I've been with you.
You stared at me from across the room with a smile that spoke of the silence that we were not breaking.
A silence we didn't mean to fill as four years had torn us apart and I can not believe that I can see you.
10 feet away in a lawn chair in our sister's living room and that's you.
Six feet, curly long hair, gentleness.
I ask you "what?" because i'm awaiting an explanation and a next movement, one more thing to rip me to pieces and throw me down the gutter and you answer "nothing" with a smirk and a feeling of content.
That's when I realized I didn't want to leave,
I could stay in that moment forever instead of  holding onto that memory indefinitelty.
I'm not good at saying goodbye or hello because i'm scared of what happens before, after, and inbetween.
I'm a coward, carrying a white flag surrendering to the sound of my heartbreak.
I didn't write about you because I didn't know how,
After hundreds of poems, thousands of feelings, so many many tears being dropped in your wake, I didn't know what to say
And I didn't want to leave you.

Eternity can change in a fleeting moment,
These are the hopes of a girl, bound to a chair, looking out of the window, seeping sadness with in a barage of frustration locked away,
Rejected by the other kids because she was different, she soon has stopped to bond anymore, friendships seemed like a happy illusion,
Too scared to go outside and be made fun of, or called out for her oddness which would unfold in special, yet fascinating, blissful ways,
Days pass by, which become months, with no range of change to be seen or gazed at, sealing her emotions away to stay sane, one option,
Reading to develop a further understanding of humans, as to develop greater, wonderous capabilities of imagination to simulate a world within her little, fragile, yes almost broken mind, in which she can grow strong and happy, alike her flowers she calls her own children,
After all, each time she desired to get close to one or another, a cold shoulder has been served, their backs turning at her in spite and hate,
But, this girl has lost the reason to mind it, after all, her loneliness is her shelter, her fantasy and her dreams a happy place to return to,
Left behind, like a one winged heron.

~ Umi

It takes
Just a tumble
Of fresh water
Mind you inverted
To freshen me
Fills me with energy
Charges the pulsating
Blood in my veins
Soothes me
OK in winters
As the drops of water
Flow down my body
Oh oh.......
From the hair
To the forehead
Back and in front
Of the neck
Oh what a shiver
It arouses me
Down the collarbone
Stimulating
My chest
Running
Like mountain streams
Down my heaps
Of body tissue!
To the navel
Now wait:-) :-) :-) :-)
Down and down it goes
Waist
To the thighs
O what joy it is
O guys
OK to the
Knees
Lower legs
Foot
Oh nothing is left
Water has so less
Cohesive force
It ascends with the sap
Up the plants
Abounds in our body
Keeps me alive!
Oh I forgot
Such is its dance
I love water
And with summer
I'll do pitter patter
Just with my friend
Water
In pools
My sweating body
Running out of it
And in the
Bathrooms!

not morning but a yellow gleam
encases my surroundings
developing the world
in a faded nostalgic glimmer.

last night i wandered around a club having ditched my friends
just for a bit. it was i needed some space to fill my lungs with
something like impropriety. i ran into a woman who said she loved
my style. she had heavy but well-done eyeliner on, black lipstick
and a serious spray of piercings or diamond studs lining the right side of her face. i gave her a nod and my best i'm-not-drugged
look. i noticed she had a platter so she must have been a server. i clicked my cigarette holder in my tongue and stumble off.

i walk on the other side
im pumping blood to a body that doesn't experience to a body that
cannot relish or feel. both liberating and damning it is.

slaughtered fruits, abandoned plastic, clothes like rags on the floor.
what filth is this
what time has come?
caught and corrupted and cornered.

will anyone read this and will anyone make sense of it?
the importance or the symbolism? the intimacy?
but a poem is just words.
and a cigarette is just smoke.

the shakes own my body they make it harder to type so i peck at my keyboard like a ******* animal and i keep smashing the power button every time i hit the backspace and i'm afraid the whole godforsaken thing will turn off. macs arent bad though. i might be okay.

wow this whole ******* thing just went to ****? can i even say that? i'll be ******* honest with you (aside from the avant-garde scene and the nihilistic WOKE poetry ensemble) i really don't know if i can say that or not? i mean when was PC invented? like 2008? *******. that was ten years ago gimme a break.

jesus man the shakes are horrible tonight. they're so bad im really just relying on autocorrect to do everything for me but sometimes it misses and so do i. i could use diction on the mac but then they would have my voice and once apple took o ver the world id just become one of their drones or something.

i know why too. maybe the "substances" im constantly ingesting. (oooh "substances" s cary word ayh right. you're an idiot.)

or maybe its the lack of creativity and originality in everything i see and hear and do? maybe not.

(taking a break to ____________).

all the bugs and trees are talking to me and you know what in not eve n gonna bother with typing at this point so if are still here then good for you,

.... six, no wait, make that, 12 bottles of wine. and some whiskey. and some champagne. and a jug of sangria. and...

it's **:05 as I write this. so if you're awake and reading this then either you're a night-owl or you live somewhere thats not here or there.

i m really truing to see; the shakes off and I think in doing pretty well so i have to just keep it up. right?

im going to shrink down and sleep with my succulent. tomorrow will be where hell is waiting.

******* come in early. 2-3 AM. i always wake up right about then.+