I used to wonder
if I'd grow old lonely
because you speak so little.

I would sometimes
desperately yearn for your voice,
simply for the need of its presence in my ears.

But the more people I meet,
the more I grow to love your silence;
the more I grow to love who you were and are now.

We sometimes only lay and smile,
like little happy wizards reading minds,
as we gaze into each other's abstruse souls.

Silence is the reason
I loved you in the beginning,
then worried words got in the way.

I went a little crazy,
and blamed you for my tangled thoughts,
wishing I knew all the answers to everything; as if I could.

Soon I realized,
I was the cause of my own distress,
and you were still sitting there silent, waiting for me.

After some time,
our souls became one;
at least I would like to think so.

So don't speak.
Don't ruin it, and neither will I.
Let's live in this silence, together forever;
just knowing that we're in love.

I couldn't tell you
how many poems I've read
about girls in disguises,
girls hiding in their closets,
girls acting like girls,
wishing they were something more...

This is not a poem about wishing,
but a poem of being.
This is not a cry for help,
but a song of assurance.
I am a girl, but I am no feminist.

You won't find me painting
on makeup each morning
for confident clarity.
{red blemishes flourish}

You won't find me tearing
my feet up each night
to look tall and fancy.
{bruises on the heel}

You won't find me wearing
a red push-up bra
for emotional support.
{endless back pain}

You won't find me shaking
while holding a gun
for protection.
{fear is stupidity}

I couldn't tell you
how many girls I've seen
doing these things,
over and over;
girls wishing they were something more...

This is not a poem about hope,
but a form of being.
This is not a scream of pity,
but an equalist view.
I am a girl, but I am no feminist.

I choose to be myself,
despite the boys who call me odd;
despite the girls with envious eyes.
I choose to play video games at 2am
and eat until I feel sick.
I choose to wear band tees to the bar
and go home alone.
I choose to say what I mean
and suffer the consequences.
I choose to wear less clothes,
and sometimes more,
when I want.

I've found someone
who loves me for who I am.
I've found two people, in fact.

There is a boy
who comes over
and I can call him my love;
I can call him my best friend.
There is a boy
who never judges
the boy in me;
the things I do.
There is a boy
who reminds me
a lot of a girl,
who picked flowers with her mom
when she was little.

And sometimes,
I put on makeup for you,
because I love you,
and I want you to know I'm proud.
Sometimes,
I'm proud of myself,
because I got the eye liner just right.
And sometimes,
I like acting fragile
so I can do less work
and watch as you tire in sweat.
Sometimes,
I even shout my worries to the sky.
But moderation is so important
in a time so rigid
with lust.

There is a girl
who is me,
and that boy
and that girl
both know who I am.

I am sick of complaints;
I am sick of the 1950's attitude;
I am sick of excuses;
I want to see action;
and I don't mean a protest.

And maybe you like
being a girl.
Maybe you dress up
purely for yourself,
and no one else.
But that doesn't explain
the things that you say
in public and in retrospect,
as tears fall down your cheek,
and knives glide off your tongue.

I see more of it every day --
girls just like me.
You are only weak if
you believe that you are.
You are only a girl
if you think that you are.
I am a human being,
and so are you.

I am no feminist.

Cherry blood is always good, because it's dark and it means no artery was hit. You're still alive. You're living. That's why I sometimes don't understand the big fuss my principal made when I took off the sweatband on my wrist. Or maybe it was the vice principal. Either way, the school counselor was called in, and so were my parents. Looks of shock. Confusion. Why? They all asked. But I had no reasonable answer. I was young and innocent -- a feeling I'd love to regain, but at the time, I wanted the opposite. Maybe I did it for the excitement; the thrill. Some said I was just "a troubled child"; it will pass. Others said I was "disturbed" or "depressed". But these are just words. I know what I was. I wanted the attention; I wanted to get caught, until it actually happened. After my mom paid a psychiatrist $350 three different times, I told her I was okay; I stopped doing it; Please don't make me go back. And she never made me go back. And I never did it again.

Should one cast out all darkness
in another containing light?
Or is darkness oh so necessary,
and this is simply not my fight?
I found you unexpectedly,
in a field of bundled hay
which unraveled with your touch.

You chose me and I chose you,
so why is it that it seems like news
every time that you say, "I love you,"?
You told me we are forever,
but that was months ago...
& with all the changing weather,
you never know who wants to go.

They always make me leave first.
Is it me? Am I blind?...
I'm dying like the fall leaves' thirst;
Do you love my body or my mind?
I guess it could be much worse,
so why am I so skeptical?

They say "when you know, you just know,"
and you are such a fine spectacle,
but something deep down cries;
Maybe I'm a perfectionist.
I want you so much more
than I could ever speak with words,
I try to draw it out,

but everything just comes in herds,
and I'd hate to overwhelm you,
because you are the reason I even speak.
But my heart is aching every day;
my love is strong, but I am weak.
I've got so much care to give;
My doctor told me I'm an addict.

He meant much more than drugs.
I say love is madness.
We always change the ones we love
and put them in a vase
above all of our accomplished goals,
water them down until they grow old.
What is love? Am I sold?

when we are always shifting.
How do I choose
the man of my gifting?
I ache at the thought of going
just one day without your lips,
when all is healed just with your kiss.
Are you enough? Am I?

Speak to me. Why silence?
Your darkness consumes my light,
but then your breath awakens
and my stomach becomes tight.
I briefly forget what's wrong from right,
and sink away in your bliss.
I see the cracks,

and there is a god shining through;
I worship you.

You split in two. One of you has a gun, and the other: Nothing. I look to the empty you for hope. Hope. Hope. Nothing. You look at yourself, and though sight shows two entities... No mirror. Are you there? Fire! Perfectly centered. Lead in your face. Struggle, then surrender. One body down. Who else? You turn on me and I fear you. I fear nothing else. Who am I looking at? The Devil, for God is dead. Hope. Prayers and unrequited wishes. The barrel on my eye. Remember, I bought a 9mm this summer. I shoot first, because I was always the brave one. It is me or you. Me. All hope lost after timeless waiting. Goodbye love. Freedom deserves a chance. Whether together or alone. No stop signs on busy streets. Goodbye love.

And when I saw the light, shining so bright…
More and more of it each day and at night,
I watched as it grew, and I knew only
Growth could go on forever and always…
Never looking back at the daunting mist,
At eye-level with stench, my nose could not
Smell like my eyes could see; I knew what
I needed to be, but what wonders could
Push and scream, when things are not what they seem,
To bring a reality from our dreams…

Some things are not
What they seem
Is it a river or
Is it a stream?
When only perfection
Is seen in the eyes of love,
All is tender light,
But when love is
Doused in reflection,
Who are we really
Thinking of?
What is in sight?
A selfless act
Refracted by a
Selfish acquisition,
Which withers away to
Nothing, from its
Original position.
What heights,
We walk
To appease our hearts,
When hearts
Are almost never appeased.