Some days I don’t want to leave the cinema
I sit dead centre,
hope the screen will fill my field of vision,
each speaker will cover my ears
in numbing sound
allowing thrills and broken hearts
of others’ made up tales
to supplant my own for two hours
and change

The dark holds me anonymous,
lets me depart and drift,
try on the moods in lost safety
so when credits roll
choked tears and shiny blisses
are returned, rewound, reset
for what comes next

somedays i'm more scared
than       the  others

more susceptible to the
diseases of the mind

that lay their bare hands
on my chest and
                     weave it down

hammer on the uncertainty
of the coming morning

meld the steel that dangles
from the ceiling

waiting to pounce at any
suffocating moment of
                          failure and dread

in the dead of the night
when the sun awakens

and ever so suddenly
the moon burst into flames

have all the stars fall in a
fiery ball of madness

circling the streets sniffing
at the despair of the
                            crying children

perching on the threads of
looming crisis of faith and
                            all things miserable

the melancholy of which is
lost on the swaying trees and
                           the singing birds

that is all over the news in
small fine print

while an angry man on the TV screams at people for not paying attention

over and over
again and again; until
it is time for the magic
of make belief:

only if magic was a real thing
so many things would have been
possible

the kind that lives in your
head and prospers in your mind

the kind Charlie Kaufman
knows about.

i want someone to notice the way i laugh at the wrong parts of movies
and know what weird thought i had about the scene
to hold my hand and kiss my dimple and write about how witty i am
we can joke about it every time we rewatch it

i want someone to read to me under a fading sky in the wintertime
as our breath curls around our throats and it's hard to keep their voice steady
but the words are pretty, and so are their fingers as they wrap around my hair
sylvia plath for the darker days,
robert frost when the sun starts peeking through

i want someone who will dye my hair in shades of pink and green
our noses curling at the scent of the overwhelming bleach
laughing hysterically as we get high on the fumes and try to be quiet when we hear my mom's footsteps outside the bathroom
i'll cut their bangs choppy to match

i want someone who will sing duets with me to a blown out car stereo
as we drive aimlessly through the nights of this ghost-town-to-be
i'll steal the aux cord more than once, and mess with the windows like a kid
but they'll tolerate it because they like the wind
almost as much as they like me

i want someone to dance with me in the rain like we're in a bad romance novel
and enjoy it anyway because it smells like promises (and i keep those)
we can waltz badly and laugh until it hurts to laugh, and then we'll just sway
i'll splash them with puddles and they'll splash back harder
and we can ditch our clothes and get hypothermia together

maybe one day i'll want them enough to have them

but for now i'll watch movies by myself and still laugh at all the wrong parts, knowing that i'm weirdly clever

i'll read poetry in my own voice under the grey sky cut open by leafless branches, because it's pretty

i'll dye my own hair and cut my own choppy bangs and i'll feel untouchable

i'll scream 'bohemian rhapsody' by myself driving down main street in the middle of the night

and i'll just wait for it to rain so i can catch in my mouth and pretend it was a kiss from the sky

It's not about the love or the hate.
It's about being able to resonate.
It's not about the fame, fortune, or gold.
It's about trying to tell a story in a world
where it seems every story's already been told. And don't be afraid to tell us
if you don't understand. We get it.
No one is going to relate to every painting, movie, or band.
At the end of the day, all we want to do
is help you escape.
And if we inspire or entertain you
along the way, then all the pain is worth it.
No matter what the naysayers say.

It ain't as easy as the A B C
It ain't the same as the movies
Have you ever wondered how it'll feel
Walking hand in hand down by the sea
It's been too long since I've had these dreams
When will I tell you how I feel

it's sad
how it's all true
it's no dream, no fantasy
it's the reality
and it doesn't matter
how bad you want it
to be a dream
it is
and it will always be
nothing but the truth

See me now,
So you can’t picture me later.
Let the blue light move across my vinyl skin.
Trace the slew of whispered pros down my spine,
too soft to hear.
Pull my hair until you tear out the pages that I won’t read you,
Because I won’t read you.

I’m fine with watching the movie and never reading the book.
Maybe skimming the first few pages, then leaving the rest to collect dust on the nightstand...
Without so much as a bookmark.

For now, our legs on cotton sheets are moving on the screen.
A flash of images refracts into our minds,
only to be lost by next week.
A predictable plot.
No suspense of a next chapter.
No rich velvet of ink on our eyes.
They say the written word is dead,
But I don’t know…
maybe someday I’ll try to read something…
But not tonight-

Hit Play.