myself
dreading that experiment

where did this comfort come from?
this heat that spreads
across my chest
and through my stomach
and down into my frosted knees
as the cold melts away from me, forgotten
like the hour and the place
as the wall behind me
is crushed into my spine
and i am strong again
our bodies create a hole in time
so perfectly fragmented around us
and the clock fades into grey
tugging at my fears

and i want so badly
to keep feeling this way
all through winter
for as long as i can
but
i just wish i didn't care

where did this comfort come from?
and will you meet me there?

i couldn't wait to go outside today
you see, i woke up
needing a challenge
and the weather forecast had predicted
a warm shower of water
and then a quick freezing of the road
leaving the cement covered
with a sheet of clear ice
and i couldn't wait to try my hand
at staying upright
you see, i got up today
wanting more
wanting a reason to try harder
hoping the forecast would be right
and it was
and i laced up my boots
ready for the challenge
sure, some small feat
just two or three minutes
spent trying my hardest, perhaps
it seems like nothing
but to me, one challenge overcome
no matter how small
predicts the next victory
coming my way
and i need that knowledge
that certainty
so i can wake up
tomorrow
and face the challenge again

i guess that after the rainfall
of september
i reached through october
to clear it all away, blue skies
and lies fading from my tongue
and yet, all through november
the headache persisted
and i listed the failure to forget
among my insecurites
left there to dangle from my fingers
and as i pressed my hand into your waist
i could feel them bleeding
bit by bit
into the fabric of your jacket
and i feel better now
and the headache?
well, suffice to say
that in december, i noticed
while kissing you
that you tasted faintly
of ibuprofen

it's funny, because
i found myself surprised
at the nervousness
with which i faced the coming day
strength fading, i pressed on
ashamed of each weak footstep, wondering
what i could have done
to deserve this
and your smile was imprinted
on the inside of my eyelids
and i realized, too late
that this ink was seeping into my bloodstream
and it was you all along
that was weakening me
shattering my resolve
to open the door
and say hello

after moving
shifting bodies, from here
to there
and back again
after seeing the time zones
float past my tired eyes
out the window of an airplane
new year's just isn't the same
january arrives in the future
and i am stuck, held back
in the past
waiting another three hours
for the clock to tick past twelve
so i can feel in time
with the rest of the world
i guess it's just a young cynic's view
on the big picture
but just the same, i give in
and every year i make my list
although lately, it's been in my head
and the lineup of wishes
gets shorter every time
and i arrived at the end of this december
with only three resolutions in mind

one
to find myself
to look past all those outward words
and blurred reflections
and improbable emotions
and find my inner demons
identify their faces
line them up like dominoes
shake their hands
and become friends

two
to know myself
to listen to my lines
as they trail off into cold air
to see through the bones in my body
and find the skeleton in my closet
so i can finally put him to rest
beneath my feet
to understand my own thoughts
and to read my own writing
and to listen harder
when i try and speak up

three
to love myself
as crafted as that sounds
this goal resounds within me
every time i catch my own eyes
and look away

it's just a young cynic's view
i know that, yes
but i like to think
that the simplest, oldest dreams
to find myself
to know myself
to love myself
are the ones i should hope to achieve
and as the clock bends time and space
and i am pulled forward
by my beating heart
i swear
to take that very first step
and finally know its weight

in my mind, it was always
a perfect ten
below zero, just cold enough
for me to shiver
and for your nose to turn a rosy pink
and for me to hide a dark thought
behind warm words, excused
by the curtain of soft snow
falling around us

i guess i overplayed this scene
i guess i cut and stripped it
set music to our footsteps
and played it up, all romantic angles
and close-up frames
hovering too long
over your awkward, shifting smile

i guess it wasn't really musical
no artsy, black-and-white short film
not even worth the imagery
that i gave it in each long piece of poetry
just worth enough
for me to hum along
when i hear the song
that i put to the scene, hoping
you'd recognize the tune

here in the cutting-room of my heart
i gave up
sat down on the floor, scattered images
floating down
and i grabbed my scissors
cutting each one into a snowflake
before it hit the ground
trying to recreate that scene
the way i remembered it
and in the darkness, i could ignore
the desperate feeling
of an imagination run too wild

i guess i overplayed this tune
but sometimes
when the words don't come easily
to my real-time writing, i am forced
to look backwards in time and space
across mountains of disgraced, forgotten things
back to a time
when all i could write about was you

i inspected the sidewalk
for cracks, no backs broken
today, i told myself
everything will be perfect
and smooth
in comic-book square scenes
and everything will be grey
i collected that lack of colour
round my shoulders
and i stepped forward
onto the cement, feet planted
on that cold new ground
and the lesser shades
of black and white
curled themselves around my ankles
lending weight to my step
and i felt safe
i saw your face
in comic-strip polka-dots
of pink and green
and you were simply coloured in
all thick black lines
and strong hand gestures
and warm support around my waist
pages turning at a steady pace
and the racing of my heart
felt right
and i thought to myself
in comic-book lettering
in thought bubbles above my head
in a confident narration
in a whispered, private thought
that
i can see myself using you
as an excuse
for a little while

i looked across and down
and the man's feet tapped
out a rhythm into the dark floor
of the speeding, jostling bus
and the rhythm matched the music
that occupied my ears
and my fingers pressed the tune
into the depths of my pocket
and i looked outside

the trees, aligned along the road
filed past the window
one by one
and the speed at which they passed my vision
matched the even beating of my heart
and the drumming of the cracks
in the cement that hammered
through the wheels and into
the soles of my feet
and i closed my eyes

the words that echoed there
in that dark expanse of thought
were spoken evenly, echoing
into the cavern
in strong, reliant waves
and the beauty of their timing
matched the rhyming of their meaning
and the march of my feet upon the sidewalk
matched the space between the lyrics
marking every single breath
and hanging on each letter
and i opened my eyes

it's funny, because today
the skies were open wide
and the passing of time
was aligned
with every inch of my five senses
one rhythm underlining each word said
one rhythm defining the weight of it all
one rhythm combining the moments together
and as i went to bed
heartbeat thumping in my head
i said
today just felt to me
like a song

wet shoes
sit by the fireplace
drying, socks too
sweet smoke travels upwards
trying to find the stars, but
it's still got a while to go

i'd laugh more often
if life was funnier
wouldn't you?
but it's not, is it?

more likely to make you cry than anything
so it's nice to get away
from the furnace of regular life
isn't it?

that, i can laugh at
my own hilarity
seems stale when i'm alone

can you help me out?
make me laugh?
make me cry?
make me want to breathe deeper?
i need that need, you know
just like you do

and you do, there's no denying
the shadows and spiderwebs creeping
over your face
you can't replace
the smell of oxygen
with the smell of car exhaust
and expect it not to show
can you?

no, you can't
it's not even a question
make me laugh, will you?
i'm feeling tired

sweet crunch of dry snow
below my heels, toes cracking
as i breathe in through the soles of my feet
and inhale winter at its finest
at its latest, midnight now
and when the sun breaks
i'll be inside
and will this chill still be with me?
tonight, i told myself
i am going to find out

two hours of sleep
dangle above me, a sharp hook
that i refuse to take
because tonight is not a night
for oblivion
i've got words in me
sharp ones protruding from my spine
and soft ones whispering
saying, you'll be fine
and i don't know who to believe anymore
since i cannot believe myself
and so i look to midnight, to one in the morning
and every hour after
just give me the answer, i ask
and i'll go gently into the day

it's just days like this
when something falls into place
and i, oblivious
don't notice
until some clairvoyant seventh sense
reads me like a book, and i am opened wide
and the time it takes
to close back up again
is a lifetime within a nighttime
and so days like this
turn into nights like these

sweet crunch of dry snow
click my heels, three times
and i'm home
and i stayed up all night
for the first time in my life
because
i was thinking of you

the complicated patterns here
that i've drawn into the snow
feel like a labyrinth
look like a puzzle
and i'm trying to find the answer
before the pieces melt away
and even though i know i have the time
this cold will stay, it's only december
i still feel like the moon's hands
are ticking, beckoning me
forward, telling a story
where i speed through the next few months
and arrive at that fork in the road
the numbers don't add up
there is too much here
too many words, too many pauses
too many buried feelings
and possible causes
of probable scenes that play out
in my head
and the figures just don't work
pencil after pencil
lead, graphite and ink
crumpled paper, metaphoric cinders
and this is when i realize
i have never been good at math
and now it's finally catching up to me
as i try to add
you and me
together
and the equation just doesn't work out

i looked in the mirror
turned
this way and that
and tried to bend my eyesight
fracture the light that sent this image
speeding toward my mind
just in time
to trip me up, as i catch a glimpse
of myself in a window
sidewalk coming up to meet me
as i fall forward into my own flaws
i closed my eyes
and it was dark within the confines
of my webbed, ebbing thoughts
sticky with contempt for the days gone by
spent before this mirror
and i tried to imagine myself
flayed, clean and sparkling
naked, proud and walking tall
but all i saw
was an invisible girl
behind a strong shield
coat of arms held up, symbols falsely proud
a hammer, for stupid, useless strength
a blazing sun, for the heat of my unsaid words
a pen, for the silence of my honesty
a heart, for the things i have yet to find
and in the middle, emblazoned
a mask
bright white and gleaming
for the shield itself
i looked in the mirror
turned
right, left, dead centre
tried to meet my own eyes
and saw only the mask

i felt the earth move
above me
layers shifting, tectonic plates
over my head, cracks showing
throughout this global skull of mine
and my mind tried to break free
from the burning inner circle of my brain
but i remained buried
within the glowing layers
yes, today i felt like the earth
ready to explode
if so much as one sliver
of dark brown dirt would slide
over another, pressure building
and i had volcanoes just ready to give way
more than a headache, this feeling
pushed up from my beating heart
through my spine
until the struggle, the oxygen
and the blood were convened
contained
within the structure that remained
and i spent the day walking slowly
moving in straight lines
and the volcanoes were confined
and the blood moved back down
to my heart
and i went to my bed heavy
but not yet pulled apart
by gravity
saved

fear
of being opened like a book
free and clear
shuffling pages
easily dog-eared and torn

fear
of being wrong
or of being too right
and so i keep my mouth closed
when i think it might matter

fear
of eye contact
this stopwatch somewhere within my soul
tells me when to look away
so i can never give too much
of myself
and never know too much either

fear
of displaying emotion
so generically poetic, this idea
of holding it in
but i fear letting it out
before knowing what it is
and being a young, confused wanderer
i keep these fears to myself, waiting
until i know what they mean

fear
of never finding out

i felt like wearing red today
like a streak of lipstick
or a drop of blood
among the grey air
and the blue snow
i just wanted to make it known
that i was alive today
in my crimson cloud
in my scarlet shroud
in all these bright alliterations
each word becoming the next
the day just flowed like that
and with red around my neck
i was calm
this colour never fails
to bring me down to earth
to bring me round again
to bring the oxygen forth into my lungs
and red like fire, i breathe in
wrapping the maroon shadow closer
cinching it in at the waist
becoming compact, safe, indestructible
becoming real, tangible, solid and contained
red coursing through my veins, i am here again
and the white clouds beckon me upwards
but this pigment keeps me down on earth
and i felt like wearing red today
for fear of fading
back to grey

as i sped by
on somebody else's wheels
i saw time settling
above a skyscraper
curved windows gleaming
and the sunset
(orange paint, red light)
threw itself forward
the glass catching it
and that wall of dying day
reminded me
of the soft yellow-gold
upon the cliffs
visible from my bedroom window
and i felt at home

I looked down today,
down past the cracks
in the sidewalk,
into a clear sheet of water
unmarked by time
and I saw you.
It sounds so poetic,
but it's true;
the chance to speak your name
and give life to the past-
it felt natural, and
comfortable
in a way that scared me,
settled there among the new snow
and the crowded room of strangers.
Your smile, just the idea
that I should defend you,
every imperfection
within which fault could be found
was laid down before me
and trust me, I know
how to look past each twisted corner
and make the edges fit
and see you there before me
as if you'd never folded yourself
in the first place.
Unbend, I want to say,
unfold your wings and fly
into today.

his eyes were blurred, half open
and constantly shifting, his mouth
a soft **** along his chin, his hand
twisting among the grey, wiry curls on his head
and with one arm along the seat behind him
he slouched, facing the doors
like an uncomfortable silence
like an awkward comment
like someone who didn’t belong
and yet i could see that he did
there on the bus at one in the morning
this man was at home, as he tried
to make eye contact with me and i turned
to the window instead
and the woman behind him moved
to the back of the bus as soon as she could
to escape his wayward, grasping fingers
and i felt pity for him
grey, gasping pity
pity that made my eyes travel back and forth
between the window and indoors
as, inexplicably, i tried to capture
the creature sitting there
and i watched his feet shift
as the bus rocked beneath us and somehow
i saw the world from his eyes, the shady seats
and the angular, beautiful people
each one passing him by
hands gripping the posts and avoiding his gaze
and his mind was swimming in amber liquid
i knew that, i saw it
plain as day, this man was drunk
and though when he met my eyes
my brow was furrowed, my face uninviting
inside, i felt that same aching pity
and i thought ****, i’ll make poetry
from this somehow
and perhaps the words are simple
but i’m sure it’s the first time
that anybody has ever put that man
down on a piece of paper
in full colour

as the white moon roared over the mountains
and the black sky slid down toward the sea
my silent footsteps screamed the words at me
a violent sunrise is on the way
and nature's never been
more dear to me
than now
i answered back, threw my thoughts
across the sand
and shattered them on the horizon
watched them fall among the trees near shore
and heard the roots beneath me rustle
foreign land shifted around me
and here, hours from home
i felt glorious and alone
as the blue sun rose up from the water
and the waves crashed down at my feet
and the violent sunrise was over
leaving daylight
clear skies
and me

The idea of the midnight hour
is an image,
a feeling,
a scent and a sound
that has always consumed me;
even before I could stay up this late.
And now I realize
that the midnight hour is not one,
not two hours, not three,
but the whole night,
and I am driven to defeat it
breath by breath
and minute by minute
and hour by silent, screaming hour
until the midnight train has run its course
and I roll into the station, victorious
knowing that the idea
of the midnight hour
is not an image,
a feeling,
a scent and a sound;
it's a lifetime of silence
and when it comes around
I'm afraid, but determined
to live this one out
and prove to myself that the sunshine
comes from somewhere.

press inward
shift forward
your shoulder, again
soft contact
hard impact
and i turn to face you
fleeting eye contact swims
in the air between us
and i refuse to catch it
i will not take hold of this feeling
i will not go fishing
for the truth

look backward
move outward
and i use these days gone by
to excuse
and recycle
the words that occupy my mind
glowing eye contact swims
in the space between us
and i refuse to reach out and touch it
i will not take hold of this feeling
i will not go fishing
for the truth

eye contact, slow smile
and the miles i have walked to get here
are melting beneath my feet
and down i go
dry ground swallowed by your voice
and i refuse to hear the meaning
of the cold air warming round our hands
i will not take hold of this feeling
i will not go fishing
for the truth

i will not take hold of this feeling
but for now, i will
take hold of you