Breathing in that familiar smell of sweet coffee that screams Starbucks i sit quietly inside....alone..but actually, i am accompanied by some cheap elevator music which closely resembles country, and my grande cup of thoughts. This grande cup feels more like a thousand grande cups: a possy almost. This possy fills the empty Starbucks with small talk and the soft murmur that many people usually create. This possy keeps me way more company than any other living breathing flesh.

The thought that sits closest beside me is my mask that i purchased before i could pick out my favorite colored sweater. I wear this mask every day of my life although not always at own will. its hard to admire whats staring back you every morning when your cards dont match the ones on screen. It goes like this, i feel as if i had horse like pony tail hair crawling down my black so silky and taking a skydive at my *** would make it a HELL of a lot easier to wear this mask of mine in which has the title of: MY FACE.
But what is it about the crystal blue eyes that show the rhythm of the ocean or the solidity of the sky? WHAT is it about the deep forest green or the eyes that you can see more than just the sky that is so appealing? HAVENT YOU HEARD??
"THE DARKER THE BERRY THE SWEETER THE JUICE?"

So why does it seem the whiter the paper the more in favor. the blonder the hair the greater the fair, you seem to have in life. MAYBE its the recommendations in which the tv inscribes for us. Maybe its the runway that draws the rules of beauty.
The twiggier the prettier
the fatter the more laughter you receive from people who dont even know
your ****
name.
As I stare at the reflection and into the deep pools of confusion I fish out decent..and different,
but not pretty. I never arrive at the adjective pretty when i look at the reflection staring back at me but
does it ever occur that i do not strive to be merely pretty but something more.
DO NOT and i mean DO NOT EVER
slap a label onto my forehead titled pretty.
dont slap the sticker of cute either.
find another **** sticker
that you can not find at a store, this sticker is so original that it doesn't exist, its so intricate, considered more than an antique
for I AM MORE THAN A MISSION TO ARRIVE TO PRETTY.

Do not look into my cage where I sing and call me beautiful- for its funny how that so called gift seems to be nothing but a mere sample at a beauty supply. Im not a biscuit for you cant butter me up and salt me down for ill never be your favorite dish you can take a bite out of for comfort. I am more than just a piece of meat for I am more than just an adjective for you will not be able to pick up a dictionary and collect the word that fits me best.

I am more, WE are more, we cant be thrown into a binder full of women---no, for no binder is large enough to hold the complexity of just
one. woman.

Listen to the sound, and loose it, its sweet music, and dance with me, for there is beauty in the world so much beauty in the world. But we put a parental block on it we ignore that ad
we throw away that piece as if they are the unwanted leaves to the strawberry,
or the peel to the banana---we drive by that ordinary girl.

We sadly fail to realize-fail to notice the blue skies, notice the butterflies, but you will NOT fail to notice me.
Now, Starbucks is full-full of other rocky mountain climbs and terrible tumbles. It has become a pool of not only coffee...but pools and pools and rivers and seas,
of insecurities.

Hi, I'm calling to tell you that:
I wrote down everything you ever said to me (in the literal sense, standing stretched against my own uncultured and violently ****** vocabulary)
- And am regurgitating it back to innocent passerby - my sincerest apologies to those poor victims of circumstance, suspended in the projectile ***** of my dysfunctional disdain

(In a slew of worm guts and warm bodies, mama-bird to baby-bird saying "please don't leave the nest" - it's too hot for blankets anyways)

My original letter to you was written on the backside of an airplane **** bag, where I detailed my favorite scenes from a movie we subconsciously made entitled "Baby's First Time", while blissfully unaware of my stern faced in-flight companion.

My first draft, though, was a series of half-hearted winks and very, very drunk texts, beginning with:
          SEXT: I offer my services as sacrificial ******
(and followed a whopping six months later by)
          SEXT: I am still young enough to accuse you of statutory ****
(The art of seduction seems to be less of an art and more of a particular science)

You are:
- My own personal Edgar Allan Poe, just blonder and younger, with a bigger gut and a bigger ego and (alas!) a complete lack of interest in your sweet Annabel (but I could change my name)
- And oddly enough, I'm the one writing the poems here

(The whole world's a stage, with me just watching your sad indie boy band from the nosebleed seats)

whatever.  i'm so clever.  yeah.  whatever.  i can break the lame guys in when they give last rites. the deader the better the girls sigh.  open up to new norms.  electric rules the old worms.  fortune anorexic wonder. blonder, longer, simpler, subtler.  partial to the flower you think and forever after ....

Built on a foundation of wormwood
Cause Absinthe makes the heart grow ... Blonder

Oops, having one of those moments
But isn't that sexist, Redler?
Yea, if you believe in duality
And I'm Dogmatica to an end
My end is Anisotropica
I got there through Riparia
And the Bidirectional Reflectance Distribution Function
BRDF for short
Basically, seeing all sides independent of illumination source
And, of course, interdependent of POV

Okely Dokely

Peas out

And care rotz

she has bad tattoos
and wears converse
a totoro hat
over her over bleached hair
sounds familiar

does she watch anime?
does she go to the lego store with you?
does target trips feel the same?
does she comfort you?

do you get the same rush,
when you want to kiss her?

does she let you?

do you get the same nerves,
when you message her on facebook?

do you crave her body,
in the way that you did mine?

so much so that you kept going when I told you no?

do you wish she was prettier,
like you wanted me to be?

do you wish she was blonder,
like the anime character you ******* to?

do you also wish your ***** was bigger,
like I wished it was?

do you also wish that you were more caring to me,
like I wished you were?

do you wish I was still with you..?

do you?

If someone were

standing on top of a mountain of sand (maybe on a camel, maybe with a cough)

along the Dead Sea at four this morning they might have heard

two voices

one accented thickly enough to leave an aftertaste,

one small forced into lower registers for old reasons echoed in new habits

bouncing along the water like insects, like light

“Talk to me in Hebrew” “Want

to see me walk on water?”

”I have the same handwriting as

my mother” ”Let’s start a religion”

“You can see it in the R’s”

”I was in a war” ”My shoulders

are turning brown”

“Summer is coming” “Your back is smooth”

”I don’t believe in anything” “I got on a plane”

“My fingers are salty”  ”There’s

mud in my mouth”

“Your hair is blonder than yesterday”

“I don’t

love you”

If someone had been

standing on top of a mountain of sand (maybe itchy, maybe pregnant)

along the Dead Sea at four this morning they might have seen

two bodies

one white, one brown

floating on the surface, the light coming over the ripples like a thousand slaves carrying morning on their backs

one head on one chest, one palm on one shoulder

“Nothing can

live in this water”

“I’m trying”

1.
I flew into LA
At sunrise:
Clipped wings,
Pockets of nickels.

2.
I could have died
With my heart exposed
And lips silent
(It would have been easier).

3.
My repressed homosexual tendencies
Got me into your veins.
I can’t taste coffee any more,
Even if I drink it off your smile.

4.
Yes, my mind did go there.
My stomach knots when
I realize I want your hands
Hovering in the darkness.

5.
He doesn’t watch me at night
When your name is fleeting
And my heart throbs too fast.
This could have been ours.

6.
I don’t think women
Look as good in blue, with
LAPD adorning their heaving *******.
The gunshot still rings in my eyes.

7.
I wish it were zombies.
Let’s start over from here,
And you can wade my shallow puddle
To begin our end over again.

8.
They’re like us, but older
And younger, and blonder, and
More human than I could ever
Pretend to be.

9.
Goodnight.
It is empty in the abyss
That is the absence of
Your smile.

Aye well let me tell you here
Bout a man to me so dear
When ever after seemed
Like it was simply meant to be

I wish I was a maiden fair
But eyes did stray to blonder hair
So secrets in the dark did keep
And my devotions left to weep

Bowing low before the throne
And pleading never to have known
The last of men to which I bowed
Before I left the solid ground

Now I sail the ocean blue
And the only men here are my crew
So pop the cork and drink away
The sea is where I'll always stay

Now tyrant monarchs may rule the lands
But they cannot stop our merry band
So call us scoundrels and call us thieves
We live on the water and sing to the breeze

So if you are lost, listen to our sound
The wind on the water tells ya you've been found
The compass will guide us so hoist up the sail
The Last Chance is our vessel for which we prevail

You are
The sun-kissed skin that had an iridescent glow
That time we went to an ice cream parlor
For your birthday
The time I almost drowned in that community pool
The game we played with your Mom
An extension of her auburn-soaked locks
Although yours are blonder
But you have the same ruby red smile.
A kind spirit in a tiny body
The eyes that flared with the flames of a gentle spirit.
Days spent as we played with animals
On farms, at the pumpkin patch
We loved them so dearly when we were young.
A two and a half hour commute, yet worth it every time.
Horse riding with our sisters
As we complained about how annoying they were.
The first time we made ceramics
Yours, of course, were better than mine.
The way our parents would tell us
Of memories of ski trips and college endeavors
That made us hope to be university bound
Even though we were in grade school.

Things have changed.
Now you are motherless
As lung cancer took her life
Eight years ago in March.
Which also happened to be the last time I spoke with you.
I remember,
Dad wouldn't let me go to the funeral.
He said I was too young
I couldn't miss school
The usual.
At the time,
I didn't know if I longed to go to honor her
Or to see you.
It wouldn't be the last funeral he denied me
For various reasons.
I still miss her
But I miss you more.
We lost contact
And the questions I had for you at eight
Still resonate in my overbearing brain.

What was it like to lose her?
How did your father cope?
Did your grandparents move in
To take care of you and your young sister?
Do you remember these memories like I do?
Do you ever think about me?
Do you miss me at all?

New questions compete for their spots.
Do you have a boyfriend?
Do you plan to go to college?
Do you still love to draw?
I would assume you are still putting that angelic singing voice
To good use.
I hope I'm right.

Sometimes, I wonder.
Wonder what it would be like
If we still kept in touch.
Dad said your father
Lost contact with him after your mother's passing.
I know, this is petty
But I still miss every summer day
For the first eight years of my life that I spent with
My very first best friend.

I miss the girl that I once knew
The girl with hair blonder than dust
And cheeks rounder than apples

I miss the girl that I once knew
The girl with nerves of a wet napkin
And legs clumsier than spaghetti

I miss the girl I once knew
The girl who always did what she was told
And was always afraid to speak

I miss the girl I once knew,
That's all true.
But she grew up.
And I don't miss that little girl so much
Anymore.