Some people are writers
some are speakers or preachers.

Some try to do both
but one side of them always presses forward
as if to say,
This is who I really am
This is my natural gift.

The restaurant is quiet, relatively, the one that
Maya told you about yesterday at lunch
She and her boyfriend mentioned “Three’s Company”—
No not the show—
And how we should go out there sometime
“Yeah, maybe we should”
You said because you don’t know how to say no

The lighting is warm, like an Olive Garden
But there’s a draft on your neck and your hands are cold because there is no one standing next to you
You wish you were there instead; even though this place looks nice, you don’t know if it actually is
And you start to feel the vibrations

Before you psych out and walk out, you sit down at a table and wait for an underpaid waitress—
There she is—
“Hello, my name is Elif and welcome to Three’s Company. What would you like to order?”
You spot her nametag—
“Excuse me, would you happen to be of Turkish descent?”
Her eyes light up—
“Wow, how’d you know that? Everyone just thinks I’m American.”
Remember, she has to be nice—
“I like exploring languages cultures. I find it fascinating that we’re all the same, yet so radically different in our own way.” This doesn't actually make sense, but it sounds interesting.
Her eyebrows dance. Cute—
“Well Mr. Philosopher, what can our establishment provide for you today?”
Quick, glance at the board—
“American Classic. No pickles”
“Coming right up!”

Her pen damages the atmosphere for a few moments, and then she’s gone
You almost feel like you’re human until you remember she’s underpaid to smile and small talk
And your hands start shaking again; look I’m sorry kid
I like you
But you’re not much company

i'm doing better than my ex
...
i think

party there
and near
to passage
they'll get
will not
to vote
but abstain
nil passion
in parliament
but save
their constitution
with cries  
of hegemony
that won't  
quake under
debate in
those sessions

Fear standing atop crumbled clifftop.
A fleeting breeze whispers to me "what’s next?"
My Earth corrodes, this tearwater runoff

lifting fertile soil. Memories cropped;
despaired debris remains in frame. Perplexed
fear standing atop crumbled clifftop.

Two arms spread wide, frantic, balance I sought.
"Resist," whispers the breeze, "and breathe, reflect:
my Earth corrodes, this tearwater runoff

you precipitated; my ruin you wrought."
My toes begin to peek: the sea. Obsessed
fear. Standing atop crumbled clifftop

we teeter with unease that love means naught
when trust already sunk below the crest.
My Earth corrodes. This tearwater runoff

shall carve away our ache, and so we fought
against the chance that our love could contest
fear. Standing atop crumbled clifftop,
my Earth corrodes this tearwater runoff.

The Savior

There once was a girl
Who visited Death
On her birthing day
Her heart had almost stopped
Her lungs breathed almost not
And Death carried her throughout the hospital that day.

There once was a girl
Who visited Death
On her fifth birthday
Pig tails up
She’d gotten stuck
In the branches of their tree,
Hanging with the leaves
She would choke before she would land
And Death had cradled her within his hands.

There once was a girl
Who visited Death
On her fourth grade field trip
They’d hiked up a mountain
Some kids pushed her down and
Tumbling she hit her head and broke bones.
Death had pulled her close and whispered she needed to go home.

There once was a girl
Who visited Death
The summer after freshman year
She’d gone swimming down by the pier
When she’d cramped underwater
And her lungs were unsure
Death had hoisted her ashore.

There once was a girl
Who visited Death
A fortnight before her 21st birthday
She’d gone to a party, people were all getting laid.
He’d given her a drink
Soon after she’d thrown up in the sink.
He seemed awful sweet
Pulling her into the room to lie down.
Until he started pulling her pants down
She wanted to scream but he covered her mouth
Instead of screams she squeaked like a mouse.
He pulled out a knife
Threatened her life
And had his way with her.
Pressing the knife against her throat
She soon began to gasp and choke.
Death comforted her until it was all over.

There once was a girl
Who visited Death
On Christmas Eve
Just turned 25
She was dead inside.
That boy from before
Who called her a *****
Had been calling her his
She’d cried every night begging for future bliss.
That night he’d burst in
Drunk and full of sin
Throwing her down to the floor
She begged for no more
And he called her a *****
Before throwing her out into the snow
Death pulled her out from sinking below.

There once was a girl
Who visited Death
While working inside
Someone drove by
Everyone was tongue tied
As they shot right through the glass
Bullets flying past.
She felt it before she saw it
She knew she’d been hit
Ironically by a .30
She begged to live she still had things to do and say
Death had blocked the bullet that day.

There once was a girl
Who visited Death
6 months after 35
Working up until midnight
Furiously typing away
Someone snuck around wanting to play
Just escaped prison
Wanting some fun
Knock out then knock up
But she had her luck
And attacked till he couldn’t move
She’d started to push and shove
But he took the gun
And shot her in the stomach
Hoping she’d bleed out
She ran till she collapsed to the ground
Death stayed until she was found

The Spectator

There once was a girl
Who saw Death
Watched him close that kittens eyes
As it let out its final mew and he let out a sigh.
Cradling it’s soul in the palm of his hand
He sent it on it’s way, to it’s promised land.
She worried about her life
In her 40th year and her 40th night
Was she going to die?
A far fetched idea
But then how could she see Death within the crowd of people?
She turned back again
But Death had disappeared to the oblivion.

There once was a girl
Who saw Death
Hold her sisters hand.
So in her final moments she wouldn’t be sad.
She felt sorrow in his eyes
As he glanced away to the side.
She watched as he drained her life
And sent her to her afterlife.
Her sister was 10 years older
And at 55 her sisters life was over.

There once was a girl
Who saw Death
On her 50th birthday
She wasn’t sure if she should be happy or scared
But at least someone remembered, someone cared
She stood there gazing at the gift
50 dried up roses laying in the mist.
She gathered them together
And put them in a vase on her dresser.

There once was a girl
Who saw Death
Walking around a graveyard
As though he was a guard.
Protecting each of those who had passed
Appalled at what he had amassed.
At 55
She realized death wasn’t stealing lives.

The Speaker

There once was a girl
Who spoke to Death
5 years after she’d forgiven him
The sun had begun to descend and dim
She posed a question
“Do you come here often?”
He replied “Only with the one i love.”

There once was a girl
Who spoke to Death
Being 65 was hard
She was scarred and marred and starred
“Does everyone look like this at my age?”
“Only the ones who love instead of hate.”

There once was a girl
Who spoke to Death
“Do you know when I’m going to die?”
“You mean when you’ll say goodbye?
70 is just an illusion in your mind.
But yes, would you like to know?”
“No I’d rather leave it alone.
I’ll just live to the fullest each day.”
“I figured that’s what you were going to say.”

There was once a girl
Who spoke to Death
“I turned 75 today.”
“I know, you complained it was too bright so i made the Sun go away.”
“How long do i have left?”
His response was swift and deft
“That depends on if you live it to the fullest.”

The Survivor

There once was a girl
Who fell in love with Death
He had helped her
Whenever she began to hurt.
He brought her gifts
When her heart was amiss.
At 80 she realized
That for decades she had agonized.
When her love was right there
Brushing her hair.
She reached up and grabbed his bony fingers
She spoke softly but the words still lingered.

The Stagnant

There once was a girl
Who Death was in love with
He’d been there for her whole life
Harming any who gave her strife.
She was what he looked forward to
When he was feeling hated for what he had to do.
So when she turned 85
He had no reason to lie.
He told her calmly and clearly
That he held her very dearly.
And that today was the day she’d pass
But he would wait, so the day would last
But when time came, he held her tight
Knowing she wouldn’t put up a fight.
In her last fleeting moments he told her a secret
Because he knew he no longer had to keep it.
And so, softly he whispered in her ear
The very same words she’d meant for him to hear.

i'm a speaker
at a railway station
of a foreign country.
people is talking
and sound is bad
but if you concentrate
enough you can hear
my voice through the noise.

Nobody knows
What future holds
(We never get old.)

Nobody knows
How tomorrow goes
(We never say, "No.")

Somebody goes
Forgo abandoned homes
(Why don't we go?)