The other day, I found myself
Somewhere between 13 paces
And thirteen minutes.
I was a one-step trip on my laces,
And by 14 minutes,
I was alone again.

For some reason, I'm still standing here.
But for a while, I thought I couldn't, after
Dosages after
Cold sweats after
Pale face after
Thin skin after
Snot noses after
Bold threats after
Pinned wrists, but
I'm alive to fight another minute
With my chin forever pointed toward the trees
Because I never had a disease...


A disease had me.

Somewhere close to a black hole, time slows to a steady pace
Slow enough to reach out and trace every inch of a face and love every blemish your fingers reach
Slow enough to know better
Slow enough to know that when each second feels like a minute, you better eat up every moment

My heart has four chambers.
3 of them pump cold blood throughout my body, just enough so I can tell you drunken love tales.
But one of them

One of those chambers stays reluctant while I reach for an empty bottle and mistake it for an empty hand.

As I float, so effortlessly, headfirst into a black hole, and I see time progress slow enough to watch a smile fade into a scowl,
as I do what I shouldn't,
I can't help but obsess over the longest seconds I'll ever feel;
the ones where I'm touching your lips

For weeks, I couldn't sleep
Because nobody was tracing circles on my back
My skin went untouched for so long
Then he finally came along
And drew figure eights across my shoulders
I had almost forgotton what it's like
To have a
Good
Night's
Sleep.

We're all just swimming and trying real hard not to drown.
Letting our arms sink harder.
Steady breathing.
Never looking down.
Never looking up.
Never looking anywhere, with our eyes closed.
We're all just swimming and trying real hard not to drown.
What's funny is,
When we forget to open our eyes,
We all end up in the belly of the beast.
When we swim with our eyes closed
Letting our arms sink
Steady breathing
Never looking down
Never looking up
Never looking anywhere
We forget we all came in the same way-
Through the skin of its teeth.

The closest thing to God my father has ever seen, is dawn at the brim of a lake.
Finding forgiveness in its tides.
Seeking solace in its depths.
Building a chapel on a coasting boat.
Discovering answered prayers hooked on a line.
There’s a hallelujah echoing from the trees, if you stay silent long enough to listen to the birds.
You can find grace in a no wake zone.
I’ve always admired my father for unveiling hidden faith in the heart of nature.
For developing a catch and release mantra.
Feel and withdraw.
Love and surrender.
Live and abdicate.
I’ve never been much of a believer in God until I saw the same light at dawn in my father’s irises.
I found the same forgiveness in his hands.
I sought solace in his mind.
I built a chapel on his morals.
And discovered answered prayers in the strength he hooked in me.
I am silent and still, hearing a hallelujah echoing every time he says he’s proud.
I have found grace in knowing we share the same blood.
My father loves me like a prize winning fish at the end of his line.
He reels me in, and lets me go.
Because he knows I was never born to be a trophy.
I was born to be a legend.
Catch and release.
Love and surrender.
That’s how I know, and how I believe.
For only God could design such a man.

Drag me down to the bottom of my glass
And let the burn of the whisky make everything I say
True

Drag me down to the sleeves of my sweater
And let them filter my words
Beautiful

Drag me down to the soles of my shoes
And let the steps I take towards you forever be
Worthy

Drag me down to the curl of my lips
And let my harmless smirks stay
Humble

Drag me down into your heart
And let my roots remain
Forever

I got to find me a drink.
It’s been fighting my gut for quite some time now.
I got to find me a drink.
I can feel it clawing up my throat.
I got to find me a drink.
It’s too soon, but it’s rattling my voice box.
I got to find me a drink.
It’s begging to be released.
Shouted.
Absorbed.
I got to find me a drink.
I can feel it creeping along my tongue.
I got to find me a drink.
Every day, it crashes against the back of my teeth.
I got to find me a drink.
I’m not thirsty.
I’m choking.
& Lord knows, love never goes down easy.

I got to find me a drink.
It’s been fighting my gut for quite some time now.
I got to find me a drink.
I can feel it clawing up my throat.
I got to find me a drink.
It’s too soon, but it’s rattling my voice box.
I got to find me a drink.
It’s begging to be released.
Shouted.
Absorbed.
I got to find me a drink.
I can feel it creeping along my tongue.
I got to find me a drink.
Every day, it crashes against the back of my teeth.
I got to find me a drink.
I’m not thirsty.
I’m choking.
& Lord knows, love never goes down easy.

Baby girl, you’re at an age where boys are smirking and staring down your shirt. Before you mistake perverted spurts for flirting, I want you to make sure that your first time isn’t blurry. His words will emerge like something unheard of, and you’ll drink it in until you’re tongue-tied and stirred up, but baby girl, don’t you dare get ******* up and love drunk. I know those muscles are ***** and buffed-up, but you deserve better than some punk in a pick-up. Some chump will try to hush your “I don’t think I’m ready”, so you better speak up louder before things get too heavy. Some hands will hold you, and some hands are deadly. When your hands get too sweaty because you feel unsteady, you push him away because you are a lady. Most guys are shady and will try to degrade you, but you throw back grenades, because that’s how I raised you. You will crave space and he will crave lace, but don’t you ever forget you are not any boy’s playmate. You are not a buffet. You are not a hair-sprayed, bleach blonde cliche. You are graceful, my angel, and anything but plain.  So don’t ever feel like you’re only halfway. When you feel outweighed by the brave girls in tight jeans, remember you’ve got a heart that is just bursting at the seams. These social scenes and dreamy teens are nothing in the scheme of things, so don’t be intrigued by the idea of being the reason for all the senior boys’ wet dreams. Don’t be deceived by how carefree and fun *** seems to be. It is a big deal, and it should always mean something. So feel free to flee if it doesn’t quite feel right. See, when mama thinks of her first time, she kind of loses her appetite. I lost a part of my life to a guy who only loved me part-time. While my mind was being silenced by the liquor, he climbed on top and defied the boundaries of his zipper. So baby girl, if your hips and wrists are ever pinned, don’t you dare give in like your mama did. I forbid you to quit, because I taught you to fight until you win, and I’ll be ****** if you ever have to cry alone like I did. Life is a big bully with big fists, and sometimes you’re going to take a blow to the ribs, but when that happens, you spit the blood on the cement and say, “Hit me again”. Other times, you’re going to feel like you’re too big for this world, like your skin is stretched too thin, but you’re still my baby girl... you’re still just a kid. A kid with knobby knees and sob stories. You’re still small and naive and the thought of you growing makes mama uneasy. But one day, you’ll leave me, and I’ll let you free, because I have to believe that you’re nothing like me. You are everything beautiful in this world that I raised you to be.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into the valleys of the threads of my dark grey sweater that smells like stale cigarettes.
Where everything is soft like worn leather but everything feels like splinters.
It’s disappointing, isn’t it? The air is thick as smog but it’s easy breathing because you’re used to it. You can close your eyes or open them, either way, it’s dark.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into the nooks of my wrists that are dry like chapped lips.
Where blood runs in thin lines like dental floss but everything stings like cavities.
It’s very sad, isn’t it? The ground lacks love but only hatred tends to it because it’s the only inhabitant that lingers. In these parks, self loathing grows like weeds.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into the dark alley ways of the unfamiliar city in my thoughts that only spark interest at night.
Where everything is cold like noses in wintertime but everything makes you sweat.
It’s uncomfortable, isn’t it? The pavement is slick like it’s just rained, but you walk steady because implied tightropes are inevitable. Stumbling on sidewalks is a lot like slurring your speech.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into the basement of my throat that burns like a shot of whiskey.
Where words jam like friday’s traffic but everything flows like fabrication.
It’s disgusting, isn’t it? The walls are closing like big velvet curtains but you plaster them with paintings to make them pretty. This room was always born for being decorated.

Follow the sound of my voice.
Into every locket. Into every liquor cabinet. Into every favorite pair of jeans. Into every corner. Into every attic. Into every cave. Into every town. Into every ocean. Into every promise. Into every secret. Into every open end.
Where everything echos like empty hearts.
Because all I’ve ever known is silence, and for you I’ll never tell my tale.

For all my life, I looked for you
Someone who would never go away
Then one day, I found you
I fought my tendency to stray
For one year, I chased you
With a promise to behave
For now, it seems I have you
But no guaranteed amount of days
I know I said I loved you
But I'm sorry, I can't stay
For although I fought so hard to keep you
It is me who will always run away

A message for you young truckers,
You long lovers,
You schmucks, *****, and go-getters...
This is as good as it gets.
The truth is, school *****.
And so does your 9 to 5 part-time job,
But this is the time to find prime opportunities to get carried away and run
To say all the wrong things at all the right seconds
And to never, EVER get caught drinking your parents' ***.
Be bummy, be a druggy, be a top score, or be the eye sore of the student body
But you will never be nobody...
You will NEVER be nobody.
Let somebody tell you they don't remember your name,
Then give that chump a reason to never forget
Because in this game of high school social status, there's no such thing as a winner
And you deserve whatever respect you let people neglect you of.
**** 10 year reunions, that cute girl in math class still won't think of you
Unless you act now, before you're ten years too late.
If you want something, you better learn to work for it,
Because these are the easy years, the queazy years, the "let's ditch and smoke a bleezy" years.
And before you know it, you'll be tap dancing on a keyboard when you should be working
Warning the youngins that their glory years are just about done.

I found it in the way my name stumbled out of your mouth like it had weak ankles.
Almost like it had been stuck in the hollows of your cheeks.
But it wasn’t stuck.
Just lingering.

I found it in the way you unfastened the brass buttons down my spine and slid the tough skin off my shoulders, like a wool sweater I never grew into.
Almost like I never knew how sticky and hot my woes were.
Until I saw them piled on the floor right at my feet.
The chill of the air hitting my bones.

I found it in the way you unraveled my grief, and used the same tattered thread to hem patience into your heartstrings.
Almost like the fabric of my intricacy kept you warm.
You and I.
The same cross-stitches of unvarnished truth.

I found it in the way you uprooted the weeds nestled in my soul to make light for the marigolds.
Almost like you always believed in my potential garden.
Despite the monsoon rain and my uncanny inability to tend.
There was always room for growth.

I found it in the way my hands extend towards you, until my fingers coil into vulnerability.
Almost like I sought solace in the holes of your palms.
Being entirely, immensely, forever
Tangled up in you.

I found it in the way the fog draping my irises lifted when your kisses graced the corners of my eyes.
Almost like you unveiled a galaxy of color I never knew I painted.
Brushstrokes of clarity.
A reverie of us.

I found it in the way you delicately dismantled all my fragments to polish them.
Almost like you salvaged me from my own wreckage.
All this time, I dreamt I was wandering.
But I was undoubtedly misplaced.
Tucked away in a wrinkle of solitude.

Until you, my love, unearthed me
And in return, I found my heart;
A vestige of our pearl in the oyster.

What I needed was a dark page to type on.
Something dark enough to compare to the walls of my soul that have been painted black since you left me.
God saved the right ones, and for the rest of us, we're adorned with cinder block ankles and told to swim.
God loves you more than I ever could.
As for what remains-
It's all just an echo of a viola recital staring at my empty seat.
A bowl of cold soup I'm drowning in.
I loved you then
I love you now
But I will never love you more than me.
Until I die or heaven takes me
Please don't let the good lord break me.

A big "dry clean only" coat, swimming straight in the mud.
And a beautiful white dress adorned with a merlot colored stain in my lap.
And long, dark, Italian-bred hair drenched in color-changing chemicals.
And an ivory complexion smeared with gray cigarette smoke.
And a handful of teeth painted yellow.
And a pair of strong hands that I never bother to utilize.
And a couple of shoulders carrying too much of the load.
And my poor, poor heart that took the blow for the risks I insisted on taking.
Maybe if I was a little better at taking care of my things,
My things would start taking care of me.

Have you ever been asked if you have any time for Jesus?
Like, He's just an errand you can run before dinner time.
"Just a moment to talk about our savior".
As if in a moment, you could actually ever convince a sinner they're worth more than the empty bottles of cheap *****.
Somebody told me once, "You know, if it weren't for the power of God, you wouldn't be here"
Well, *******.
Let his blessings rain upon me, because I'll be ****** if I can remember the last time I felt alive.
Someone once wrapped a coat around my shoulders when I couldn't even remember the day.
And I've been told saviors come in many forms,
But I was sober enough to know that man was not Jesus Christ
Because he wasn't that big of an *******.

If you ever asked me, I would tell you it was your hands.

It was your hands.
The way they dance when you speak.
Rhythmically swaying, persuading the words from your lips to my ears.
How they slightly rotate, tracing weightless shapes and figure eights.

It was your hands.
The way they hide your smile when laughing never ceases.
Playfully keeping from me the free-flowing happiness ingrained between your cheeks.
How they creep along the seams of your sleeves when you daydream.

It was your hands.
The way your fingers curl around your jaw.
Gracefully crawling across flaws and scars and golden crosses.
How they withdraw into your pockets when you feel lost .

It was your hands.
The way they fought mine like degraded patriots.
Foolishly waging with fate, awaiting the hand of a played-out soul mate.
How they skated around and scraped at the place where my hands once waited.

It was your hands.
The way they cracked me open.
Willingly casting lashes, I patched the gashes while you set the tracks to run me over.
How they packed the bags you still drag around after my passion crashed to ashes.


If you ever ask me why I fell in love, I will tell you it’s your hands.

Though they only leave mine empty.

When we were kids and they tied the superhero capes around our necks,
We weren't imagining.
We were practicing.
God himself cracked the egg of creation, from which spawned and blossomed us lawless heroes whose only job was to survive
Or die trying
He said we were the real deal, the heroes not even the hopeless could think of to think up,
Branded, from the start
As hearts encased inside sick bodies
Obviously, just by looking, nobody would ever label us flawless
Because God shrouded us in scars and challenged us to harness the darkness
"Departure to battle is now", he said
And before we could rattle our strength awake, we emerged
With disease wrapped tight around our feet
Defeat just inching close enough to feel It's breath upon our necks
But we turned around to shout, "We are not finished yet"
And despite being spit on and belittled by the other bully kids
For being too sick to be respected
And despite being neglected by a normal childhood
We stood
We stood tall, because God never taught us how to fall, only how to carry on
So we stared into the night like there was nothing there to fear
Because we were born to be beacons of bright beaming light
Who had to be broken first, for cracks to form, to leave windows for the shine
When the battle is done, we remain, bald beauties, bold souls
Kids
With a story
And a new star in the sky for every kid who never got to see the glory
So, for Mom and Dad who couldn't face it for me
For every family who had to stand by and hope for the best
For every one of those who accepted us as nothing like the rest
For the ones left who still shine despite the trials
And for the ones who died trying

From one bright light to another
I will help you fight.

I, composed of dust and rusted sustenance
& You, with the golden-crusted promises
& we, the busted love we make of this

Time and luck are growing weary


& with the creeks all running dry



I've come to fear the near death




Of the we





The you





The I.

Legend has it, he was born a dancing flame.
But he doesn't burn because he's angry.
He burns because he's hungry.
A starving artist, ignited by the truth.
Legend has it, he was born in a pool of passion.
The Gods shook with envy because they created a better man on accident.
Earth trembled when he decided to grace it with his footsteps.
He was created to never be tamed.
An invention of rebellion.  
Legend has it, the Grand Canyon was a direct result of his heartbeat.
When he announced his name, the tide shrugged and ate the shores.
His smile made the flowers laugh.
He speaks, and the wind sings through the trees.
A showpiece of devotion.
Legend has it, he's disguised in a *** of ordinary.
He's just a cup of coffee or a faded pair of jeans.
A million other men are labeled with his name.
They say the wind still sometimes whispers through the trees.
He is a heart more profound than a mortal heart could ever dream to be.

Nobody ever gave me a boundary
Some sort of line to never cross
Nobody ever gave me a wall
Or a locked gate
Nobody ever told me to stop
You all told me I was limitless
So you can only imagine my disappointment
When I finally reached the top

And felt the bottom of the jar lid.

I was a monk
& I set myself on fire
Shrouded in flames
As I tried to tell you
Inside I was screaming
But all you saw was still

Sometimes silence can be so loud.

Once, there was a balcony your body clutched like a tree limb
But there wasn't enough inertia in your heels
There wasn't enough sorrow in your heart
There wasn't enough of a gust to send you over.

Once, there was the earth my body burrowed into like an urchin
But there wasn't enough soil to cover me
There wasn't enough gravity to immerse me
There wasn't enough wanderlust to keep me digging.

More than once, we had sighed in the glow of a lonely moon
We had misconstrued misfortune for opportunity
And we had became immune to the idea of repose

More than once, we tasted salt; in tears, in seabeds, in seared skin of the heart
We felt faulted, in both spirit and in brooding sincerity
We thought the worries we were haunted by were causeless

We've bared scars on our palms from digging
From gripping on to any bit of the world to stop it from spinning
But when our fingers interlace, and our wounds overlap, you will find a map of home.

Once, we were on a balcony with a bottle of bourbon.
A gust of faith was enough to push you off the edge
A surrender was enough to unearth me.
And together we drown into the pool of how beautiful it is to get lost in vulnerability.

Somedays, I feel it swallowing me.
******* me down like a half-priced, happy hour, fruity ******* drink.
Somedays, I can't even find the top or bottom or inside or out.
Like my Grandpa with his first iPod.
Somedays, I feel it shouting at me, "You're not better than this".
You sound just like my mother.
Somedays, I give in to it.
Like we're in a thumb war, and it's the 8th grade bully with mutant steroid fingers.  

Then I remember.
It's just my bed.
And it's really time for me to wake up.

I remember the first burn on my lips
You said the way I handled it was no less than
Impressive
I was 17
The fire down my throat
Left a permanent loss of control
Let me never forget
For at the bottom every bottle
Lies the reason I can't stop drinking

Always root for the underdog
Just don't ever root for me
Because mama did raise a fool
And no good is all I'll ever be.

I find it incredible that after two decades, I still have no idea what I'm doing
But somehow, my lips on yours came as easy as a habit.


Oh God.
How naturally I ruin everything.

After she fed her flesh to the beasts
All that remained was bone
Even still, they picked their teeth with whatever was left
Until she was merely a rib wedged between a thirsty canine
Here lies the framework of the unchaste
Cracked clavicles scattered amongst the copper pine needles
Her fragmented femurs discarded into the frozen autumn saplings
With every passing sunrise comes another fallen leaf blushing with winter's approach
By the first snowfall, the outline of her has already capsized into the mire
One day
Spring will drape himself over the soil
Gracing the morning with a promise of enrichment
She will emerge newly entrenched
Diamonds of ice will thaw to reveal her cage dusted with florets
And she will effloresce, reborn
With her face towards a sky of entrancing tomorrows
The shadows shall cascade behind her
As she reforms into a kind of brave even the evergreens grow envious of;
An entity so free, that even the wild things will lose their appetite

The clouds are the same shade of purple as her bruises on her knees
From stumbling around
Drunk. Always drunk
The sky spits on the roof of her top floor apartment
Heavy rain leaking from little cracks and corners of the ceiling
There's a *** on the kitchen floor
A bucket on the bathroom counter
An old ice cream tub on the couch
All collecting the steady drip from the walls
Sometimes she kisses and feels nothing
Sometimes she kisses and feels her ribs crack open
Most days, she feels hollow
You can see her, a smoking *** of boiling water
Her blood bubbles boiling to the top
Rusting thrift store cookware flooding onto the floor
Even after you empty all those buckets
They will always fill back up

****, I wish it would stop raining.

I saw him on a train.
He was wearing an old wool coat in the middle of summer.
Unorthodox.
His thumb clicked his lighter awake.
Inhale.
Then a big speech bubble of smoke.
He looked up to find me watching.
I said I think I've heard of him before.
Maybe in a movie or a book.
I said I feel like I've been waiting to meet him.
How I felt the itch of an adventure in the back of my heart.
I asked his name.
With a dangerous grin, he replied, "My name is Love,
And Darlin', you're in for one hell of a ride"

I write a lot in my days of lonely
Because somewhere between poetry
And nonsense
Is a metaphor only you would understand
Although you're too far gone to read it.

"You're my favorite mess."
I'm sorry about the coffee stain swallowing your button down.
And don't give me some ******* about how it actually looks better that way.
There will always be my lipstick stain on the edge of the wine glasses.
I've never been so brave until I licked a tequila bottle dry and told you I loved you.
I do love you.
I love you in the same special way a ****** agrees to kiss you on the mouth.
And she means it.
Sometimes I don't write you because I'm too busy wondering if you're staring at the same moon through a different window.
Lord knows, I love to keep you guessing.
Torturing you with too much imagination, I'm an *******.
So I scream into thunderstorms so nobody ever has to hear me suffer, especially you, because you think I'm better than that.
I'm here, tripping over any subtle difference on my path
And you are there, walking a straight line,
accepting.
I'm a spilled beer being mopped up by an old t-shirt.
"You're my favorite mess
I could never bring myself to clean you up"

You love me, even though I've never heard you say it.
And knowing that, my ***** soul ignites, becomes rigid, and forever remains uncompromising.

"For a spine", he said, as he grabbed a wilted leaf.
"For her eyes", he said, as he trapped the water from the sea.
"For her heart", he said, as he hollowed out a tree.
"For her smile", he said, as he held a fist of broken teeth
"For her soul", he said, as he pointed at a darkened street.
I am a twisted spirit that God mistakenly set free
Because he never expected greatness to burn its flame inside of me.

I felt him the way I exhaled and destroyed the dandelions.
In the summer sun, everything was beautiful.
But by morning, I was covered in weeds.
With the rain, came taller grass
And heavier stones
And braver trees
And enough mud to sink into
To give back the life I shook by breathing.

I drank you in like you were a Paloma
Bitter, strong, hot in my gut
Something about you tasted like vacation
Something about you made me feel like I should chase you
With a lime
The salt on the rim and the salt in the sea- both cleansing and burning
Paradise has a slow death
It lies stagnant while I pack my suitcase
You chose to get lost here instead
Wherever I go, I'll always know
I kissed you the same way the tide kissed the shores
The same way my lips kissed the rim of those Palomas.

"You're a disaster", he said.
I know, I know, I know.
Because I never know where I'm going.
Because roads are still new territory
Even though I've lived here for years.
Because I sneeze in evens and cough in odds.
Because my socks never match
And you still react like you're not used to it.
Because I catch pitter-patter on my tongue in spring.
Because singing in the shower counts as talent
Although my snaps are missing rhythm.
Because I wrap my guilt thick like a December sweater.
Because I regret nothing and everything
A moldy breaded soup sandwich.
"You're a disaster", he said.
"But I'll always want to clean up your messes"

There is a rusty I Love You in this hollow voice of mine
Like an old record in the jukebox in the corner of the tavern
I dust the binds of time off my skin and I spin wrecklessly
For you.

The Irish whisky croons how relentlessly your heart sinks into my sound
But the sober croak of morning deems my heartstrings out of tune
Cracked, dry
Yet still I sing,
For you.

Still I spin
And spin
Until dizziness is all there is
Because you turned my hum into a rumble
And although you're not drunk enough to drown in my melodies
I'll compass on this needle
Until the stars stand still
Until the stars lie silent
Until our symphony is the only echo we know.