Close those eyes,
That sting and drip.
Slow the breath,
That shakes and quivers.
Calm the heart,
That yells and groans.

This body is only skin and bones.

Like twinkling lights,
The soul will show,
unto the room.

I'm thankful for what I've lost.
Because it changed me.
I'm thankful for how I've hurt.
Because it's shaped me.

I'm thankful for what I have.
Because he loves me.

To become so self aware that you can feel everything.
I can see myself from outside my body.
Except it's all a lie.

The shape of my body,
The curve of my hips,
The palor of my skin,
The frown paste to my mouth.

This walking lie.

The way people stare at me with disgust.
The faces they make when I look away.
All the awful things they've got to say.
All imagined.
All lies.

Why do you hurt yourself?
Who told you these things happened?

When you've lost trust in every person you will find only sorrow.
There is beauty in pain.
And trust is pain.
But you are not shattered glass.
So you will not act like it.

This paranoia will eat you alive.
This unhappiness will swallow you whole.
This beautiful girl you stole.
From me.

I haven't forgotten her.
I will find her.

if you love him, let him be.
Do not over analyze his words
Or his message.
Do not grow sour in a silence,
Do not fall cold in stories past.
Accept him for who he is,
Human.

There is no perfect man.
There is your man.
Let him say what he wants,
Let him think how he does.
If you love him, let him be.

He may not be an open book,
Or a romantic poem,
But when he shares his mind,
I could listen forever.

Those eyes that lock with mine,
In every movement,
In the quiet,
Or in between the covers.
Those are the eyes I see,
Even when mine are closed.

So I love him. And I let him be.
If he treats you with love and shows only loyalty.
Then please just love him. And let him be.

Writing is one of the few ways I know to explain myself.
To work out what I'm feeling,
And to express myself.
And yet with you there are no words.

No adjective or verb put together could reflect what I'm feeling accurately.

It's just a moving picture in my head,
Small memories and thoughts about you molded together.

Your laugh, your lips,
the freckle in your eye.
Your breathing as you fall asleep.
The covers wrapped around us both in the middle of the night.
The way you try and make me laugh when I'm angry.
Your jokes and one-liners and isms that make you, you.

That's how I know that I mean it.
When I say I love you -
I can't describe you any other way.
I can't verbalize what I feel for you any better,

Than those three words.

She sat in the sky,
Keeping warm in the glow of the moon.
Surrounded by only black.
And yet in her eyes,
The reflection of a thousand stars.

She wondered why some things were so romantically alluring.
The blanket of darkness we call night,
The burning glow of a candle,
The orange radiance of a full moon in the sky.

It's in the mystery of the night,
The call of a midnight wind,
The silence of a world asleep.

It's on the moon where she feels free.

I just can't see why.
She whispers her unhappiness to me before she falls asleep.
But you have a beautiful life, I say.
To which she replies,
Why do I feel this way?

And I can't give her a good reason.

She is mopey and moody,
Unpleasant most times.
And I cannot console her,
Or waken her smile.

But some days she leaves and doesn't return.

This silent shadow that's haunting me,
Is really no person but lives within me.

It called to her and echoed a thousand times within her head.
Like billowing sheets for sails,
And an oak living room table for the hull,
She moved with her imagination.

This vivid picture that roared like a thousand tides upon the shore.
Like crying tears of oil that stick and stain your face.
And bubbling thoughts and doubts that change you.
She moved whether she wanted to or not.

The voice you hear within is too soft spoken.
The fears you drown are much louder.
If only this small sailboat was a submarine.

Below the surface is where she sits.

It's in the dirt smudged into the lobby rug,
And hidden in cobwebs under the stairs.

It's drizzling down the side of tall buildings,
It's wafting towards us in the air.

It's in calloused hands and drying mouths,
It's in every grimace and every pout.

It's life.

You may not like it.
You may turn from it in disgust.
But it's in you.

The same specs of sunlight you crave,
Crawl in the night.

It's the stuff of life.
And it's in you.

Small little bumps rise with the hair,
on my skin.

With each soft breath,
with each cool breeze,
you leave me shivering.

Barely any light to see them there,
only moving skin and tangled hair.

But in the still of it all,
you give me goosebumps.

Hundreds of people in one single line.
I find myself at the end.
Standing on tippy toes to see above the crowd.
Some don't even know what they're waiting for.
Others know far too well.

This isn't my first time in line.
I see a sea of one hundred faces.
One becoming more blurry than the next.
But eventually, my turn will come.

And I can only order.
With no control at all,
over what you serve.

Evergreen needles stretch upwards.
Rays of the sun glide gracefully through the sky.
Pine cones are scattered throughout the forest floor.
My bare feet step carefully through.
My eyes searching the tall tips for clouds.

Maybe this is home.
Maybe wherever I am is home.

It's in the quiet.
Surrounded by buildings,
or in the midst of high rising trees.
The absolute silence.
I think of you.

Do you think of me?

My thoughts are haunting me.
No amount of time can take it away.
It's when I'm alone.
And I think of all that happened.
All that went wrong.

It's been a while.
But I can still feel the tears coming in hot.
Before I stop them.
It's in the quiet.

I think of you.

Lemonade & sugar.
Tar & nicotine.

To be held & be known.
To be kissed & be seen.

There's a lot you don't know about life.
There's a lot you don't know about me.

There's a lot you don't know,
about loving me.

She was leaning against the white stucco wall with a cigarette between her teeth.
Her long black skirt kissed the concrete as she fidgeted.
No one would ever call her innocent.
No one called her sweet.
She blew a thin cloud of smoke into the air.
It swayed in the wind and curled around her hair.
She closed her eyes and waited.
16 long years had gone by since her beginning.
If she wished hard enough, maybe another 16 would go by in a blink.

The photograph of her sits on the rickety table in her very first apartment.
A freshly burned cigarette stews in the ash tray on the table.
She smiles, looking at herself. Knowing what she thought then.
Knowing what she knows now.
She closes her eyes and waits. For another 16 years to pass her by.

I still hear pencils tapping,
as if I was sitting in the second row,
at my own small desk.

I can feel the blood rush to my head,
sitting upside down on the sofa,
with my legs over the head rest.
Talking on the cordless phone.

I see the sand pebbles,
collecting in my converse,
from afternoon bike rides at the beach.

The coolest breeze crosses my face,
and I wake from my daze.
I see the sky outside my front door.
I feel the tile under my feet.
And I hear no one.

I once sat on the other side of this hill.
All I could see was the dream,
the thick clouds, the burning colors.
Now I'm here. Now I made it.
And the calm is harder to bear than the storm.

This kind of feeling can drive you mad.
Slowly brushing your hand,
Trying not to let you see me blush.
Knowing what's happening can't happen.

But I still need to know what you're thinking,
I still want to know what you feel,
I still want to be so close.

And I can't say a word.
I can't ask the questions I want to.
I don't want to ruin it.
I am pretending to like not knowing.

Some refer to love as pure magic.
This invisible hold on your heart,
that mends and burns and quenches.
Some refer to it mindlessly -
others with deep and meticulous thought.

May I dare to say, that it does not exist?
This harmonious bond between two people.
In so many forms, and so many ways,
our idea of love will fall apart.

It is nothing but a symbol, nothing but a great hope,
nothing but a promise, nothing but a commitment,
nothing but a feeling, nothing but a word.

And without it, where would you be?
Without it, who would you have?

You.

So if this thing called love did exist,
who decides what it means?

An individual, or the collective?

Or you?

So the definition of two people,
bonded by the soul, by the heart, by the body, by the mind -

is defined by one.

And we wonder why it doesn't last.

Why do they demand so many things from us?

Hair color must be natural.
Go to church.
Get married.
Have children.
Make more money.
Limit your language.
Do not get tattoos.

This is my body, this is my spirit, this is my life.
No one may understand you.
You may feel no one loves you for you.
You may hate yourself for being so different.

But you are amazing.
You are perfect in your imperfection.
You are strong.
You are talented.
You make this world a better place because you dare to be different.

Dare to be yourself.
Because it matters.

How is it that a glass can go from empty,
to brimming,
within mere hours?

One strong pour.

My intuition never leads me wrong,
and yet I've been surprised a number of times.
Where did this come from?

What are we building?
But better yet, what are we building it on?

Small sips could never quench it.
Deep breaths could never soothe it.

And I'm left to watch the glass.
As it stirs within itself.

We aim to prove ourselves strong and without need.
Our target is someone who we want to desire us.
Our blow is that we never desired them at all.

And the arrow may be removed from their flesh.
But the words will be branded across their mind.

And the hurt will never fade from memory.

Smoke and fire and oil and fog.
Palm trees, brown lawns and smog.
The last drag on your cigarette in the early morning dew.

The last thread on your navy skirt,
unravels from old into new.

How to tell the time,
when you no longer feel it at all.
When you water yourself,
but grow smaller,
not tall.

When the leather strap around your waist,
merely hides your only fate.
When at the end of the day,
on your taxi ride home,
you find yourself all alone.

And you take the last drag on your cigarette in silence.

I ache to feel that embrace.
The one where your whole being feels understood.
Where you can watch as the world washes away.

I'm just getting to know you.
The feel of your fingertips so foreign,
the smile you put on so sweet.

I think of you in the smallest of things.
Elegant words, rainy windows, clouded skies.

The only way I can describe it is,
that I'm curious for you.

There's ***** dish water stewing in the kitchen sink.
There's a ghost of passion past,
Stopping to take a drink.
There's more to her surface than what you think.

But all you want is all you ever wanted.
It's just a fantasy.
And it's time to pull the plug.

The sweetest nectar,
The most sour twist.
The warmest hope,
The ice left behind to thaw.

Why is it we have to lose it all,
to gain so much more.

I don't recognize this face in the mirror.
This freshly polished complexion.
I picture the 6 year old me at my side.
Looking up at me.  

My suitcase in hand.

I hope she would smile.
This adventure is for you, kid.

xoxo

Gun shot wound above the button.
Small scar resting by your left eye.
Freckle on the thumb,
Gripping your scotch.

Left hand tapping the table.
Lightly playing the tune of an old rock band.
Dark circles lay under your eyes.
Stubble painted on your chin.

You don't have to say a word.
Your body says a lot.

And that's just hello.

Life is a race track.
If the sky falls down,
if the car loses a tire,
if the transmission bursts:

Keep driving the **** car.
You pick up the pieces and you keep going.

You are the only driver you've got.
I don't care if the car crosses the line spitting and groaning,
and falling apart.

I would rather get out and push that thing in high heels to the finish line.
Then to give up.

Keep driving the **** car.

She said she liked my confidence.
What she didn't know, was it was liquid courage.
That this strong façade was cracking.

Words fall unthinkingly from my lips,
a charm for wit and a fault for aggression.
Just smile.

From someone shy to someone bold.
From someone hurt to someone who could care less.
And that's what she liked about me.

The number of faces I've spoken to,
with reckless abandon.
In hopes of sparking an interest, only to stand and leave.

These shaky hands in surgery.
Should never poke at someone's heart.

But confident.
Sure.
And thank you.

He stood on the corner waiting,
for the light to flash its cue.
He wore a Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt,
his hands worn and tired with age.
A twitch formed in his left hand.
A laugh formed on his lips.
And when the light changed he stayed and waited.
Until out of nowhere a small child raced across the street.
"Grandpa!"
His sweatshirt matched.
And my heart was happy.

I was sitting in my windowsill,
feet dangling towards the ground,
when a small bird perched itself on my leg.
I didn't dare move in fear of frightening him.
He sang out and fluttered in the morning light,
chirping and cooing with delight.
And I couldn't help but smile.
Like a child, I sang back to him.
I wondered if any strangers could hear us.
We were a 6 AM alarm.

I've been wrestling a beast.
Invisible at least,
or his fangs and eyes might
frighten me.

I've been dancing in the dark.
Dodging every blow,
and I fear if there'd been light,
my heart would never
slow.

And so I light a match.
And kindle what little light,
I have.
That this could finally be the spark,
that sets my life aglow.

Do you remember the days,
Where the thought of love,
Could make you ill?

How many more, are old souls?
The kind who dream more than they live.
The ones with nothing left to give,
Who've watched their past wash by,
Like sinking tides and rising skies.

But who are happy at the thought,
Who find comfort in the feeling,
Who yearn for those days again,
And get lost in the meaning.

The beauty in the flaws,
The words between the lines.
How staring into the distance can bring it all back.
How the rising sun did fade to black.

Because I remember.

I don't miss people.
I don't miss places.

I miss smiling faces,
hand holding.
I miss moments.

Sometimes moments I've never had.

I'm sentimental.
I run off imagination  
and meaning.

More than anything,
I'll miss all the things people have taken with them.

Eyes, notebooks, clever wit, my pillow, our photos,
because everything else I still have.

Memories can never be taken from me.

But I'll put them away for a few years. I'll shove you to the back of my mind,
and I'll put a Frank Sinatra record on in my head,
and I'll watch us flicker by when I need to.

All of you. Each person whose walked out.
Each person who turned off the lights,
who locked the door,
who never wanted any more,
of me.

I'll visit when I want to.
But for now I'll say goodbye.
To memories, to sentiment, to meaning,

To you.

No one wants to be alone.
And yet everyone needs to be,
before they can truly be together.

Taking a break from the ties and the bonds,
breathing in your own air,
learning what you want,
and what you need.

Is oh so hard,
But necessary.

Pins, pricking
at the heart,
waves, rippling
through the stomach,
thoughts, darting
from one to the other.

On the highest floor,
of the highest building,
on the highest hill,
looking down.

At my past life down on the ground.

Empty your heart of this grieving oil,
Let bad memories seize to pass.
Fill up your soles with the smallest
Of moments.
And walk among the fruits of joy.

Harvest the seeds that grow anger,
Rip up the weeds that yield doubt.
Smile in the face of all darkness,
And be your own saving grace.

Give into time at all measures,
Let the rain come as it will,
Please though, just always remember,
Who you are at the end of each day.

You are good.

I don't like to write about you,
And wear my heart out on my sleeve.
Because no matter how I want you,
It never could be.

I've never been yours.
And yet I feel I have.

I don't like to get my hopes up,
I don't like to be that girl.
Who is blinded by her hope and lost within her heart.

But you make me want more.
You won't let me settle.
And I ignore it for the most part.
Until I can't.

You create a storm in the smallest of words.
You change my whole mood with one look.

And even when I wonder,
If the chase is what you're after,
I find it doesn't matter either way.

There's something wild about not knowing.

Words have no meaning to me.
Their weight, their beauty, their worth,
have no value in the grand scheme of it all.
It's your actions.

We have all been lied to.
We have all said far too much, or far too little.
And it's what you do that matters.
Or in this case-

What you never did.

I see you in the quietest of moments,
and I hear you in the midst of life's noise.
I've started at my feet with a needle and thread.
Stitching up my body, from toes to head.

It should be winter; but it's not.
I should be happy; I am not.
I should feel calm, but my stomach's in knots.

Sometimes getting what you ask for has a specific price.
Everything.

I was in the garden when they told me the truth about the world.
This mysticism parted like a swollen rain cloud to the east.
Now we are left to seek solace among the forever stretch of land.

To spend our days like a crossword puzzle.
Filling in our positivity with small doses of pleasure.
Sweet tea, warm embraces, freshly fallen snow and unopened letters.

Crying wouldn't do us any good.
Arguing wouldn't expand our horizons.
The ferocity of our hope lights the sky with a thousand stars.

The roses growing around me have drops of dew resting in their petals.
I breathe out and feed them, they breathe out and feed me.
I sit in the grass and watch them until the dawn breaks.

Please steal me away, in the middle of the night,
Hold my warm soul, so very tight,
Please search for me when I'm out of sight.

I'm floating above my body, watching it wander,
And baby, I see you, steady on your way.
I'm a jealous woman, I may pull you under.
Be strong in what you say, keep your head above the waves.

I'm a quiet heart, I won't beat too loud,
But my mind's a train heading out of town,
Are you steady, darling, are you feeling strong?
Cause I'm a loose thread that won't last too long.

Comfortable like a wasp's sting,
Swiftly sought like diamond rings,
Given up like virginity,
Hard to reach like infinity,

Surely he won't be loving me.

Jean skirts torn from wear,
Lipstick smudged, tangled hair.
Where have you been all night?

A smile left over from the fall.
Glasses clutter countertops.
No idea where tomorrow is.

And I'm 22.
And I'm not with you.
But I'm going to be.

And I'm listening to Ingrid,
sipping black coffee,
daydreaming,
And I'm 16.

I'm sorry I threw us away.
I'm sorry I forgot our love so quickly.
I'm sorry I never called.
I'm sorry I'm not sad.

You never listened to me.
You heard me, through closed ears.
I fell out of us in April of last year.
And you listened for the first time in April.
Of this year.

I'm sorry.
But I can't apologize.

A single rose sits in its pearly vase,
Merely resting on the wooden table,
With the crooked leg.

And here you sit.
In today. This very moment.
This is now.

If life is a story, then mine is a song.
And I'm only in the second verse.
Waiting for my chorus.

And this is it.
This is your life.
It's ups and downs and turnarounds.

And how beautiful is today.

I wore his hat backwards,
And laughed at everything he said.
And my thought hung in the air,
If he'd be taking me to bed.

Put your heart out there,
Put your whole self out there,
Just leave things, let them be,
Cause goodbye kisses are the sweetest thing to me.

And see you soon.

Pour into me and I'll be your flask.
Take a swig when you need it.
Fall onto me and I'll be your cushion.
Leave when youre ready to.
Curse at me and I'll be your fondest memory.
Look back at me when you need to.

I'm many things. But I'm not your doll.
And I'll speak when I want to.

I wish I was still sitting beside him on the couch.
The IV drip counting the time and the smell of his shirt sitting in the air.
I never got to ask him what to do.
I never got to ask him how to love.
His eyes are forever shut.
And so is my heart.

A picture is worth a thousand words.
But a picture of you, is worth one.
*******.