I'm smart, I tell myself as I fail another exam
I'm strong, I whisper as I collapse doing a push up
I'm beautiful, I say ******* my waist in as far as I can
I'm talented, I murmur as I try to play the piano

You're thick, they tell me as I stand and speak before an audience
You're weak, they whisper as I dance for three hours straight
You're ugly, they say as I shake petals from my flower filled hair
You're *******, they murmur as I draw a child with a boat

You're smart, I tell her as a brand new scar bleeds profusely
You're strong, I whisper as I stick it back together
You're beautiful, I say as it fades to white against her skin
You're talented, I murmur as she runs off again to play.

On a Wednesday morning, clear and calm,
                     I went to Astor Place
and had a gypsy read my palm
                     or maybe just my face.

She said my heart was heavy
                     and my head was stuffed with lies.
But things like that weren't on my hand,
                     they hid behind my eyes.

The room is dull and dank and cold but at
least I have a hand to hold.

Forever and an instant met up one day,
had a short but lovely talk,
then each went on its way.

You smile,
But your lips have a quiver,
You laugh,
But there's a graininess to it,
As if you're about to choke.

The blue ocean laps across your feet,
But you see only the black of the night,
Your toes curl around the cool sand,
But the sand feels hot to you,
Burning, scalding with deafening heat.

You've wished upon a million stars,
But see them only as dim dots in the sky,
You give so much love to the world,
But don't know yourself what love is,
As if you've learned only selflessness.

Calm your senses,
Feel the wind upon your face,
Without feeling the heavy, dusty layer
Of nothing, permeating your senses,
With the sharp chill of a falling icicle.

Feel something,
Feel anything.

She sits,
Her pencil quietly pacing along the page,
Left to right; left to right,
Pacing through her work with the consistent monotony of a swinging pendulum,
Left to right; left to right.

Her mind wanders,
Flying with the color and speed of a kite curving through the air,
Left to right; left to right,
Vividly weaving through carnivals, old romance movies and young ladies dancing,
Left to right; left to right.

She sits alone,
Her mind quietly vacationing off to a calmer place, her body sways,
Left to right; left to right,
Feeling lonely there, thinking of the oak trees outside of her window, swinging,
Left to right; left to right.

Her eyes are the color of the trees,
They twinkle and flash with the rush of the circus, and the old movies,
And the beautiful music playing its melancholic, nostalgic tune,

She is the young lady dancing, dancing through her life with love in her heart,
And even when she feels lonely, or sad, or afraid,
She needs nothing more than to remember the world's unending, growing love for her.

As she continues her work, she hums to herself,
Her mind painting pictures of indescribable beauty, matched only by that of her own,
And if she listens closely enough, she hears the whole world humming back to her, gently, across her heart,

Left to right; left to right.

i’ve dated boys who didn’t make me laugh,
boys who took me to stuffy museums and bland restaurants
and told me i should be veiling my hair in church
i thought i was doing the right thing, i thought
my parents would be proud of me,
i thought maybe i could conjure up
some kind of feeling in my stubborn heart
that would make it worth my while,
everything i was always
supposed to want
in one

instead,
i found you:
a boy who likes silly accents and sneakers and
telling jokes that turn me
into puddles at his feet,
who lives with his mother  
and makes art from obscure things,
who paints just to get the words out and
never matches his clothes
bright eyes begging me to follow, making it up as we go along,
who needs the rule book, who has time to read?
and if there is a better way, we don’t need it;
we’ll take the mess. see,
we’re already there, and
if there is a better way, i wouldn’t know it

"No one understands me."

         it slipped out in
         a timid whisper
          
                             as she combed her beard.

Mid-October,
with leaves spilled
like colored pencil shavings ---

the streets dicing our town
into neat, unfair portions ---
and me, eatin' that *****.

I stared at her
I knew then she’s unique
But I saw confusion
Still thinking if she’s real

I stared at her
Saw her lovely eyes
Not blue but brown eyes
It is so deep that I want to dig

I stared at her
She looks like always trying
I want to reassure her
That she’s already enough

I stared at her
I realized she’s beautiful
Even though years grew on her
There’s one thing I love about her

The mole above her right eyebrow

Then I put the mirror down
No longer staring at her.