Never been interested in
a conversation, just in
conversation itself.

I talked about the weather with
an acquaintence and a
friend of a friend last night
for forty minutes.
The latter isn't someone that
I really know know,
but you know what I'm saying.

We chatted about the coldness that hovers
over San Francisco and how
the heat in the summertime is actually frosty and how
the winter's warmth is, surprisingly, quite pleasant.
"You will only understand this from living it."

A conversation about weather
isn't supposed to actually play out
completely,
and yet, I'm still scratching my head
as to how forty minutes passed
with the two of them
in our Connecticut woods,
covered in striped longsleeves
and sunglasses to protect
our thoughts from a day passed under the sun,
walking around the Bay Area.

An old, sitcom-like joke
come to completion at a party, drowned
in ***** and musical-chatting,
chord-by-chord,
by guitar, drum, and bass,
in the room adjacent
to our tongue-chilled garage.

Raindrops on roses
And bloodstains on lines
Razors and longsleeves
To keep her scars hidden
She jumped off a building
Like a bird without wings
Those were a few of her
Favorite things

The reality I have to bear
     is that there's nothing I can do
But keep to myself all affairs
     and leave nothing more than a clue.

Like the dents above the pillows
     where our heads once laid upon
And the tinge of my crimson lipstick
     that pressed your lips at dawn.

Like the letters in the closet
     that I gave on Christmas eve
Or that night when rain had caught us,
     and I slept wearing your longsleeves.

Like the speakers you had purchased
     for our movie marathons
Or the cup of coffee on the table
     that helped me study all night long.

Like the post-its on my backdoor
    that wished me luck for my exam
Or the wilted petals from a rose
     you gave to me so I’d calm down.

I could name a few more moments
     when forever was ours to keep
But these clues are none but *******
    long buried with a painful heap.

your body was painted in
     red
     white
     blue
bracelets and longsleeves to cover
     stars
     scars
     stripes
like an american flag

because while some wave their flags
     proud
     strong
     brave
you found yourself fluttering
     torn
     half
     mast
except no one important has died

     just
          you

Ringing

Pick up... pick up...
Hello?
Go to the hospital.
I'm good. Don't worry about me. I'm good.
Allen, go to the hospital.
I'll get better. Stop nagging me.
You won't get better if you don't go to the hospital and get looked at.
I'm not going. I can't afford that.
You have insurance. They want to help you. I promise.
I don't have money for that. Hospitals are only for rich, white people.
Allen, go to the hospital. You are worrying me! Please just go.
No. I will get better on my own.
You need help, Allen.
No I don't. I'm good.
Allen, you don't even want help, do you? You don't even want to get better at all..
Emma, I'm fine. It will all be okay in time.
That was your point wasn't it? To make it all okay? But for who, Allen? Just okay for you? Because if you leave, I won't be okay. Please get help..
I don't want help and I don't need it anyways. I will be gone soon and everything will be better. You'll move on. Everyone will. No one cares about me anyways.
... You think no one cares about you? Allen, I love you. And you want to leave? Because you think no one cares? I care. I care about you so much. I always see those cuts on your wrists even when you always wear longsleeves because I think you are a little more comfortable around me than everyone else. I see those cuts and think *Why does he do that to himself? Is it my fault? Is there anything I can do to make him realize that he doesn't have to do that? I really try to be there for him, but maybe I am not enough for him to be happy But I still try. Even though I think that, I try to help. And I don't do that because I pity you. I do that because I love you. I love you, Allen.
... Emma, please stop.
No, Allen. I won't stop. You need to get help. I can't lose you. What about your mom? She needs you. And your little sister? She needs you. Do you want to leave your family?
EMMA STOP! I HAVE TO GO!
NO YOU DON'T ALLEN! YOU DON'T HAVE TO GO!
Emma.. you are the best person I know.
Allen what's happening are you okay?
Yea... Emmmmma It'ss aaall okayyy
Allen, please get help, your words are slurring.
...
Allen can you hear me?
I loooove youu Emmmmaa. My prettyyyy Emmmma.
ALLEN STAY WITH ME! PLEASE DON'T GO!
...
ALLEN
...

*Dial-tone

thin lines, white with age,
engraved into your skin from hate
made long ago, but they still remain
i see them once, now i can't look away
i sit here and think,
"maybe i'm not really alone"

you and me don't really know
where people like us can go from here
should we get help?
or just stay the same?
maybe we'll keep making marks
just slowly put up walls in our brains

all this pain isn't really worth it
and these scars are getting too deep
longsleeves and makeup can't hide
theses thin, thin lines

it's funny how many of us there are
how many more must go through this?
at the same time, i'm dying,
not knowing what i should do
just trying to stay alive
i'm going through this for you

your skin isn't clean, darling,
but who am i to point it out?
you haven't improved at all
though you have tried like me
but at least i'm helping others
while you just stay the same


m.k.*j

This poem was written because of you,
It was created because you exist.
This piece was completed because of your presence,
and was notice because you are known.

However, I can sense that you already met your edge.
You already reach your limit,
You were already falling behind;
at least that what they've said.

I can see how you hide those ****** tears.
I know how to find the scars you kept underneath your longsleeves.
I was informed how you change your own perspective,
and I feel ashamed for I did nothing but to stare.

I was there amuse by your smile but refuse to look in your eyes,
I was there admiring your new outfit but failed to look in your wrist,
I was there talking how you change so much but failed to question why,
I was there watching you like you're a new release and in trend movie.

So Dear J,
I miss how you make everything so positive.
I miss how you would talk about your dreams.
I miss how you live your life.
I miss the unique, pure and full of love kind of you.

I still see you but I know you're not you,
I want to look in your eyes but you always divert it far from my gaze.
I want to hold your scar but you never gave me a chance.
I was stupid to ask you to come back but I know you're already dead inside.

This ****** poem might and will never catch your eye.
This all good for nothing piece may and will never help you.
This piece of garbage will never change and pull you back.
I might never pull you and bring you back to life.

Dear J, can I watch you again ---
How you think of yourself as useless,
How you look yourself unattractive and heart broken?
Surprisingly blood was dripping and I look in the mirror it was broken.

I lost count on how many times I said
"I will cut my wrist no more"
Yet as long as I'm living, I'm feeling dead.
I can't stop myself longing for the sore.
-
The harder I try to reach for the light,
The deeper I sink down the abyss.
I often ask myself if it's worth the fight.
How I wish I could handle this with ease.
-
A pen or a blade could kindle the flame.
Both are fire starters inside my freezing heart.
Melting the ice or crushing it's the same.
Either will eventually hurt my heart.
-
Behind the words that I heartfully write,
Are bunch of emotions concealed and chained.
May this way set my stairways to the light,
Or atleast keep my longsleeves from being stained.