Do you ever have a moment
that suddenly it     SLAMS             into you
                                                             ­     you          are    alive.
And seven billion people     write the same story. You wonder,
  alone in the crowded Seattle-Tacoma airport, if someone
   will ever hold your empty heart       like the man in a gray business suit
   and the woman wearing a striped neckerchief. Will someone ever be upset your flight didn’t depart at the expected time, and give            the bouquet of rhododendrons to a stranger. Will someone               ever burst into a full sprint
upon first glance at you, deliriously happy that you are
      home.
Will someone ever    acknowledge that
  you are alive,   breathing for a change, wishing    for a slow dance,
loss of insanity. Will someone ever, in the passengers
   of the world,
                   notice you.

gentle, but hesitant
he lifts the china to his lips,
and like the tea scolds his tongue,
he punishes himself.
at this time,10:30 a.m, weekdays
she brewed the same Seattle cinnamon
that now flooded his system with her memory;
through Puget Sound and
evaporated into constant cloudy skies that pour
rain into the mind of a man of many mistakes;
last of which being losing her and
the comfort she brought;
something as constant and
as taken for granted as
the weather.

Nights and city lights remind me of wheels, homemade meals, and a naked mattress where secret vows were stolen from each other’s drunken tongues

Days and sun rays bring me back to parks, kiss marks; with flower wreaths sewn from beneath my knees and soft body spots in grass so sharp I can still feel it against my skin

And it all hurts so much

Golden flecks of man-made stars

Shimmering against the concrete

Auriferous bulbs left to flash

Off and on in Morse code

Beacons to guide us safely home

Juxtapose them to the heavenly body

Illuminate the shadows

Make our land shine new

Heartbeats in rhythm of the moving cars

The passion of the sun and grace of the moon erupt in shinning brilliance

the aroma of the dead and dying
lingers heavy in my bed,
yesterdays shirt and tomorrows hate draped across a chair like falling flowers,
like the ones on my desk, picked
with joy and anger, but that has long since faded and wilted,
giving way to the dead and dying, like me,
wrapped tight in blankets,
clinging to the tiny voice of mother, on the other end of the phone,
repeating the refrain, the chorus, homage to the homesick,
"Everything will be all right, with time."

"you’re so cute! why are you single?"
because my crippling expectations of romantic relationships
are consistently juxtaposed to the disappointment of swiping left
or right, double tapping, it’s a match!
and hoping to find a sharp needle in this **** of a haystack
only to find a blunt object blubbering
"are you masculine?"
because the chunk of flesh dangling between my thighs
or the beard on my chin
or the hair on my chest
isn’t an obvious dictation of
my status as identifying male,
because “masculinity” has now been decided by the masses
to be left to the chiseled neanderthals laden with testosterone
too doped up on their post-workout endorphins
to do anything about the internalized misogyny
that costs lives on the daily.
i used to piece together outfits like puzzles
hoping that when it’s solved, maybe,
possibly,
on the off chance “you’ve” nothing better to look at,
"you" might notice me.
because i was raised in a society that taught me
looking good would get “your” attention
so you might want to open up the box
and begin piecing together the real puzzle of why we
treat our brothers and sisters like **** for
not conforming to your black and white box of
"masculine" expectations

"you’re so cute! why are you single?"
because i will continue to express myself as i see fit.

keep me close
it’s been seattle in my head
and i can’t quite find my way
back to a sunny coast

i need you to hold my hand
and pretend i’m not crying
when you can feel my tears
soaking the sleeve of your sweater

i know i’m a writer
but i’m not always good
at translating the language of my head
into words you’ll understand

sometimes
i just need you to keep me close
and hold my hand
even when you don’t understand