“i don’t know where i’m going…but i’m not coming back here.”
you blurted out,
loud enough so we all could hear,
unafraid and unapologetic.

i was upset at first, but then
i was suddenly glad.
you were always bigger then this place.
i had to be happy for you.
you saw that big something
out there,
and you were the first to notice the freighting rate at which this town was drying up.

so,  
go then,
there are other worlds then these.
these dried up ghost towns hold nothing but rotting piles of memories,
discarded beer cans and
the few of us
left behind.

i drown that part of me that wants to clamp down
and hold you tight before you notice the cage door shutting.
i know you are not a pet to be kept,
but the sight of your bright colors is enough to make me miss your song
and drunkenly beg you to stay.

fly away little birdie.
you were always bigger then this town,
bigger then this skeleton crew of
drunk could have been somebodies
who always remember way back whens, when things were better.
when we didn’t have to choose sides and
decide if we were staying or going.
fly away and leave us with the memory of what you were to us.
you can be the star of the stories
told over and over,
laughing,
choking,
dripping red,
wiping our eyes and telling of the times
we were lucky enough to be there.
you were always bigger than us,
and we all knew this day would come.

look at me.
acting like a twelve year old with a crush.
all beating heart and starry eyed day dreams
about you
and me
becoming us.

this hasn't happened in years
and already i feel worrisome hands
patting down the wrinkles and torn edges
trying
hoping
to be good enough.

i'm that scared excited that i was when i was little
under covers with flashlights
confessing and confiding in
a favorite bear.
trying on my big sisters makeup
giggling about what it is like to kiss
and who i was in love with.


it all boils underneath that thin skin
of cool that i'm positive you can see
through.

look at me,
acting like the girl
i worked so hard to
grow up and away from.

jesus,
look what you have done,
look at all those walls you have destroyed,
in a matter of days.

i hate the word potential.
it’s one of the few words that always meant well but was only ever spoken
by sad drunken mothers,
shaking their heads while whispering into the phone
about the child she always forgets to mention in the daily report.
they always had such potential
they wasted their potential
they never realized their potential.
my mother always wanted to play piano.
And as long as I can remember, we had one, a piano,
sitting fat and dusty in the entryway,
to be passed everyday on the way in or out like a sad dog
watching you pass by again and again without taking a second look
at its empty bowl or matting fur.
She paid for lessons that I hated
and as soon as my sister gave her a grandchild and that grandchild could sit up on it's own
she sat her down at the piano,
hoping that someone would finally pay some attention
to that **** dog.
i ***** out words on pages
I scribble faces on slate
I even try to carry a tune.
Trying to see what she saw, what talented life did I turn away from?
What choice did I make that made it all turn sour?
Was it the homework I never did
or the drugs I tried
or the *** I had that suddenly turned my future from bright to dim.
Should I weep for what I could have been?
Should I beg forgiveness because I stumbled and lost the race the rest of the world is running?
I don’t want to.
I don’t want an office.
I don’t want an education.
I don’t want a husband.
I don’t want kids.
And I don’t want to ******* play piano.

I can’t sleep again. On nights like this my bed makes me ache.
I’m tossing and turning in an ocean of hot itchy blankets and deflated pillows
I lie awake.
My mind is me caught in a small dark room burning at a madding pace bouncing from trouble to worry to factoids to be kept for the next day,
plans and lists that persist and insists that there was something
I forgot to do
or did wrong or
will forget soon.

I can’t sleep and it burns,
the night stretching thin long and lean threatening to last forever and hold dawn at bay.
I feel crazy at times like these,
when there is nothing left to do but lay there and let the day rest but instead I lay awake and let the troubles of yesterday infest the promise of the new today.  I beg for smoke or drink or hell a heavy object
to bestow upon my brow blessed sleep.  

I beg you night, find my restless worry and grant me leave.
I don’t want to meet the dawn, shy as she is, as she creeps into her place.
Her silent footsteps already carried on the wind and I fear she is close.
Let me sleep, let me dream; let me get away from all of this for a while.
Blessed night let me sleep. Too many nights have escaped my hands already and I fear I’m growing senile.
I see the things that were never there and my days run like diluted paint turning the big picture a muddy brown and fuzzy.
Blessed night let me sleep.
I want nothing more than to hold audience for or hour or two.  
To speak my peace and be allowed to stay in your keep.
Blessed night, please, let me sleep.

Don’t tell me you love me.
Such things make me the shake.
My mind quakes and rattles and rolls as it unknowingly cooks up a bitter plan to turn your love into hate.
To turn those bright blue swimming pools of yours into the lowered shades I know how to deal with.
I can’t handle sweet honey dripping lips and lies of forever that taste just as sweet.
I’m broken and I will break you too
It’s what I do. Cause it’s all I know how to do to deal with a man who doesn’t lie or cheat or check out those cheerleaders ***** as they pass us, drooling like hunger recognizing a steak and looking back at me and seeing last weeks meatloaf.
I’m not used to a man who doesn’t tell me to paint myself up or trim myself down or even one that isn't at least a little like that one who told me I was lucky he looked twice. And I was, at the time, lucky he saw me because at that time I wasn’t seen by anyone. A ghost, haunting the classrooms and and halls, a blooming wall flower, growing up and around her dark little corner, tendrils arching away from the light. He was god, a pitying punk rock priest that put down the word and walked bravely into the dark twisting gardens. A martyr who took one for the team and decided to look the other way when faced with this and this and these…you know, for my sake.
I admit it, I’m bruised, battered  and beaten by those before you and you can’t expect a fair trial. I’ll do whatever I can to make you see what all the others saw. I will frame you like the pretty portrait you are putting the smoking gun in your hand telling you it’s your fault I pulled the trigger.
I try to be better but everyone knows I’m the worst, all bar room winks and smiles to just to test your line and flirting with a fate of dying alone cause I don’t want you holding my hand in public.
I couldn’t begin to tell you those deep down cravings for love. Those fears and tears that spill when no one is looking because I barley trust them to my tribe let alone a boy I barely met praising me as his one and only. A boy who can barely crawl into fray of my past issues. pages of time magazine caught in the wind each ad dawning a razors edge. cutting and tearing and stripping off the skin of anyone stupid enough to smell the buds in the middle of a brawl.
I admit it, I’m a fighter. I’ve been taught by bad teachers who make me believe that the second you take the time to find out the real me you’ll be gone. A shadow at high noon come and gone too soon thanking the lord you didn’t get in too deep before pulling yourself out.
Try not to get it twisted, I don’t hate the me deep down there but I do think it’s too much of me to ask you to peek in and be ok with that girl that can’t help but hide. That girl that talks tough but is sometimes scared of the dark that goes on and on forever inside. I don’t think she will ever meet anyone with open arms cause it’s easier to walk alone then be left behind.
I wanna believe in love, before the time has tick tocked away, leaving me the ancient spinner spinning long silken yarns about loves long lost and trying teach the young girls not to waste the years by talking the talk but not walkin the walk. I want to love and laugh and make memories but I'm afraid of choosing an end all be all just because I'm prone to some lonely nights.
so slow down speedy,  and put the *** on simmer. cause if you mean what you say and say only what you mean we got all the time in the world before those four little letters need to be added to the pallet to paint our perfect picture. don't ask for those hidden parts too quick and don't try and be slick, don't give me a sleezy cheesy come on baby please and please me. give us the time to grow and sew all the seeds that need to root before I know if you're for real or just another joker after the loot.

come to me little one,
come into the fold.
far away from the world
that doesn't understand you
and
that doesn't want you.

there is nothing left for you there
my sweet.
the only thing out there
is more rejection,
more pain.

come to me
little one,
escape in me
and don't question the dark.

don't worry about tomorrow
or the day after that.
only see me,
and us
and let the only thought
that shimmers across your mind
be of our love
and our life together,
till death
due us part.

they hate you,
i love you
they reject you,
i bring you in
ever closer.
wrapped together in our burning arms
heavy with fever,
we are one.
just you and me
and a lifetime of us
against them.
they will try and pull us apart,
but you won't let them...
will you?

they tell you i'm bad for you
but who hurt you?
and who made it better?
that constant babble of
the crowd...
they are desperate to make you
a project,
a rescued reject
they can pat on the head
and polish up for strangers
so they can be commended on their
massive hearts.
all those plastic smiles
stretched wide
trying to hide the pity for you.
they ask
where would you be without so and so...?
you must be so grateful....
why, you would have been dead without us....
like the life they offer
is any real life at all.

i say drink deep of me
and do what you want
cause you want to do it.
be wildly wicked
if you want to.
be bitterly brooding
if you want to.
be a puddle on the floor.

they can't understand like
i can.
they can't cure
they can't help
they can't possibly see
or ever accept
the person i know,
the person
you really are deep inside.
the person
i have grown to love.

come closer little one.
and i will tell you tales
of great men
and strong women,
of lives lived
quick and fast.
come little one,
live among them
they are eager to share
the secrets of the
world
as it really is.
and help you cast off the chains
of the world that you have been forced fed.

my eyes
head
and chest hurts.
i have a tooth that needs to be pulled
and a mole that needs looking at.
i can't sleep
and when i stand my knee pops.

i still can't find a job
and my bills are too **** high.
the roof leaks and the
washing machine tears up my clothes.

the dogs don't listen
and there is never any food in the house.
my last pair of jeans is starting rip
and i haven't had a decent
idea to write about for weeks.

i'm tearing through my
***** clothes,
looking for my favorite shirt
and it hits me,
i remember now,
you took it  with you
when you left.
swearing it was yours...


great.
just great.