i.
no matter what your teachers
may tell you, your grades are not a
measure of how smart you are, that
has more to do with how you handle your
heart, and i have never seen anyone love
more fiercely or smart than you.  

ii.
i have let boys touch me just because
i was scared to lose them; don't let them
lay a hand on you without you asking
them to, you are worth more than that.

iii.
people will walk away, but you've known
that already.  keep your chin up so that when
they turn back one last time, they know that
you don't need them.
you don't need them.

iv.
i hope you find somebody that holds your
hands, even when you're nervous and
they start to sweat.  if they pull away,
you come find me and i swear,
i won't let go.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

I sit here, last stretch of High school, and I realize something.
I'm not right, not right in the head. I'm damaged, I'm broken.
I'm sick, I'm sad, I'm unhappy, I'm dying...Or maybe already dead.

I'm not prepared, not to go out into that ruthless world.
And I'm far from ready to leave this one called School.
I'm not prepared to take my life, that would hurt my friends.
Or would it really? I'm often paranoid everyone hates me.

Well, regardless, I'll tell you what I do know, nothing.
I don't know what I want to do with my life.
I don't know who I want to marry in my life.
I don't know where I want to ******* live in my life...

But... I do, I do know, that I am scared.
Very scared...

The sun is resplendent and warming.
on this bench in front of these shops in a town we’ve never been to.
Italy’s a lot nicer if you’re in a small town.

I’m watching her peel an orange
slowly,
meticulously
she’s removing the skin from the meat.

She reminds me of a boxer wrapping his hands
before a big fight.

The last moment of meditative solitude
before the **** hits the fan.

She’s finishing with the peel now, setting the pieces on the bench next to us
as she splits it in half, an aerosol of juice sprays from the orange
she hands me one half
and begins to eat the other herself.

I peel the segments apart, eating them slowly
and spitting the seeds into the gutter.
she’s smiling,
the juice running down her chin,
and neither of us are speaking.

Later I’m smelling the citrus on her fingers
as she runs them through my hair;
it’s barely long enough to run fingers through,
and I’m thankful for that.

I’m thankful for that orange.
I’m glad I saw that small town,
the one without tourist attractions or snakeoil peddlers
I’m glad my scalp ever knew her citrus fingers.


it came,

I saw,

it went.

I can't describe -
How the yearning hides.

How it waits
Until the dead of night,
To wear upon the mind.

I handed you my soul
My heart and sanity
My dreams and demons
The scar runs so deep
The slightest scratch brings
Blood to the surface
The blood runs from the veins
To the ground
My footsteps imprinted in the blood
As I try to move away
I wake thinking it’s just a bad dream
But my vivid memory of the pain
The lies
Brings me face to face with reality
I did a dangerous thing
I let you see my vulnerability
And you devoured me
In just seconds you broke me down
The blood stain hard to wash away
You watched me lose sense
Lose control Lose my mind
All in the fantasy of your life
It was never going to end with
Love
It could only end the way it was in
Lies and pain
The blood stain hard to wash away

lately my world has come to a halt
and i hold it all in as my own fault
change can be good but deep down I'm scared
I'm scared to think that someone could actually care

Even though I had friends and family growing up
I felt alone, hidden in my head with no one home
I made the dark hole I lay in as I thought my heart was stone, but in the end I'm the one who believed I had nothing to give

in my head I had absolutely no reason to live
but now maybe I have to let go and myself is who I have to forgive, I held hate for far to long sang one to many sad songs, maybe I have to realize that I found a place I could maybe belong

to the girls who helped me change. Thank you I owe everything even when my heart is stained.
I will try to fix the hurt I made, it's weird to think a a few hours of sleep a night 4 months ago was impossible and the possibility of me living past thirty was improbable.

3 grams of caffeine a day is no number for any human to play. the beautiful brown hair girl took it away to think I should stay.  This beautiful girl showed me I deserve to live. maybe I do have more then nothing to give

I am someone, I am more then my designers make and model I'm more then my belly or bad grammar I'm more then the bad things I see and maybe one day I think I can be happy with being me.

to that beautiful brown hair brown eyed girl I love you I'm sorry I put up a fight every night and I pray everyday to see your smile shine bright maybe one day I hope to see your right maybe one day ill actually get to hold you at night

Have you ever thought or stopped to consider what a hero is ?
When I was little I always considered a hero someone like superman or superwoman.
Someone like spider-man.
Someone that swoops in and saves people..saves the city.
But that was when I was little.

No longer do I consider a hero that, for they are merely just figments of my imagination.
Now I consider hero's people that that have been here forever.
My hero is not the man with a cap, nor does he have superpowers.
My hero is an everyday person.
My hero works like a dog. Sure he looks a little worn, but you know what I like my hero like that.
My hero is simply a man. A man with a bald spot, crooked smile, greyish blue eyes. He is someone that dresses like a professor but in reality is a truck driver. He is someone that is as tough as an ox, but as gentile as a sheep. He is someone that has dealt with the good and bad times but still lives. He is like the shining knight in armor everyone wants. The one that protects. He has a heart of gold.
My hero is not a musician, nor is he anything less.
My hero is my father. The one I walk around in public with pride. He is the one I look up to, and will stand by and love him until only the memory of him is left. And When that day comes and from there on after I will love him no less.
Why?
Because he is my father and my one true hero. That's why.
There is no need for any other explanation.
It's that simple.

A love like pomegranate seeds — I am condemned to a mortal marriage with Death, waiting for his hands to touch me in the winter; I am stuck inside an autumnal equinox, waiting for the spring. My mind is a brothel — filthy and thoughts floating in and out but not looking for any sort of commitment. But you say that my brain is efflorescent and something lovelier than I would believe. There are cities in the palms of my hands, once teeming with life like the Great Barrier Reef, but now moan the silent sounds of desolation within a Chernobyl wasteland; but you are roaming the ashes atop my fingertips like a lost child trying to unearth the memories of her mother beneath the rubble of a shaken faith, despite knowing she was lost forever in the wake of brutal destruction, kicking me left and right as though I were the collapsed mountain of infrastructure in the wake of early September, 2001. I say all this to confirm that I do miss your voice and its fluidity on the phone — I miss your voice even though I know you'll hang up, and I wish I felt that way about living. I only want you to hold my sticky heart like melted candy.  I want you to stop sighing and slumping in your chair like the names of every Holocaust victim is engraved on your eyelids. I want you to smile like an innocent child, for once.