Long bus rides
Cold, dark nights
Pinpricks of orange lights
I am content
I don't know why
November calls my name
Maybe because it reminds me
Of pleasant hacks
Racing against daylight
Frozen toes
Or maybe it's
Twinkly Christmas lights
The promise of good times to come
Laughter to be had
Love to be shared
Or maybe it's
Old sketchbooks filled with doodles
Books taking me away
Music filling my lungs
Being at peace
Maybe it's
Your lips sealing my fate
A simple question, magic since
Three years later
You've still got a spell on me
You're still my anchor to the world.

I look back on years gone by
Trying to figure out the how and why
How we clung to each other trying to easy the pain
We clung to each other in the cold November rain
The rains have come around again this year
All alone I'm standing here
Head held down
As this cold *** rain splatters on the ground
Making puddles at my feet
As I travel down this dead end street
The cold penetrates my bones
For your not here I'm all alone
Your memories can't keep me warm
Only images of you in my mind are formed
They where desperate times for you and me
But looking back I can clearly see
We where never ment to be
I was only a life raft in your troubled sea
I wish I'd known then I was just your crutch
That I didn't mean that much
For now the only sound that resounds
In this frozen heart of mine, is this cold November rain falling down

Last November I said Time Is Dumb
and you said it sounded poetic and
remembering this made me sick to my stomach
because last November you didn’t wear a watch,
the tick of a clock didn’t sound like a dripping faucet
and each turn of a calendar wasn’t an alarm without a snooze.

We had all of us in front of us for the taking
but we threw ourselves into the wind
which took you to warm arms and me to cool kitchen and bathroom floors
and this started the clocks, which haven’t stopped.

I used to count back to everyday in our demise
and when you asked if I still count I said of course
but a second after I realized I don’t
because it doesn’t matter how many days are behind us
or how many are in front of us
because velocity measures distance over time,
it measures the rate at which an object changes it’s position
and as the seasons have  changed so have we.

We meet in spring and fell in fall,
went on wandering winter walks as snow lightly fell,
in spring we sprung our clocks ahead to meet our end
summer was sliced in separation and sadness,
fall was truth and clocks so fast they broke
winter will be wagering within ourselves
I don’t know what spring will bring besides swimming in distance
and in thoughts of what to do with our time.

There are all these clichés about love and timing
but what if you were not suppose to be
my first love, we both had lessons to learn
you needed to flesh out that surface love and
I needed to rebuild walls before inviting you in.

Times isn’t dumb, we are foolish for letting it control us
but we may have learned this a year too late
for we’ve had our distance and we’ve had our time
and they’ve canceled each other out to create now
and it may be all we have.

Everyone currently needs to realize it's the first of December tomorrow.

I used to constantly think about how this boy broke my heart, and how i will never get over him.

I used to hate my adviser when i was still in high school, thinking she hates me more than i do to her.

I used to feel embarrassed when people stare at me. I was once a paranoid and all i cared about was how people think of me:
"how do i dress?"
"how do i look when i smile?"
"do these boys think i'm cute?"
"these bunch of girls probably hate me"
"i'm so ugly"

I used to cry every night while talking to Him. I forgot to be thankful with what i had.

I used to hate myself, and this hatred nonetheless reflected on my own self. I became a chaotic, impulsive ***** who only thinks about how to fit in in this society.

I used to read sad poems.

I used to write sad poems. Poems about how i hate myself so much that i actually wished to die.

I used to think that my first love had to be some insignificant boy, when it should have been myself.

And now, just a few minutes before the clock hit 12, I finally realized how tough i am to survive in these hardships. I finally learned how to appreciate myself. And by this time, I am so sure about one thing: I'm so in love with myself and all my millions.

I think it's been a year since I took that road trip with Trevor. How lucky am I that was able to experience such serendipitous, powerful love.
The sun setting in Big Sur was every color imaginable, and the beach we stopped on was too real to even describe. I feel so lucky. I keep crying.
It was better than anything I could've ever come up with, because it was real. It was nice. I couldn't even allow myself to feel happy, the floodgates were open and joy just poured out of me.
That was 1 year ago today. My hair is longer and splitting in all different directions, and I'm beginning to notice how dry my skin is. I don't really take my tea with sugar anymore and I'm worried about how big my **** looks in most pants. I water some plants every day and I get to live in a tiny yellow house. I have lots of friends that I'm extremely grateful for that like ***** and **** and nothing and everything in between or around. My flight back home this morning was short. What can I say, I don't want to talk about it.

A little song bird is in my heart and every once in a while I let it sing as it catches on fire. Meanwhile, I think I'm slowly learning how to pet cats. They've got a little scruff around their necks that one can knead and grab.

I got everything I've ever wanted

Sunday morning at the flower shop,
the wind, an icy, burning instrument of authority.

Day moon and I am feeling the compulsion to see flowers,
to gaze vacantly until the delicate colors are burned into my iris's and memory.

November... Blood month, when one must sacrifice their very soul to the Winter-sad.

Annual months cry by, alas, in these
familiar, yester-years. In a flash of
a wipe, a sweep, a brush and a
weep, every monotonous November.


Here, I remember, the last closely
past and present in timely rafts of tears
and laughter. Though I know, I beseech,
the next will be here if I wish it hard enough.


Al’ never, only render, the unfathomable
words that stand by it. And hug it. And
kiss it. And give it a tinge of worth under
the watchful eye of the wintry night.


Aid me, please, in a boundless voyage
of wonder through winding trips of ache.
In four walls of acid, sour senses of taste
soothed by toxic smoke of illogical fate.


Don’t seek me too hard or fast in
a look. That will tear me in two. That
will crucify you too. During life and death,
as I and my thoughts
are detestable.

hello there icy wind
who hasn't kissed me since April
& left completely by May
still you have the audacity
to blow
me
away