you once told me why birds bless us with an early warning of morning
it's been so long, i've forgotten
when i hear the birds in the morning, i still think of you

i've been
immersing myself in films
to escape the present
but

(disney's "Hercules" reminds me of you
i watched it three times
this week
just to catch glimpses of you

ten minutes into "Captain America"
a mix of salt and water created streams on my cheeks
accompanied by silent sobs
how could a fictional character
so beautifully
capture your essence?)

it seems i've
managed to trap myself in my past
that is you

"have a unique morning!"
the train conductor announces
after each stop

thank you showing such cheerfulness
but no thanks
i haven't slept in over 24 hours
spent them chugging out an essay worth 40% of my grade
another worth 20
my printer was especially  uncooperative
my bus was 20 minutes late
and now I'm holding back anxious tears
how many points does he take off for late papers again?
5
10
15?
thank you, sir.
but no thanks
my morning is unique enough to last me about 5 weeks

Horrified by my reflection:
A cynical, disillusioned idealist

Horrified,
Indifferent

You were a
Silly boy
Spouting nonsense of hope and humanity

Silly Boy
Your sun-kissed caramel eyes cannot move me
I am stone
Your goofy grin cannot give me hope
I am empty

Your eruptive, childish laugh will not change me
Stunned
It echoes through my being,
Infectious
This smile is easy

Chocolate brown orbs meet honey-hued ones
Hopelessness meets hope
Tarnished meets pure

Silly Boy
Your better tomorrow doesn't seem so "silly" anymore

For, if the world has produced such beauty in you
Surely, it cannot be so bad
For, if there exists a beauty that can melt this frozen heart,
Surely, there must be hope

"i'm not a poet"
i grinned sheepishly, in apology, and refused to meet his gaze
"i know, jo. no one here is. just give us a metaphor for love"
irritated
i complied, spewed out cliched nonsense
he chose his next victim

but you see, professor, i don't think you understood
beyond the exterior of (unintentional) rebellious sarcasm
with four words, i was telling you
"i am no wordsmith
i cannot beautify my pain
create meaning from this chaotic mess of a world
i do not know love
death, tragedy, true loss"

now, do you see?
"i'm not a poet"

I know a sadness so consuming, I am left empty
She thrusts herself into the pit of your stomach, the tips of your fingers
Claws her way into your mind
stupid  useless  ugly  unloved
She is the broken record player on which these inner-devils are played
She is the inevitable darkness that spoils your soul
The black tar that contaminates all those you touch

You have become her
You are now the constant burden your mother carries on her back
(You've already sacrificed too much for me)
The ice-cold shoulder that saddens your ailing father
(You deserve a better daughter)
The anxious palpitations of your little sister's heart
(I'm supposed to be your protector)

I'm so sorry

There is a town by the name of Betuty.
Many do quite envy,
For it is what they cannot be:
A beacon upon a hill for all to see.

Colorful houses, none too plain.
Never even a drop of rain.
Yet all the harvests do go well,
As if under a spell.  

I do not envy it.
It is a frightful place to be.

Its’ citizens dance around a fire
screeching and laughing as they go.
Many times there are echoing screams,
of people like me
when caught
lingering.

Watching.

I cannot seem to get enough.

The night is my cape
a bush my refuge.

A misstep.
A broken twig.

They notice.

She knows too much.

I run and run and run from this town named Betuty.
I promise myself to never come back.

I never leave.

someday
maybe today
tomorrow
fifty years from now
this collection of poems will cease to grow

when such a day arrives
will someone please sign me off
but first:
(1994-20XX)

(1994-)
perhaps
(1994-2012)
is more accurate

but our world quantifies our lives by the number of heart beats
of inhale-exhales
so let me ask you this, World:
you can revive my heart with electric shocks
force air into my collapsing lungs,
but what can you do for my soul?
nothing

and so i claim the right
to write:
(1994-2012)