I hate the color brown.
I hate my brown hair when I had it and I hated that my eyes were brown when I was younger.
I can't stand the leaves that are now brown or this desert town so dry and brown.
It's the saddest color.
Brown screams earthy to people and to me I just see nothing but dull and useless.
Everything today has been brown...
And it could be psychological of course... It's probably just me being cynically of course!
I really hate the color brown.

These poems seem so happy but the truth is I'm just a...
Self conscience
Hateful
Sad twenty two year old girl.
I keep these emotions bottled up inside till they just come out with tears and sentences that make no sense at all.
It feels like it should be snowing and my car is threatening to break down and yet I just ...
Keep spending money
Crying for help
Never listening to anyone.
Hope has never been my strong point but right now I could use a little faith. A little faith in something besides this emptiness I feel.
So don't get me wrong with these poems of happiness and of love because I am...
Not in love.
All alone.
Pathetically trying to get on with life...

What if Neil tripped down those famed steps
One small st-
And collapsed in a heap of vacuum-resistant debris
Cracked glass and aspiration
Shame-sweat beading on his brow
And the president’s hands hit his horseshoe forehead and he frowned like the big man he was
And the mayor pounded his fist against the mahogany recently polished by the secretary
And the wrists of socialite women hit their foreheads and they gasped and crumpled on to couches white with scrubbings
And the children thought he was ducking-and-covering, just like Ms. Merryweather said
And the Haight-Ashbury hoodlums didn’t notice because the needle was already sunk in like incisors
And the traitors giggled ****-you's in their colonies festering like mold?

This town is too small for secrets
The sidewalks are adorned with names and dates
Of couples whose love dissolved twenty years ago
While moss oozes out of the letters.

This town is too small for secrets
Through windows at night
The citizens play out their dollhouse lives
And dysfunction is locked away in grandmother’s armoire.

This town is too small for secrets
Where bars close at seven in the morning and open an hour later
And the tenders are purveyors of free psychiatry
Who put advice in bowls between stale peanuts
And place them on the counter.

This town is too small for secrets
Every hour the two churches compete for the loudest bells
But the protestant one always wins
And the Catholics having mass ignore its pleading voice
But whisper politely in each other’s ears
About the scandalous protestors out on Main.

This town is too small for secrets
With its coffee shops littered with youth
Who deny their wealth through coffee steam
And discuss the state of countries they can’t place on a map
And slowly leach out in to the frigid rain
Back to new cars and million-dollar homes
Where daddy pays the bills.

This town is too small for secrets
The college students drink their scholarships in red plastic cups
And scuttle towards their shared flats
Collapse in to bed too tired to sleep
Stare at the ceiling and wonder why they didn’t transfer
Three semesters ago.

This town is too small for secrets
With its gated communities of retirees
Where the homes are manufactured
And the walls papered with the smiling faces of clean-cut grandchildren
And the rebellious ones packed away
From the neighborhood gossip’s prying eyes.