If it has ended now
And we stop being friends,
Just tell me clearly please;
For love has blinded me,
I will not plainly see
That it has ended here.
I'm such a hopeful man
And will keep dreaming on,
So, say for certain please-
That this sweet friendship died;
There is no going back.
Too late to admit wrong,
(I am the guilty one
The fault was always mine).
Tell me to forget hope-
That the walls between us
Are stone hard, fiery hot,
And they will never fall.
Tell me to reject you,
And to not trouble you
That I should ramble off
And just go away far.
So, say it bluntly please,
If it has happened that
We are no longer friends.

I'm tired of the sad songs
And the watercolor paintings
I can't stop writing about you
I promised her I was done
Agreed you were no good for me
You're the opposite of everything
I tell myself I want and need
But you won't leave leave my heart
And for the first time in years
I want to draw all the time
I started dancing again
And I don't know what it is about you
But I can't seem to let you go
So I'm writing and singing songs
And art is everywhere again
And my pointe shoes are taking a beating
My beating heart won't stop
Calling out your name

I met a dancer once
She looked at me with her twinkling eyes
ready as a bird for her flight
She moved swiftly
like water reaching the shore
She came to me and asked
if I'll catch her when she falls
but she is so elegant with what she does
how could she ever fall?
'Sometimes, it happens J. Now wait for my call'
she moved gracefully
destroyed imaginary barriers
Kicked her demons away
I met her out of luck.
She then danced to the beat of my words

Sea captain who brings with him an air of comfort,
first mate, confetti egg shell,
metal-framed reservoir.
Cradle my head, pull my hand,
Stand.
Solve the equation for me. Don't.
Be my carriage horse. Roam free.
Burn the papers. Lock them away.
Join the feast. Serve us, **** the beast.

Begot, begetter
A stain-glass window, more like a painting
wet with thinner.
Broken calculator, hard-to-getter.
Man the weather--man the ship. Don't, I can do it myself.
Hideous, antique bird-feeder
favoring the magpies above all and doves the least.
Join the feast. Let us leave the little
beast alone, they've done nothing truly bad! because
Just a little cut doesn't hurt.
As long as the blood doesn't spurt.
As long as Sylvia is my dead friend.

As long as you're an indescribable friend,
always there among the bramble
of the old flower field, abandoned long ago.
In the 30s.

Sea captain who brings sun, my
first mate of all singing first mates, of
all operatic dancers.
Dance with me.

I love the way she dances
any time the music plays
but even when there's silence
she dances anyway

It might just be her eyes that dance
sparkling and beguiling
or it might just be her mouth this time
A half-grin, maybe smiling

Sometimes when she dances
it's with fire, unrestrained
Spinning the blaze around her
to burn the fear away

Other times she dances slow
those days that she feels safe
Sharing secrets long held close
from another time and place

I love the way she dances
any time the music plays
Slow, ablaze or silent
I love them all the same

I'm done with the pain
I'm done with the hurt
In my muscles
Nerves
Bones

The inflicted pain
The stretching
Brings me no joy
I hate it

In 13 years
What have I got?
No better
Only worse

Injuries beyond belief
The pysio
For the pain endured
Every week!

Do I stay?
Do I go?
How do I decide
Loyalty of life itself?

I can't,  I really can't!

I wish I was a dancer
A ballerina.
I wish my body was
Capable of grace.
1,2,3...1,2,3

I'd point my toes
They'd curl under,
Head held high.
Smile. Sigh. Repeat.
1,2,3...1,2,3

My mind can spin
Tales of love, but
The story of my body
Remains unwritten.
1,2,3...1,2,3

If I had talent, I’d be a musician

I’d play for small crowds or big arenas

I’d be able to command the attention of an audience

I’d charge buckets of money or sometimes not charge a thing at all

If I had guts, I’d be an actress

I’d wear designer dresses to all the award shows

I’d become any character anyone could come up with and

I’d even move to LA or New York

I’d hide from paparazzi and enjoy every second

If I had grace, I’d be a dancer

I’d glide across the floor, making every step look effortless

I’d feel the music through my toes and in my heart

I’d have perfect pirouettes and flawless leaps

I’d be so beautiful

If I was braver I’d be a poet

I can write poems until my fingers bleed

String words together on lined paper

Watch them as they tumble from my pen

Sometimes I even wake up in the middle of the night

Just to write down some lines or stanzas

But no on ever reads them

I keep them tucked away in notebook after notebook

Hidden by school notes or doodles

I leave them all to collect dust

If I was braver, I’d be a poet

Instead I hide my poetry away from prying eyes

Out of fear, I let the pages rot

Until I lose myself in their wilted corners

And I can feel my soul begin to wilt as well

Through the rhymes I choose to ignore

To the poetry I give pieces of myself that no one will ever see

If I was braver, I’d be a poet

-JE