cleaning up the mess of documents
on my hard drive
I find one titled
"secret message"
double-click
it reads
"i love you."


wish they'd signed it

How long has it been--
Since I chased the thieves of all my sense;
Since I chose heartstrings over frontal lobe waves,
Hungers of the heart over milk and bread?

And at what time will I awaken
To a sun-drenched dream or a subtle rainstorm
Rather than nightmares or responsibilities?
---
Instead, I sleep in dishwater dreams,
Lukewarm and foggy,
And wake to thoughts of a queue,
A restlessness reserved almost exclusively for
A train station,
Where one waits, waits...
---
And which one comes for me?
And when it arrives,
Will I choose the fate prescribed on my ticket,
Or will I avenge all of the decisions
I chose not to make in past encounters with strangers,
Standing in queue, as well,
All waiting for the same hum and crash
In their final Destinations?

I ask all of these things, of course,
As I hand one of these strangers my ticket,
I step on board the cable car compass,
Riding into the flaming abyss.

i.
he's ranting and
raving again
i wonder if it will ever just

stop

ii.
i count the seconds until the
door slams, until the pain seeps into
his drunk smirk of a smile and
god, i wish
i wish that i could remove
what makes him
hurt

iii.
in turn, she screams and pleads
with him to come down from his
high
to look sobriety in the face,
and declare himself a winner
once and for all

iv.
he will never push past his
stubborn ways, his childhood
still raw and i know his wounds,
because i am a part of him

Oh she's a wanderer
She's a distiller of souls
You cannot catch her boy
She'll just continue to roam
For she was whisked away
Her mind you tried to hold like a tide
But then you glanced away
And she broke free from your bind

Oh hope, the hope you had
Oh grasp, the grasp you held
Oh life, the life you thought yours
The life you thought there
The life you thought you knew
Slipping and sliding
Life, that wriggly worm
Life, that trickery
It's spun up on you
Gone and done a complete turn

Oh, she's a wanderer
She's a tiller man's child
A mocking bird
Lone and gentle against that sycamore wild
Don't stall her boy
Don't shelter or cramp her style
For she'll fly away
No mockingbird stays still for any length of a while

Perfect verse once lost,
Now haunted by clawing dreams,
She was that poem.

I was crying
at that table
Tears were falling
on this page

Tears of lonely
desperation
Such, no ten-point scale
could gauge

I couldn't bear
the thoughts inside me
I thought I
would go insane

I couldn't find them
I couldn't find the words
To write away
the pain

     but I've done it now, so read it well
     because I finally broke your spell

How I loved you,
but I lost you
then I found
somebody new

and I tried him
but I likened
all his words and ways
to you

I enjoyed him
but not really
though he did
everything right

It was your kiss
that I longed for
as my lips told his
goodnight

When I left him
you came running
and for once
you held me true

And I honestly believed
that all I'd ever need
was
you

     but it lasted until mid July
     when you lacked the dignity to tell me why

You left me
in a hurry
but I should have known
you would

Because, dang,
those college girls
will give you things
I never could

     I was raised to be a lady
     not a lady of the night
    
But I wish you well
and hope
that all your wildest dreams
come true

And bless the heart
of each poor girl
who has to deal
with you

Let me tell you about myself.
I am a mosquito magnet.
I have little scars of itchy memories all over my scrawny legs.
But I think it means my blood is sacred.
I find my laugh unique and one of a kind.
My walk, resembling more of a bowlegged wobble, allows me to stand out against the crowd.
(My walk isn't that bad, by the way, I was merely exaggerating for stylistic purposes.)
What's more, the fact that I am prone to blushing at even the slightest glance my way is kldjaf;ldjfoiad;htija;ji;ajf.
I love it.
My clumsiness only adds meaning to the moments in which I am fleetingly graceful.
Yes, my posture is rough around the edges,
But it signifies that I have been around the world a few times.
At least I don't jut out my pretty decently sized *******.
You're welcome.
I find my lack of arguing skills in the moment cute.
My mistakes are adorable, and my obvious flaws are endearing.
The fact I can't **** an ant without showing sympathy is amiable.

If only somebody thought the same way about me.
If only people looked and analyzed others as closely as I do.
They would see.
That way I wouldn't be the only one loving myself. (Or trying to.)