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.

wondering how you win at love
do you have to wait
until it's over?
what's the victory then
in losing it?

somebody needs to think
of some new metaphors, because
all these tired old scratched-up symbols
lead to dead ends

forget about falling, stop calling it
an end, stop calling it a means
just stop calling it anything
but love

let it describe itself, let it climb
up its own legs, let it be
what you will it, what you feel it to be

let it be what you feel
can't the victory just be
the feeling of holding on
and staying?
losing, falling, calling it anything but
plain old groundbreaking
love
is what it really is

the snow outside has become part of the cement
and everywhere there are lights
extinguished, renewed
and all i can think about
is the countdown in my mind, repeating
regrets, forming thoughts, and i think
next year, i would like to learn
how to step in time with the music
that plays in my head
and i would like to learn
how to turn it off
i want to breathe deeper
write more words
inhale the scent of knowledge
that i didn't know existed
and feel alone
in a different, more beautiful way
and yet here i am, sitting
with my feet magnetized to the floor
and my fingers typing, hungry
looking for more
than just the thoughts in my head
i'll think more next year, i promise
although that's an empty threat
since all i ever do is think
my point is, i'm here on my knees
with springtime pulling at my waist
summer shining down on my face
autumn leaves still in my pockets
and winter hot on my heels
kneeling down, bowed
before the end of december
saying
please, january
come save me

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

the floor is cold, and its comfort
seeps upwards into the soles
of my feet, magnetized
and so i am forced to stay awake
my fingers are working on their own
and i'm not sure what my mind is doing
but i know my heart is beating
out a pattern
of slow, confused wonder
at how late it is
and i write things like
i look out the window, and the snow
reflects onto the sky
and the stars look down
and the trees look down
and i close the blinds
nights like this, i just look for beauty
and i stay up, erasing youth from my face
in an effort to find the knowledge
that will allow me to say i have lived
and i write things like
i want to open the window
and jump, land lightly
onto the frozen cement
and explore the street
see if it's any different
at this hour, when the beautiful
navy blue, pinstriped with black
has settled upon us
will it be beautiful?
nights like this, i need that feeling
and i try my hardest
to be poetic

the game is done
the t's have been crossed
and i am on my way home, shivering
at the lack of letters in the sky

but no complaints, because today
i plucked them all, one by one
down from their playground
and stamped them into the paper
of my spinning mind, and then i spat
the sentences out, sour on my tongue
bitter in the air
damp and disappointed on the ground

as the rain tells me that yet again
i have wasted my chances
thrown another good day's worth of truth
away

but no complaints, because by now
i should be used to this failure
i should be well on my way
to looking upwards
with the strength to let some of those letters
slip by me, and the knowledge
that the silence might do me good
within and without, i have no doubt
that i am wrong in my actions
but right in my disbelief

i have wasted my chances
thrown another good day's worth of truth
beneath my feet
but one day, i know
i will wake up
and get it right

sun shone down
moon broke away
and spring became a possibility

i spent time wandering the halls
of my mind and my body, up and down
my veins
until i found the oxygen

today i dug my nail into the knuckle
of my pinky finger
for an hour
because without the pain
i kept sliding into grey
amid a room of voices
that i knew i had to listen to

and it's ok, i mean the mark is barely there
but that clarity scared me

i think i'd rather fall asleep
than rely on crushing hard into soft
dead into alive
just to prove dead is alive
no matter how it may feel when untouched

and i have been left untouched for days
so when my heartbeat made itself known today
i was afraid, and i wish i knew
why

sun hid behind the clouds
moon ate at the sky
until there was nothing left

I shoved that day aside
the moment it started.
Grey skies
with only patches of blue,
internal rhyming
in each casual phrase
said,
tossed,
that meant more
than at first glance.
There were too many forced alliterations,
too many under-the-breath mutterings
cluttering the belly
of every once-white cloud.
The ground was too hard,
the world shifting
too easily beneath my feet,
and the air was too supple,
too slippery to breathe.
Not just another day;
no catastrophe in sight,
but no rainbow ending either.
And no word from you.

i am an old soul
in young love and out of body
i have ceased to hide

oh ****, a feeling
of foreboding, lusting after my shadow
nipping at my heels, and i hate it
i can't help but curse the ground i walk on
for showing my footprints, because now
this feeling has followed me home
**** cement, **** worn-down road
**** every hard surface
because all i want to do is lie down
mid-stride, in the middle of crossing
i just want to sleep, rip the pounding bass from my ears
and be awash with silence
except i know, logically
that i might die
would it be worth it? somehow i doubt that
but still, it's just that every time i feel this way
all i can think is
stop
drop
and roll, something is on fire
and from within the icy confines of my hard bone structure
comes a voice, saying
oh please, **** cement god
please let it be me

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 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

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.

she is no longer human
writhing, shouting, feeling
human
past

i look at her and i see paint
windswept hair sticking to muddied lips
flushed cheeks over pale skin
gilded lids
blink

she is canvas
heavy and sagging
brushstrokes
this way and that
covered

i listen to her and i hear nothing
swirling silence
surrounding stereo sound
breathing into doubting ears
hidden

she is no longer awake
swimming, sighing
through cold water
rough, splintered waves of memory
slap her briefly
before the current pulls her under again
and the rocks onshore call out
faintly
to her floating body
as she lies beneath a blue sky
and lets the water move her downstream
life waves weakly from the bridge
ignored

the mirror tells me i am human
unpainted
loud and awake
but she recognizes the lies
she has learned
to ignore them

The idea crossed my mind
as my fingertips touched yours
and I pulled,
ever-so-slightly,
trying to create a new gravity field;
and I think it might have worked
because the air shifted
and outside our oxygen cloud
everything went grey
and we floated.
So maybe I have killed science,
or maybe I have created it.
Either way,
the idea crossed my mind
as this image crossed my heart
(this new science,
gravity sideways and
smiling always)
the idea that perhaps
I should reach down into the endless confines
of my bag
and pull out a pen,
clear plastic betraying the dark ink brewing inside,
uncap it,
and put it to your skin.
I thought of marking it up
with my name,
once,
twice,
three times,
scrawled across the joints of your thumb,
hidden between your two longest fingers,
neatly tucked away when you make a fist
as the letters disappear
into the privacy of your hand.
But it's too soon to sign my name,
too late to ask
or blame the changing times;
so instead,
I leave my weapon where it is,
concealed
within the confines of my pen-and-paper heart,
and I keep my name to myself.
The idea crossed my mind
as the world shifted back
to normal,
colour draining from our little scene
and bleeding back into the solid bones of real life,
and we began to move again,
freed from a slow-motion scene
in which my name fell apart
in the spaces between us
and mended itself
as we moved closer
and closer
together.

oh my goodness, this man's hands
are beautifully sad, all thin
and winding themselves into the fence
as he waits for the train
and then he turns, cigarette clenched
between thin lips
and scowls in my direction
and suddenly, those hands
are foul and *****,
becoming part of the chain-link metaphor
for loneliness
all i can think today is
wow, people ****

vim and vigor
**** and vinegar
stale old sayings that still ring true
and i'm people-watching again
putting words to their steps
pulling phrases from the books i read
when i was a child
and dressing them up like dolls
in their own descriptions

some game, i think to myself
as the lines drift round their heads
like prickly crowns
we define ourselves with these words
with things unthinkingly said
and we wear them
like capes or like armour
like medals or like long baggy sweaters
displaying or betraying
the true poetry inside

i'm people-watching again
noticing how we take these words and use them
to excuse ourselves, to explain ourselves
to take the disdain and refrain from believing
our own homegrown lines
for some reason, the words that come
from other mouths
are the ones we take as truth

vim and vigor
now that's a compliment
**** and vinegar
take that with a grain of salt
by default, your own voice comes first
so describe yourself wisely

i'm people-watching again
shielding myself from the poetry of it all

i am not
the sum of my parts

i am my parts, still scattered
and somehow arranged
in working order
fingers scrabbling to sew
the pieces together
into this shambling, smiling mess

i am not
the whole picture

i am the pixels, the sharp squares
of almost-colour
that mean nothing up close
but look ordinary, lifelike
and solid
from far away

i am far away
a million-pixel memory
moving into the whole picture
and fitting in just perfectly enough
to fade into the horizon
as the sum of my parts
becomes just another spark
trying to ignite a dormant soul

I already miss it,
the lazy crawl of time,
hurried waves across the water,
fast cars glinting under the yellow sun.
I miss the easiness of good-byes,
with the knowledge of their flimsiness
in this drawn-out frame of time,
long days
and warm nights,
the flight of feet across pebbles and sand.
I’d live there forever,
memories replaying,
never growing tired of those colours,
only tired from the day;
and yet
two or three hours will do it,
curled up with the imprint
that a warm body makes next to mine,
and if they’re there,
really there,
that’s fine.
But summer is when I don’t mind
being alone at night,
because I’d rather be perched on those rocking slats
of old wood,
water lapping at my heels
as they tease the water.
You could plant me here,
roots digging down through the cracks
and around the ancient tires
that keep this dock afloat;
you could plant me here
and I would grow.
I have grown
in these months,
as I always do,
mind, body and soul
drinking in the new words I learn
and the songs that repeat endlessly on the radio
and the lyrics I find in my head,
only to dig up later,
much later,
and put to wistful chords.
Bare toes,
freckles emerging,
hands seeking refuge in each other,
tinted glass peeling
to reveal more of the interior;
the leather seats
and empty bottles
and eyes lined with smiles
that show through those perpetual frames.
I’ll sit and wait
for as long as it takes,
until that shimmering sun takes its leave
and the only light comes from the old lampposts
that stick out of the water like totem poles,
protecting their darkness.
And when it’s over,
I’ll sigh,
summer escaping from my reddened lips,
you
escaping from my carefree arms,
sand washing from the creases in my old denim shorts
and trickling down the drain,
and I’ll move on.
I always do.

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

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

a winding road
and up ahead, a dark expanse
of water
it rained recently, and i'm wearing my boots
and for some reason that puddle is just
too tempting
you know that feeling?
it looks like fun
the damp leaves above my head whisper
go for it, what's the harm?
after all, you've got your boots on
so i step forward, confidence heavy
upon my chilled shoulders
and that is when i realize
just how ******* deep this puddle is
you know that feeling?
it looked like fun
and now the muddy water is spilling
over the tops of my boots
and my feet are swimming
in stale rain
and it sounds stupid, but i feel like i'm drowning
and the dead brown leaves on the rough cement whisper
now you've done it
you're in too deep

and i try to let go of your hand
but something stops me
some casual phrase, a few words
stitched together
and the thread tugs at my skin, saying
what's the problem?
we'll fix you
and i read the words again
realizing just how human everyone is
and feeling excluded
i don't get it
except maybe now i do
and i try to extract my arm
from around your waist
but something stops me

and the crooked bare branches above our heads whisper
now you've done it
you're in too deep
and the water is so ******* cold

late night talking, but i can't tell
if i'm talking to myself
or to somebody else
and everything i say is either real
or just rhyming with reality
and to be honest
i don't know the difference anymore
i'll tell you, in words
overflowing with the truth
spilling out through the cracks of uncertainty
falling to the floor as lies
because
this is how it feels
and it feels like the only truth i've ever told
the rest is false, but at least i can tell you
that before the words left my mouth
they were flesh and ink and blood and water
alive and kicking, swimming
stabbing little things
but there's something about the night air
or the sunshine
or the real life, i don't know
whatever i'm missing, it affects them
like putting them in brackets
(emotions become afterthoughts)
like adding quotations
"this was said by someone else"
like ending the sentence
there are no more true words.

i step further forward
with every breath
and down deeper
with every step
and i'll give my excuses out loud
to everyone around
except you
branches intertwining above our heads
roots down below, invisible
everything is so much more poetic
less with the carefully thought-out adjectives
and well-placed commas
and more with the phrases
that just drop from the sky
leave the capitals and punctuation behind
i'm forgetting the english language
and i kinda love it
further forward
with every breath
and down deeper
with every
single
lower-case
step

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.

the air today was inviting
cold, it's true, but still
there was something about the way
the sunlight shone unfiltered
and fell upon the ice
that held stubbornly to the cracks in the sidewalk
something that made me think:

good things will happen today

and perhaps they did, but i am still unsure
as to whether this chill
and the fact that it no longer pervades my veins
signifies a step upwards
or a steady slide down
and as winter rolls in
on splintery, frozen wheels
i feel a crushing sense of foreboding
and i look up into the sky
so i can ignore the ground
that i might fall into, making me think:

what if nothing is what i think it is?

what if i am somewhere else?
not on this beautifully ambiguous cloud
not stepping through an open door
but out a window?
what if the things said today were heavier
more weighted
than i hoped they would be?
these words poke me, **** me
almost into submission, and you don't know it
but i am simultaneously
opening my eyes and arms to you
and crouching, shivering, shuddering
in a corner, afraid of what you think
when you look at me, and i want to know:

what do you see?

are you looking at me
through rose-coloured glasses
through a lens of colourful fall leaves
through the sun shining upon my face
in all these beautiful places
what do you see?
and i want to know:

what do you feel?

when you place your hand neatly
among the folds of my clothing
and somehow find my waist
when you duck your head down
and breathe
comfortably into the nape of my neck
when my head rests in the crook of your elbow
and i play hide-and-seek with your eyes
ashamed, but you take it as shy
i want to know:

what is this?

underwater, laughing echoes
faces smile and mine smiles along
while the brick wall remains strong
and so do i

break the surface, grab the air
with one cold hand and save it for later
might be needing an emotion or two
sometime soon

above the waves, all i can do
is observe and pretend to exist
while the background consists of the rest of you all
and i am separate
and the only thing i feel
rises up in my throat, hard and painful
and of all the things to surface, this
(crying)
is not the reaction i was hoping for

i guess i’m no longer unbreakable

i think this to myself as i look down
at the cracks spreading slowly across my chest
like dangerous veins in the wrong place
as my heart beats out of time
and my breath catches on the words
that try to explain the reason
i cannot speak

i guess i’m no longer hidden

i say this to myself as i step out
from behind a wall of warmth
and winter creeps over my skin once again
just like last year, only this time
it’s actually cold

last winter, i welcomed the cold
as an excuse to disappear into the folds
of a jacket enclosing arms that shut out the snow
like bulletproof glass and denial

i guess i’m no longer bulletproof

because i’m freezing cold, shivering
even under autumn trees and blue skies
i stand, knowing that sooner or later
the snow will swallow me, taking me down
into a real winter this time
with only myself to blame, only myself
to keep me warm

i guess i’ll just have to get used to it

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

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

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

I have no
rhythm & rhyme,
can’t walk in time
to anything,
can’t speak my mind,
I’m hard to find,
my face is lined
with crooked vines
that tell
a story
without rhythm & rhyme.
Without structure or meter,
my thoughts peter out
halfway through
before you can catch them.
Internal rhyme,
external rhythm,
&
you can find
my soul along with them.
I try to lie
without getting caught
but I cannot pretend
to be something I’m not.
I can’t stay
in time,
in rhythm & rhyme,
in place
& in line
long enough.
& I apologize
for my transparent lies,
but hey,
at least I tried.

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

feeling like something of a pharaoh
ignoring the pain of crossed legs
and just sitting here, still and trying
to be a little bit regal for once

could i be a royal?
would you listen to me?

i feel like something of a peasant
low down to the ground, but comfortable
being at the bottom

i could never be a royal, really
even i wouldn’t listen to me

If I’m not mistaken,
I saw you today,
pale but golden,
flimsy
yet rooted to where you were standing,
neck bent,
looking off into the distance.
I know I am mistaken,
seeing you today,
so many miles away from where this could be true;
but the truth is,
I keep seeing you.
Reflected in every dark head of hair,
shining through every silly, crooked smile,
every turned back
becomes your broken one,
and I am scared
every time it happens,
skirting around the corners
with my eyes trained on your shoulders,
waiting for them to
snap
and turn towards me;
scared
of how wrong I am,
to see those shoulders turn with someone else’s face
held aloft on that neck;
scared
of the strength with which I pull the door open
and escape each facsimile of you.
It’s sad, really,
I know this,
involuntarily shrugging it off,
excuses ready-made,
for I know this will fade
in time.
It always does;
the shock of a new place
makes me run back into old ways,
and soon you’ll be gone again,
no more shadowing me,
no more appearing in every face,
no more escaping
each metaphor,
each reference made;
soon you will fade
and I will move forward
into that sunset,
the one that you see when you stand like
a cowboy,
crooked,
bent,
head tilted,
eyes transfixed.
And I,
unable to help myself,
am transfixed too,
even as I move on.

sand falls around my ears, sprinkled over my shoulders
an impression left as i stand
walking away from the water
walking away from the rest of the day

there are so many things to walk away from, and some days they surround me
but today they are scattered across the lake, stranded in the small waves
and i can turn my back on the shore

it's almost like they've disappeared, at least for tonight

yesterday i was alone and walking down some tunnel
that was the opposite of crowded and yet i felt as if i took up the whole space and more
and my words ran long lines, longer than my normal short thoughts
breaking up in weird places
and then for the first time in a long time my mind spoke with my body instead of my soul
and my voice was coming back at me from the concrete walls
and i realized
i was talking to myself and i was answering myself and even as the conversation continued
i thought, all these times i’ve called myself crazy and now i’m proving my theories right
but there’s nobody here to bear witness to the fact
that i am arguing the existence of my own sanity
and i fell silent only when i encountered another human being and suddenly
i felt ashamed, even though the words i had been saying
were nothing short of some sort of honest truth, and actually
i kind of liked being crazy and i vowed that the next time i find myself
really, truly alone
i’m gonna check in on how i’m feeling
because my voice seems to know me better than i know myself
and i’d like to know myself

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

"That's a dancing shadow,"
you tell me.
"That's a silent song.
Listen; can you tell me what you hear?"

I guess
I can hold your hand now,
after all this.
So I do.
It's warm
but distant.
They tell me that
no one surface in this world
ever really touches another;
something,
electricity
or air
or energy
will always keep them apart.
Or something like that.
The point is
I can prove this,
for I have held your hand
I have heard your words,
Ethereal,
meaningless to my ears,
but beautiful.

"One more time,"
you ask.
"Where are we?"

"Here,"
I answer,

and this seems to satisfy you.

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

How am I supposed to sleep
knowing you’re awake?

I’ll just sit here, thinking long thoughts
and writing short things,

keeping active, as my brain runs
out of ideas, out of letters

and a song from yesterday, today
plays in my head, lending rhythm to my words.

How am I supposed to hear that verse
without singing along?

I’ll just sit here, tapping my fingers
on the crumpled sheets.

I’ll just sit here, marking paper
with cheap ink and easy lines

and tonight, my writing finds itself
alone again, while I sit

knowing you’re awake.
I’ll write my way to morning,

find a path among the short things I’ve written
til I can say “goodnight.”

felt strong and weak
like a paradoxical spirit
walking between the lines of
yes i do and no i don't

felt like a skyscraper
among all the other concrete mountains
blending in, sticking out
windows open, blinds shut
walls untouched by rain, but
the water still falls in through the gaping frames
and onto the floor
seeping into the surface in patterns of
yes i do and no i don't

felt like a city among many
like one among thousands
like the only one with my mind cut open
like the only one thinking
real thoughts

my real thoughts
have not yet been made material
are they still real?
yes they are or no they're not

all i'm really looking for
is an answer

whiskey drips down into the skyline
and my sober eyes close, refusing to resist
another heavy night
and i wake up drunk on too much sleep
again

this is how it’s been lately, maybe
i’m making up for those three weeks of sleep deprivation
but i think there might be something else keeping me
tied to the bed so late every morning
finally standing up, still tired
and the shadows never disappeared
from beneath my eyes

at any rate, sleep is not doing its work
bringing me deeper down into the sheets
as the morning runs its course
and still i don’t feel ready to face the world

the more i sleep, the less alive i feel
now tell me
is this how it’s supposed to be?

the hum of a fluorescent lamp
old, but
it still works

the creak of the bed
as I slide in

the whisper of a foreign room
and the breathing of a strange house
fill my ears

yellow light floods my vision
from the left
the wall, to the right
bears my shadow

I turn
try to catch a glimpse of me
but I am blurred
stretched
in this place
maybe
I am not myself.

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 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 may have accidentally
showed emotion today
oh dear, oh ****
this is not good
and i laugh to myself on the way home
because what right do i have
to be so cynical?
but the fact remains
that i looked away when somebody tried
to guess and maybe almost got it right
or at least my brain thinks that if i were alive
they would be
right on, dead centre
and the idea that somebody could fumble
their way into a place locked to me
and intellectually play darts with this alienated
part of existence,
well that is a little freaky
and so i am still up, past midnight
feeling shaky but calm
because of course i know
that at this hour
nothing is real
unless i say it is

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

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?