It was once
A never-ending-everlasting
forever-staying-never-breaking
never-sna­pping-never-changing
thick as maple syrup fresh from the tree
long enough to tie up the galaxies together
TWICE
this was the hope I had.

I threw it around you
the seventh time we met,
and I tied one end to your left ankle
and the other end to the space in my heart that I had
saved just for you
I didn't know I was saving it for you.

Because I had no idea
that I would end up caring this much.
That I would write poems about you until three in the morning
and turn those poems into songs
only to forget the melody.

That you would be the reason
for my curled up legs sitting in the corner
and the floor a sea.
My floor is still a sea.

And no one warned me
that you would be the root of this
black tree that is thriving inside my head
despite the dull axe that thumps all day long
yet produces
only bruises
no scratches
I have enough of those,
because apparently the consequence of love
is pain.

And I know a lot about pain.
My hands will be red and blistered for an eternity
from the rope burns you gave me, because
every time you strayed,
I would tug
and then you'd stay.
But your pulls got harder
and your left ankle stronger...
so did mine.
I learned to stop picking at fresh wounds
to let them callous instead
my hands are as thick as a bear
and I've got you to thank for that.

I thought
that you would never stray again
after that nasty big cut you got on your forehead
from wandering too far
you crept up the edge of the cliff
inch by inch
but you crept too far.
You returned with that cut and
swore you'd stay yet
now your wound is reopening
and your big toes are already off the cliff
and this rope I tied around you
this once massive rope
this once massive hope
is now
a stringy little thread.

My hands are shaking and
my wrists are bleeding
but I'm still holding on.
Because my real hope
is anchored to something
much stronger than the both of us.

We had not spoke or wrote
for many long days
turning to even longer weeks
which grew into the longest months
until I could no longer weep
and again I found peace
in my once restless sleep.

But you came a calling
and a texting me
just when my hands
finally started feeling clean
spinning them words like
"I miss you"
"I just wanted to see"
wicked turn a phrases
pierce ears like crooked hooks
they could turn a man's thoughts
like the pages of an ancient book.

Your fingers gliding gently
over now so hazy memories
we meet again amidst a fog
but your eyes, your eyes
they do not remember me
they see a man foul in form
ugly, twisted flesh, weak and pathetic
ripping his own heart from his chest

This is not me you see (no not at all)
but a protrusion of your own ill-regard
you slithered on your belly like a serpent
begging to be tread upon
so I moved like certain kinds of dances
around tribal fires
determined not to slip but inevitably I did
how dare you hiss "Liar" at me.

I'm just a man
working on being a better one
I don't expect you to understand
cause I never said I could fly
so why the **** did you think
I was superman.

Where were you that frightful day,
when they flew the planes into the towers?
Can you remember the exact place,
or even the exact minute and hour?

Where were you on that dreadful day,
when millions wept and mourned as one?
What did you do, what did you say,
or did you pray under the rising sun?

Where were you on that horrific day,
when the world stopped turning and TV's tuned in.
Did you sit and watch from far away,
or did you call family to see if they were okay?

Where were you on that grim day,
when two thousand nine hundred and seventy seven died?
Did you see the look on the peoples faces,
as they watched the people fall from up high?

Where were you on that sunny day,
when the smoke cleared and the flag was raised?
When a country stood tall, united as one,
unbreakable under the evening sun, and prayed.

Where were you on that September day,
when an unbreakable country grew stronger?
You are in our heart, forever and always,
victims of 9/11, our memories live on.

A rose atop the grenadine stairs
Signifies a portrait of love aflame
In memories we wish for the impossible
In life we wish to surpass reality
"Let dreams inspire life," the opportunist sighed.

When you're nice enough
No one gives you a second glance
Shrieks from down below
Make my pencil move slow
And the heart beat a double step
To a dance floor illuminated by the drunken

She nods," Another night, another life, another dollar."
Musing on this, I tip back
Seeing the slack in her black neck tie
Loosen
Revealing God's only mystery to me

Instead of five paces
Lets make it ten
I want to live longer
The sun is in just the right spot - the moon too -
To die today
"Don't you bet on no heaven boy," the preacher snickered.

"I only made one bet in my life," I said," And that
Bet was with the devil himself."

"Who won?" the crowd asked cheering.

"Who you think?" I answered back yelling.

A hush
Is more sacred
Then
Butterfly wings or
The reflection of the sun
On a moving river or
The wind through the needles
Of a young pine or even
The limp ear lobe of a naive deer

Since the seer is away on business
We will have to make do with
The good book and a bottle of whiskey

"Whiskey?!" shouted the bartender, "No one's
Ordered a whiskey water around here for YEARS!"

"I believe it," I muttered, "The only thing that suits me."

"Hombre?" he whispered, "You from around here."

"I'm from around here as much as anyone else is," I said, "We all just
Passing through."

Buzzer goes off
Ringer echoes through the hallway
Flash of light stabs through the pink window shades
A moan
From a man
Whose name is not known
Down near where
The car was parked last night

Instead of love
Give them faith
Instead of hate
Give them hope
Instead of justice
Give them free will

Reason will have to be the dagger
They **** each other with

Deep set cloud white in its sluggish passing
I knew a woman once that used to be my mother
We all change, don't we?
A number is just a number until it's a name

Take care, dear collide
Stores are emptying
And so is the bride
When the winter sets in
And the winter pass is filled
Take hold to whatever you've got
Every minute is our time

Tell me anything,
Anything but Reality.

Tell me I’m not made of skin and bones.
Humor me.

Tell me it’s not flesh
That you see
It is a rare substance
Made to hold a mass of creativity

Tell me I do not breathe,
My vitality, air does not sustain.
It is only pulled in constantly
To give rhythm to my brain.

Tell me my heart does not beat
That the pounding only
comes
From a billion butterfly feet.

Tell me I do not bleed
That what pours out
of my veins
Is only liquid speed.

Tell me I do not fear
That it’s only a mechanical
misunderstanding,
Or a malfunctioning gear.

Tell me I do not cry
That the moon simply controls
the water
That spills out from my eye.

Tell me I’m not helpless
That my emotions do not reign
Tell me I’m not vulnerable
That an illusion is all pain.

Tell me Love
I’ll never miss
That the cobwebs of my heart
Can be whispered gone by a single kiss

Tell me I’m the One,
That such a thing is real
Tell me that the sun
Rises at my will

Tell me I am constant
Always on your mind
That another girl like me
Is impossible to find.

Tell me there’s this puzzle
And only I can fit
That I’ll always hold some part of you
At least a little bit

Tell me I’m indispensable.
That no one can take my place
That you’ll never let yourself forget
The details of my face.


And if it’s not too much to ask
Tell me one last lie
Tell me I’m immortal
Until the day I die.

We often think that the baggage we carry
Needs to be unloaded
Onto someone else
Something else
Like a hobby
Or a lover
"You can't have me if you can't handle my past"
But what, my dear,
Does your past have to do with what's near?
Did your baggage wake you up and buy you coffee this morning?
Did it put its jacket over a puddle so your shoes wouldn't get wet
Does it whisper sweet nothing's into your ear when you lie down
Tell me,
Does your baggage watch you paint
Does it love your beauty when you are vulnerable
Yet also when you're strong
Your baggage is not you

I will not lift it off of your shoulders
(Only God can do that)
But I will teach you make it weigh less
If you'd just give me the chance

It's not the way you are, dear.
It's the way my emotions reach their peak at 2 a.m.
when I'm alone with my blank canvas and endless list of fears
and you're going on the adventure I so desperately want to join you on.

It's the way my cobwebbed thoughts and overzealous daydreams intertwine
like my collarbones ache to be danced on,
while you're being the kind of free I've written about for years
and shedding your past of broken promises and disappointments.

It's the way I constantly grasp for a firm hold on a spark,
any kind of sweet nothings or a flick of an eye that tells me you want this
as bad as I do.
You're terrified of the future and I'm terrified of my past.

There's galaxies between our faults but inches between our lips
for a weekend, and it's the happy ending I crave
but it's only salt on my wounds when you have to pack your bag
with work clothes and every stumbled over "I love you."

This X marks the spot of where I used to feel okay
and your birth mark has lipstick stains from my rituals of
fixing this but they're fading every day I don't get to
bury my face in your sweatshirt and wrap myself in you.

This is my failed attempt at getting used to being attached but alone
At being at my most vulnerable state
And being in love with someone who will never understand.

Tell me, then, why isn't this working if opposites attract?