Everyone seems like they were so much older when they were my age,
They always knew what to do,
But for me, for now,
My brain is still buffering

I can't quite make it one full day,
without wishing I were a kid so I could go out to play.
But as a kid looking at the men standing tall,
I always wanted to be one of them,

But no, it's not just what it appeared to be,
From my vantage point in my beech tree,
For I'm still the same kid, only two feet tall,

Packing my life into little boxes
Did I forget something?
I caress parts I can't take with me.
People, cats, bed are staying.

It's 2,000 miles away
What I wanted but also not.
They'll be there for a phone call,
but still far out of eye shot.

And I know that it's time.
I've done all I needed here.
Time to go, so why cry
When it's time to disappear?

The suitcases are full.
Soon to go out the door.
I'm left feeling hollow.
I've left my fears on the floor.

Again, I find myself at home
The home I made last year
And while it hasn't changed too much,
That I have is my fear.

I loved this place and made it mine,
And tied myself to it;
But now that I've returned, I'm lost
And not like the rest, I admit.

Will I find my place? Or will that only come
With friends who are my home?
Am I isolated now, and is this why
My home feels so alone?

Perhaps this feeling soon will pass
And maybe it'll get better;
But for the moment, I'm alone,
And can't seem to find my tether.

I feel like I should be excited,
Or at the very least a bit sad,
My heart should be ignited,
My thoughts driving me mad.

Instead there's silence in my mind,
It's another ordinary day,
Though now I have new friends to find,
As we drive our car away.

They told me here my life would start,
Where experiences make us old,
Passions and people will shape my heart,
My story is waiting to be told.

Yet my story came long before,
It did not begin in hallowed halls,
And for some reason I thought it'd be more,
Instead of rising my heart falls.

A puff of smoke,
Fell the air,
I lie on the ground
Her eyes and tangled hair

Take a breath
Take a kiss
Let me tell you I love you
Even more, how you, I miss

Rest,
Hold om
A week's over
It'll all be gone

Take a breath
Take a kiss
Give a hug
Give some bliss

And all of these
Must repeat
To feel at ease.

education is a necessity
but is placed as a luxury
i blame capitalism

were we
sunbleached concrete
or were we
flakes under eyes
deep in
the spring?

you might have been
a bug bite
or a whisper of
tap water on
my dirt stained
leather sandals

(no arch support
to be found
under my feet
this summer)

watch slowly as
the whitewashed
brick wall starts
to crumble and fall

were we not so
colorful that
even sunbleached concrete
found a rainbow under
our triple refined
driftwood bench?

(driftwood
that's a good
metaphor try
to remember it.)

there's just something
about the air hovering
directly above the cleanest
pavement you've ever seen
something dry and
slightly hopeless

something that looks
like every season
took its toll on
the sidewalk
and then left to
just left of the right.

when was the last time
you threw out the dress
and wore the
garment bag instead?

(i'll tell you here and now
it's not the most
comfortable idea but
it is an idea.)

we're all so highly
pigmented that
we give each other
headaches
we give
ourselves
headaches sometimes
don't we?

the whole world is so
loud with color
but i have discovered a
cure so extraordinary
it has never been recommended
before or since this moment.

falling asleep
on sunbleached concrete
is sure to wash the color
from where it pours
out the folds of your
knees and elbows and
guaranteed to clean your
skin of all things pertaining
to any season besides
your papery old age.

it was uncomfortably
hot out today

i put my cardboard box
down on the pavement
and squinted into
the midspring sun

grateful for the
knowledge
of the truth
the ukulele truth
and nothing but
the truth

like i could
scream every
johnny cash song
i've never learned
at every pathetic smoker
disobeying the signs

and i understood
oh but did i
understand
why they're always
pushing friday
on midweek radio shows

it's thursday
at 3pm
and guess what?
now we're free

(to roll in the grass
and soak up the sunshine
or maybe just
take a nap)

tell your winter
clothes where they
can stuff it
and your hick
christmas lights
to get lost

there's a pitcher
of unsweetened
ice tea with just a
dash of lemon juice
waiting for me when
i get home

and a cracked
front step to
nod off on once
it gets cooler

and even these
june bugs
out in may can't
bring me down.

the person who decided
to put their old
movie theater seats
in front of the
swimming pool
was a gosh **** genius.

and i often think
about streetlights
harmonizing with
brick walls.

(don't you hate
travel, though?)

yes, i do
but to get out
of my mind i'd
go straight to anywhere.

(i've missed this
but now i know
that straight lines
aren't static.)

THE SOLUTION
(you see)
IS PAIN
(fully obvious)

I DON'T KNOW WHY
WE'RE STILL SUFFERING

are we hurting
or are we back
to where pain is
felt as strength?

when you see
blood
do you see
regret?

you should
i should.

STOP PLAYING
THAT **** PIANO
I CAN HEAR HOW
OUT-OF-TUNE YOUR
FINGERS ARE WHEN
YOUR EARS DON'T LISTEN.

(and don't you know
that when you lay your
voice flat on the sidewalk
it sinks in the cracks?)

there's nothing like putting
poetry in a music notation
book to make you
realize how useless you are.

i have my reasons
all written in
hieroglyphics that
i can't read
and i have more
reasons
all written in
shades of lonely and
ceiling tiles.

so sue me
for the truth
i'm just afraid
of being hurt.

Calliope showed up in my window after a night on the town,
A face full of anguish begging for help.

She brought along with her fragments of my past, spewing vulgarities like I had never grown accustomed to,

The night opened up to new possibilities.

New found companions at my side, I went into the intoxicated haze of confusion surrounding the sixth floor,

This is my adulthood, I cannot turn back.

At the end of the hallway is safety, yet in front of me is my oldest and truest friend who I cannot abandon.

Calliope came calling about half past one, August Eleven, No more innocence.