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

shy stutter of a thought
scurrying across rough rock and diving
headfirst into cold white water
so as not to be heard, unlike
the wilted sigh from pinched lips
that draws eye contact then breaks it
like waves upon those stones

syllables soft and jumping
through valleys, over jagged mountains
just to reach ears clouded
with assumptions and a failing effort
to tune it all out
skinny fingers gripping a skull
through wild, upset hair
hands coming to rest uneasily
within each other, still shaking from the strain

or maybe it's the cold that cuts edges
into my shoulders, ties the laces tighter across my back
pinching me into place as i twist inside
looking away a thousand times, and trying
but i cannot unwind, i cannot open myself
to you

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"

present
for you, i’d remain standing
long after the trees sat down to rest
and the sun had done its best to make you smile

past*
i realize your presence was heavy upon me
for years, damning praise and sharp silence
like tags poking out from brand-new clothing, reminding me
to cover you up
and worn, fraying threads betraying the fact
that my feelings for you were long past their due date
and i should just throw them away

present
i never threw them away, i just recycled them
somehow knowing that one day
i would find a use for this feeling, a cause worth standing for
and a body that stood in the same crooked way
you are not the same, you are better
than any face i used to hate, or any voice
that used to grate upon my tired mind
love turned to hate
and now the cycle repeats itself again

time passed with you
is time well wasted
change well made
from bills well spent
and i am bent out of shape
from all these round rhyming words
bowed to the ground
at the feet of this feeling
confused as all hell
(however unpoetic that may be,
it's how it is)
at the line between
beauty and truth
between outside and underground
uncomfortable heat and ignored cold

weird words, but that's all i've got
i'll shout them underground, unheard
or silently
to the cold, rushing river
or whisper them to myself
but that's it
(however dishonest that may be,
it's how i am)
and these simple words
primary colours:

red is telling me
that the pink in your cheeks
is diluted, and i don't want to know
what that real colour means

blue is saying
that the ice in the air means nothing
and that melancholy has no place
in the space between our hands
since we close that
a million times a day
and it is forced to escape our grasp

yellow tells me
that the sun is shining, somewhere
and i reply that i don't even care
it's sunny here, even underground
face turned round to meet yours
i'll survive

time passed with you
is time well wasted
change well made
from bills well spent
and i may be broke
but trust me
it's been worth it, throwing
colourful Monopoly money
imagined riches and caution
to the wind
with you

2:50 a.m. and the words just flow
crookedly, but at least they're there
and i bow down to the darkness
for giving me some semblance
of light
in the form of letters, perhaps
but still, something shines
at this time of the night
or the morning, the power
of being there when the numbers change
it feels like control
2:52 a.m. and the words just dance
and i am a puppeteer

inside, i asked you to speak your mind
and got no answer
as expected, really
since the you that sits at the back of my brain
is usually silent

and i asked you to tell me with your hands
what you think of me

push me, pinch me
drag your nails along my self-esteem
and leave me marks to be proud of, give me war paint
give me scars
do what you will to my body, take what you want
from my words

just leave my mind alone, leave it
to process this all later
after the blood has dried
and the room is empty
and i begin to feel full again

i wanted you to tell me, but by accident
that your mind is just like mine
and i don't need to worry
that when you open my body up
my mind will unfold with it
and you won't like what you see

and so i distract you from my thoughts
with the disposable skin that protects them
from you

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

i step out
and the rain greets me like a blessing
bestowed by some great silence
i speak to each sunday
and i take this as an answer
because why the hell not

i am suddenly sure i have left something behind
but no, my bag is there
notebooks tucked under my arm
ipod clutched in one hand
phone safe inside my jacket
consorting with my keys
(proof I've got somewhere to go)
travel mug empty, wallet full
of receipts and loyalty cards

finally, pricked by the bent arm of a button
i give up, knowing it's all in my head
and i have everything i need to survive today

still, i feel like something's missing

my right hand clings to my scarf
fingers tight, knuckles white
as if to say
"give me something to hold onto"
and the rain that stings my face reminds me

i have everything i need to survive today
except you

what was the weather like when you were born?
your smile displays sunshine, but your eyes
betray clouds, and i know
that day could have foretold the way
the sun shines through the frozen clouds
every time you smile at me
and i guess i'm just hoping
that the sun broke through the sky in the same way
when you arrived in this world
because that would mean we're more
than just temporary weather

heartstrings are stretching
words etching weakness into the veins
that spin round the surface of what might be my soul
and the doubt casts bruises upon the changing weather
that threatens to break through
and sever the strings altogether

i don’t need my heartstrings, do i?
i don’t need to be tied down to some feeling
that keeps fading and sparking and blazing
and blinding my eyes to the strength i am losing
i don’t need to be tethered to any safe words
or to careful phrasing of a feeling
that has no meaning without an answer
and yet is never a question

and i’m tired of phrasing it like a question, waiting
for a response to validate my crooked, fearful thoughts
waiting for a yes or a no or even just
maybe
coupled with a smile
and some **** good explanation for why i’m being left hanging
on my own stupidity, time and time again
as i read too much into nothing
and nothing into everything
and i become someone other than myself, ignoring
the way i used to work, always standing by
until someone else went first

i’m tired of going first
tired of waiting in line, tired of buying tickets
to  my own show
tired of being early
tired of running behind
just tired, really

i’m tired of myself, and of the way i deal
with all this, letting myself give in to honesty
and then stitching myself up on the way home
with cold air and a hard swallow of the words
that i regret saying

i’m tired of regretting everything
come springtime, i don’t want to regret winter
stretched heartstrings melting across bare branches
as i am swallowed by the leaves
and an airplane takes me home across three time zones
where i can just forget the whole thing

all i can think is
i wish i was the wild one
wild sister of the street
wild mother of the hungry sky
something poetic
like wild girl, roaming
more than just a wisp born
of country air
wild wind, ******* forward
through the field
across a country deep and cracked
until i reach the skyline
scrapers extending beyond the reach
of any mountain, and the stars rest
above the smog of the home
where the wild ones rest
where the wild ones lie awake
and i can camouflage myself
in the darks and reds and glittery bedspreads
and be wild
in a different way
paint me wild, paint me
green and blue with envy
paint my cheeks white, paint over the pink
of stale summer air
all i can think is
i wish i was the wild one
break away, go some place
where i can tell my story a million different ways
and they might believe me
make me wild in another way
no more ***** shoes or burdock-ridden hair
give me sharp heels, black combat
sleek and shiny, change me
make me wild
and i sink to my knees
sink into the soft, welcoming concrete
and say please, city
change me

It's a silly question
I have to ask;
it's been burning on my tongue
for days now,
sliding around,
trying to get out.
Maybe I should let it go,
let my words free
upon the world,
into the air,
and never even try to care
about what happens.
But I don't think
that I could do it.
Could I really?
Could I close my eyes
without imagining light?
Could I step forward
without a hand before me?
Somehow, the answers
never colour themselves in
the way I'd like.
Outside the lines
a storm is brewing,
words are forming
and the thunder in the distance
cracks the sky open louder every day.
Can you seal this gaping hole?
Tape couldn't hold me back
for long,
just like it couldn't stop my mouth
from opening;
stop those words from being created.
Suspense is killing me,
eating me alive
as I stand here silently,
arms folded across my shrinking body
and feet tight on the ground,
trying my best
to step on every crack;
I'll break any back I have to,
if only to stay silent
one more day.

I do not walk
with anything but a purpose in my mind,
whether false or confined
to dreams.

I do not sit alone, though it feels
lonely, sure, but I am not
forsaken.

Some days, I only hear one voice
and it haunts the cracks in the ground,
seeping up through the soles of my feet
and forming webs around my heart.

And I like being confined
by these sweet strands from far away
as time keeps pace with my feet
and I remember that purpose:
I will get through this.

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

8:25 am
“all i wanted was a little love”
says the voice in my head
and the black cord that connects my mind
to somebody else’s words
tugs at my heartstrings too

bright copper sunshine on fast-moving waves
dull glitter of ice over snow
spindly shadows of trees bent this way and that
striping grey concrete and faded yellow lines
slow clouds covering the last of the night
as it sinks into the roots of the day

“keep your hands to yourself”
says the voice in my head
it’s been one song
since i last heard those words
and i keep my hands to myself
and my mind outside
and my thoughts on the objects and values and colour
and not on the things i can’t see

i see a spreading warmth beyond the window
i feel the same thing in my bones
and i am unable to move now, unable
to turn my eyes away

outside, the cars pass by
and the water keeps flowing
and the sun keeps glowing
and it all looks the same, yet the longer i look
the more it changes

each day i look the same, and yet
i know i have changed
like a river slowly warming after winter
like the sun dissolving clouds around it, not with anger
but with something else
like the concrete of the road supporting those who cross it

this morning, sitting by the window
i had the urge to reach my hand out
and i don’t know why, or what for
but it seemed like the right thing to do

but i kept my hands to myself
i know
i am not ready yet

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?

broken coffee machines, broken hearts
broken
duct tape winding around the base
of a soul still good enough to sell
and i pull the price tag off your neck
to see if i can afford the time it would take
to crazy glue you back together
and i decide it's an investment i'm willing to make
so here, let's do this
the natural way
if that's okay
i'll take my skin, this expanse
here, running down from my chin to my waist
and use it, press it
against the worn patches of your torso
try and sew you up
with body heat
here, i'll take my arm, extend a hand
and run it down, down where the skin becomes soft
and your breath becomes hard
and i'll say
keep breathing, i'll show you how
broken heart, you say?
broken coffee machine, that's nothing
i have caffeine to spare, coming out
the tips of my fingers
and i am willing to share
broken heart, that's nothing
i have staples
that will take the oxygen from your lungs
and feed it straight into your veins
and you are going to like it
no garage sale, duct taped to the core
for you
you're going to be shiny and new
broken coffee machine, i'll fix it
and give it away
and take you instead
for free

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

I walk forward,
'nets gripping my thighs
and goosebumps raining from my arms
while warmth spreads through my body,
shedding the chill
as if by magic.

Silk and buttons and pretend lace,
cheap boots,
expensive lipstick,
a night out
with confidence by my side.
There's a laugh here too;
it keeps echoing across the bare valleys of my collarbones
and finding its way to my ears.
I resist the urge to turn and share.
Instead,
I smile, taking half-part,
saving a few for a rainier,
colder day.

A shoulder bump,
warm skin brushing against thin cloth,
pulling away from the wrong
and inventing the right;
stepping to the left
and creating space,
solidifying the distance.

I walk forward,
'nets gripping my thighs,
holding onto my skirt
and letting that chill back in,
discarding the easy warmth.
I walk forward,
giving it up,
giving it away,
shedding the feeling,
shedding the idea of it
as if by magic.

Fishnets,
holes,
spaces,
filled

by warm magic.

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

You
do not rhyme
with me,
and I can see that.
-even from here-
One day I passed you
-or you
passed me-
but only I know
that you did not see
me
-only I know
the difference-
you looked
but did not see.
We do not rhyme,
-you and me-
together
we make
-dissonant-
harmony,
we make
-useless-
eye contact;
we do not
-wish we could-
rhyme,
you and I.
One day I saw you
-not just looked
but saw-
and
it scared me,
the
-obvious-
thoughts
in your head,
the
-unrhyming-
poetry
written on your face,
the
-unfailing-
-unwavering-
-unrelenting-
-untamed-
knowle­dge
that side
-by-
side,
we do not rhyme.
And so I wrote
-one day-
-one afternoon-
a ballad
for you and me.
It doesn’t rhyme.
It can’t be put to music.
It can’t be
what you might expect,
-never-
but
this is how I am.
Unrhyming.
-sorry-

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

I am not innocent,
not by a long shot.
Then again, who really is
innocent these days?
It's a ***** world,
and I try to stay clean,
waterfall once a day
to wash it all away.
I keep my mouth in line,
saying only half the things
that come to my mind,
and I don't swear.
Surprising, really,
to some people,
for they seem to be overdosing
on those words,
grandmothers' hands over their mouths
in shock,
callous and defiant,
rebelling
and making these ***** things a norm.
You'll laugh,
but to me,  swearing is like love.
It's special;
it means something.
Fall in love every day,
and the meaning fades;
just like that,
those coveted four-letter words
become just adjectives and nouns,
nothing special at all.
So I save up,
like love,
waiting for the right moment,
so that when I need to,
the shock value is there,
the anger is real,
the truth is apparent,
and I am exposed
bare.
So that when I tell you
this ******* hurts
you know I mean it.

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?

There is a lesson
among the others
that I have failed to learn.
A mother's wail,
a child's cry,
the tortured sighs
and lonely eyes-
these signs,
these misgivings,
these misguided reasons
become lost on me.
It's the pain,
the uncultured beginnings
of a slowly spreading weight
that I fail to see
in full colour.
I look to the sky
at the words;
tell me it's raining
and I will believe you,
but the water will not touch me.
I look up,
searching
for the tears among raindrops,
the carbon
among the breathable air,
looking for the cats-
looking for the dogs-
but finding only a beautiful rain.
And ashamed
for not understanding
the pain that it takes
to be like the people I see,
sitting at the window
just like me,
but whose blank stares
and sighs
mirror nothing
inside my own soul.
I have wished to feel that pain,
if only for a day,
just to understand
the way it takes hold.
I have searched
for that sincerity,
and found only the clarity
of somebody who skips through life
making eye contact easily.
But sometimes,
instead,
I look down at the ground,
trying to find what they search so hard for;
trying to pick it up again
and lift it towards the sky.
I don't need a reason why
I just do.

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

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

it was another day of
silent singing, mouth closed
hands clenched tight, buried
within the secret of old leather
earphones saving the sound
and spitting it into my mind

the sun shines down today
like a lie, as the clouds betray
intent to darken the sky, and i can’t exactly
pinpoint why, but i know that it will rain

i smile bright and wide
like a lie, but i will not betray
intent to return to my bed as the stars blink into existence
and i can’t exactly pinpoint why, but i know
that sometime tonight, those stars
will make me sigh as i realize
that they are not
the same ones i saw with you

words swim
free-spirited *******, never there
when i want them to be, just
please
for once
make me a sentence that will kick-start my brain
into productivity
and i will be so grateful
words laugh
at my rigid fingers, poised
above the keyboard, swearing
in black-and-white
at the screen, as the words wait
in space above me, dangling
teasing me, **** this
procrastinating again
and the only words that come to mind
are not appropriate
for a university paper

well, 1:59 am
old friend, here you are again
and here i am
caffeine coursing through my body
and keeping me upright, in tune with
the time zones
as i wait for 2 o’clock
and i have so many words
(2 am, there you are)
to write, but at this hour
i can never tell what order to put them in
so my poetry, my thoughts
are muddled
but whatever, i guess we all have those moments
those 2: 01 am moments
where the world makes so much sense
and you want to scream it out the window
to the population of the universe:
i understand! i get it now, at 2:02 in the morning
i understand everything, ask me anything
and i will fix it for you, answer your doubts
all-knowing, at 2:03 am
sitting solitary in the dark,
typing out nonsense
and thinking it means something
but hey, at least i got enlightenment
out of this experience, some realization
because seriously
i think i get it now
but of course, at some point
i will go to sleep
and when i wake up
the revelation will have disappeared
sunk back into the deep, into the dark
into the 2:04 am of my heart
and i will have to wait, counting down
until i can feel like this again
all-knowing and calm
powerful, small and unashamed
and i will wait up, time and time again
eyes flickering back and forth
until i can say
hey there, 2:05 am
how i have missed you

I was sitting in a blue chair,
rough against my skin
but strong and soft against my body.
I felt supported,
weighed down by the knowledge that I could stay here
if I wanted.
And I felt pulled,
compelled by the idea that somewhere
somebody
was waiting for me,
tapping their foot in time
to the seconds that passed,
counting down
as if they really truly cared
about being on time.
And in turn,
I tapped my fingers on the arm of this chair,
in time to the steps of others passing by,
in rhythm with the music that played in my head,
still echoing from this morning,
when I stepped off the train
with buds,
incognito,
stuffed in my ears,
and I was playing a song that made me happy.
I tapped out the rhythm,
deep into the confines of this solid chair,
still happy,
and finally ready to stand up.
One last tap,
one final fear to go;
and I pulled myself straight,
stretched myself thin,
breathed in the oxygen of a new day,
arranged my scarf around my shoulders,
gathered perfection up around my arms,
set my smile in place,
and made it there on time
just for you.

four squares, now three
of dark chocolate, the kind of dark
that makes me feel like a grown-up
although it's childish of me to say it that way
but then again, it's been that kind of day
and that kind of chocolate, only two squares left now
and the sweetness is never enough
to drown out the bitterness of five cups of coffee
oxygen staining my cheeks a bright pink
as i move through a tiring day, drinking
cup after cup of darkness, feeling
shot after shot of energy, extending
my day, inch by inch
cup by cup
square by square, almost midnight
and there's only one left
one crutch
and yet i know there are excuses
for these vices
after all, it's not *******
i say this every day, to each complaint
and my hand wavers a bit, the left one
sometimes it shakes
and i clench it tight, proving that i can still control myself
it's only a side effect
of something, anything
these are only crutches, just
something, anything
to push me through the day
and up through the night, until finally
i can sleep
and it feels right

I have this visual interpretation
of the internet,
where we are all connected by strings,
nylon and shining and constantly entwining themselves
with each other,
electricity shooting through from my fingers to yours
in the space of a second,
a lifetime of words.
It’s beautiful, I think,
like a painting
or a photograph,
surreal and captivating,
probably in artsy black-and-white.
But this image of myself,
hair tied back,
one hand scrabbling at the side of my face,
waiting for an expression to take hold,
and the other chicken-pecking out the words
that is so funny
while one foot falls asleep
under the weight of 1 am,  
as 2 am falls lightly on my shoulders,
settling like an uneven blanket of dust
and I cough, ignoring the symptoms
of sleep deprivation,
rubbing at my eyes as if to stretch the sockets,
open wider the windows to my soul,
saying
here, internet,
take all of me-
this image is not quite so beautiful.

"surprise me"
that's what i wanted to say
ever felt like i held back? well i did
but it's not what you think at all, no wall
hiding unknown i don't love you's
or small problems just waiting to erupt, no
that isn't it, i just wanted to say
"surprise me"

but i never let myself ask
and i truly believe this was the right decision
because i can live with suspense
and with secret resentment
and comfortable silence, but never
never with disappointment
and i know for a fact that "surprise me"
would have surprised you, taken aback
you would have been like a fish out of water
that classic old term, gasping
for the air necessary to comply
and you would have died like that, thrashing out
a clear pattern onto the soft grass, spelling
"sorry"

and maybe this image is too violent
for such a trivial thing
but the fact is, it's like that to me
a life-or-death moment, that question
because if you can't surprise me
"please, anything, do it for me"

if you can't surprise me
then nobody can
and i know you can't
so nobody can

there's gotta be somebody out there
who can surprise me

we were having
a beautiful conversation
and then you used the phrase:
"that ***** monkey *****"
and ruined my poem
**** you, i said
to the half-moon clippings
as i trimmed my nails at 2 am
this will never be a masterpiece now

i’m here again, inches away
from the surface of the bathroom mirror
at an unhealthy angle
twisting my vision
back and forth
frowning, smiling, frowning again
watching craters turn back into pores
as i move away
then back again
scrutinizing
each and every hair, every line
every possible sign
that i might be human
the bathroom mirror
has me convinced that i am
and as i turn my head the other way
trying to see if my profile is any better
than it was yesterday
i can’t help but wonder
after seeing myself up close
how it is that you could stand to kiss me
but then again
i guess your eyes are closed

there was a man in front
of me on the bus, sitting
cross-legged, casual with
one arm draped along the side
of the seat next to him as if
it were his long-time lover, and
there was a ring on his finger so
i guess it worked out
and he glanced back at me
and i looked out the window
trying not to be curious or poetic

there was a man diagonal
from me on the train and he looked
familiar but i could not place
his face, maybe reincarnation is an actual thing, i thought
to myself as he exhaled and turned
the other way, so
i guess not because if it was
meant to be then his eyes would have stayed
and he looked twice at me
like a stranger
and i felt ashamed

there was a man behind
me on the street and his steps were
uneven, swaying in difficult sound waves
along the cement and i could hear him
muttering under his breath but
i didn't look back for fear he might
raise his voice
because there is truth in madness and
i am afraid of that

today my poetry was
staggered and the people around me were
ragged and worn and familiar and torn and
my sentences broke off in the wrong
places, spaces hovering between letters and
i tried to explain my fear of
the human race
but this is just a poem and
the line breaks are weird and
i am sorry but
this is how my mind was today
and i am just being honest
these people make me
afraid

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 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

I've just been
reciting the lines of that one bite,
one or two
or however many it took
for me to pull away.
In my mind,
it was a choice I made,
to end that soft embrace;
in truth,
it was that one cold
hard
bite.

So unlike you,
so strange.
You surprised me,
but you felt nervous,
shaken,
wary,
uncertain,
not ready,
not confident,
in your own ability to draw blood.
I pulled away,
just enough to tell you
I'd remember this.

In my mind,
it was a choice I made,
to wait until I could not see your mouth,
those teeth,
before I cut the string.
One string,
one quick snap,
and that bite was nothing but a few words in my mouth,
a few chords with no song,
an embarrassment to the idea of pain.

In my mind,
you tried too hard.

In reality,
I tried too hard
to try harder
to feel that bite,
until I felt it,
and it didn't feel right.
Sometimes, though,
I recite the idea of your teeth
sinking in,
and I am reminded
that in my mind,
it was a choice I made
to pull away.

Bite or no bite,
I would have done it anyway.

I’m really not here today,
not really in time with the rest of the world,
just floating,
generic and grey,
through the hands of the clock
as if they were made of water.
Time today
ebbs and flows, a tidal wave
of muddy water,
and with each hard hit to the face,
each urgent push at my back,
I am angry,
a strange sentiment,
so alien that I didn’t recognize
its face
until just now,
and I figured that if it were to stay hidden
(for it must stay hidden)
then I should probably write it out,
fling these feelings at the screen
and forget.
However, the right adjectives,
the beautiful nouns and the glorious verbs
are not coming to me
and it hurts to admit it, but
I am still angry.

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

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.

radio silence
now, that's nice
keep it up, dear midnight world
and i will be there with you
writing words
to fill the pinpricks left by stars
that died a long time ago, hey
somebody's gotta do it
may as well be me

Only a crack,
a fissure between the fabric and the wall;
but the sunlight is bright enough
to make me want to close my eyes.
I don't, though;
darkness is not an option today.

at first, you sat in my heart
in your own little rocking chair
and it was like you had always been there
but then
(and here comes the metaphor)
you sat on my heart
and if that wasn't bad enough
you stood up and grabbed it
fingers digging in
and stuffed it in your pocket
chair under one arm
and walked away
leaving me, like
hey

here i am, horizontal again
spread out along the furniture
curled up into the corner
tilted, twirling through
a stationary dream
horizontal, parallel with the smooth mountains
and the sun rises and sets
with my breathing
horizontal, like the sand dunes stretching
connect-the-dots with every oasis
dry land, searching for water
here i am, horizontal again
lying down, searching for the words
that will bring my feet back down to earth
and the seeds
that will plant my soles firmly into the carpet
and let me go on with my day

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