Nope

I say, flipping a table
**** this, *******
I scream. How
can no one hear this.

Hallowed grounds
****, hollow sounds

Fighting in my head
              biting till I'm dead

hah, its confusing.
No one tells you're off
until you're off, saying **** again

And then I know its bad.
I'm here again. Right here. URL

writing to convince myself that
yep, I deserve to love myself
         yep, that's a secret, secret goal.

so much to say
violence in head
everyday, I
     say something stupid instead

So much to say
bracing the salt-waves
that skin me more red
       I bend over laughing because I'm so brave

you see
as much as i see
that we cannot

yet we both know
which goes to show
how good we get

each other

you make this hard
for it to be easy

just to reach out and
hold your hand
with my small hand

because even doing
that
folds my heart, cornered

I feel trapped
No, not even that
Just hollow
a brick wall, crumbling
inside

I'm not sure when the line
was drawn.
When I didn't get better anymore
truly. When did
it start *insert proper preposition: (over) (again)
When I seemed better
but everything
catches up
and I'm left ******* in air
rapidly. again.

Its not like I can forget
ironic, since I did. for months. the brain injury is tricky. it has a way of trailing along, and then you
forget. maybe

I can say I'm alone
but it doesn't matter
                                        [pretending, oh yes.]
that no one ever knows

Maybe its the ******* A's I get
and the **** compliments I receive.

but it is worthless

I'm so far
embedded
I just accept it
and forget it as easily
as, "hey, whats up"

when you crack an egg
you could be baking
-maybe a cake, or cookies
blueberry muffins.

have you ever watched the egg when its cracked

first hit on the big glass bowl.
--a little may ooze out, the white of the egg. it gets on your hands
its annoying. but it washes off.
survivable.

the second hit maybe harder this time.
---more comes out, the shell may break off a little. that **** shell is nesting on your beautifully mixed pile of flour, sugar, and vanilla extract.
******. this time, you fish it out with a fork
disturbing what you've created.

the third hit
----the egg shell, crafted so well to protect inside,
is cracked.
everything. comes. out.
like a river the broken yolk, flows and
twists around the bowl.

and by whisking it under the surface of the all purpose flour,
you only make it more turbulent.


and you get your ******* muffins.

i have never fully grasped
serenity. calm. silence
of mind

always, going
always running, always thinking.
doing. i prepare. but alas, that is
never enough.

what if for a day
i pretended. it never happened. nothing changed
nothing hurt.

would that help?
probably not. at this point, i need understanding.
freedom from.

i apoligize.
i am vague. not a person alive
knows all. everything. since then to
now. this moment.

how could i explain?

perhaps, i could tell to you
that i feel as though i have been turned inside out, stripped, and shooken. like an
animal has climbed inside me and torched me; clawed, teared every part me. until
i am an empty carcass, living in the dark as would a zombie.

and then i would leave, quietly. secretly.
i live better that way.

as if anyone could know.

Today is the day
I couldn't wait
for it to never come.

And here I am.
And here it is.

i find it hard
to turn inwards
when all my life has
been outwards, forwards, new words
but i hardly know why.

gravity pulls my body silently,
effortlessly to earth, as i
begin to drift in the stratosphere
a bird's eye view, i see everything
except nothing, which i know im
looking for.
yet, i hardly know why

i hardly know why
i feel betrayed.
so alone in this vacuum.
will i cry into the blackness, or
must i just light it on fire.
send smoke signals, call the doctor,
she's lying here dead. her visions went unanswered
unjustified, unsaid.

i hardly know why
i landed on earth.
i'm calling out loud, but im getting
the reverse.

i hardly know why
my emotions seem scattered
so invasive, agressive, and frankly too many
i can't stop, can't see, overload
help me.

but i hardly know why

and i hardly know me.

sometimes if i turn my head to fast
i still get dizzy. and the panic that seizes every nerve,
each fiber, consumes me. becomes me
                                                                            it is not possible, no
my own brand of paralysis.
the same hollow, infinite, deafening silence which
cannot be erased. that i am still
running from

it is all i remember.

and then i grab, clawing through empty air
                  trying to find solid matter.
to steady
                   myself
anywhere
                   *anywhere?

I am parched dry
like the Nevada desert
east of home,

thirsty for reassurance.
My roots are deep in snow caps

but, from my perch, all I see
is somewhere distant
and drier

Coastlines create beautiful circles
and I wade between them
But I wish to stand at the edge of the earth

and scream over to the sun, now
brushing the blue desert
at dusk

                             "Where do I go from here?"

and she just replies as she always has

with a rising moon.

        beams scattered
        on my sandy, small toes

I had a red dirt romance
in those hills along the river
        - hills that hoist you to the sky
          and the mud challenges the sun's dark burn -

it was in those trees, I grew up like one.

planted deep, but reaching for new water
clouds, smoke, and hawks brush branches, but stay
firm against snow fall and bark beetles

I have been lifted by the bones that carry me,
skins that hold me,
waters which have cleaned me

I will leave this place soon,
and I will always love those trees
on the hills
by the river

I owe no explanations
I need not justify my worth

I love when I feel and
I feel when I love

I will not apologize

For creating an ocean at my feet
For touching the sky with my eyes

I am a tree, growing from
every direction
Loosing leaves from nesting birds,
Still breathing.


So I will not justify my worth.

She was caught in the crossfire
Holding the trigger
Undone, panicked eyes; she was sliced by a wire
She folded and could not move a finger.

Relapsed, she was a broken liar
Each time she faded, she faded faster
Underneath, masqueraded, she was a fighter
But inside, where she hides, she felt herself shatter.

It was like waking up from a dream, bleary eyed and breathless.
Shielding her eyes, she stood there, no longer picking her seams
She had defeated her sleepless dependence
Her mind may have fooled her, but she was no longer a machine

For a time, it became her, changed her, fought her heart out
But when she surfaced, she breathed, and there wasn’t a doubt.

there are some
when they get angry
it creeps on them like
the frost. they don't
see it until it has seeped into the ground
and siezed the pipes hostage
they wriggle and bundle to stay
warm, but it always get in through a
hole on their gloved hand
or a exposed patch on their neck
a thick cotton scarf couldn't conceal.

others
when they get mad
it shakes them and
convulses through their veins
as if their blood has turned to
boiling, sputtering magma.
and they grab & pull their hair.
they may shout and explode,
dancing around obscenties,
and throwing fancy vases at white washed walls
but when the fiery seige is over, they may just sit
and wonder what fiend just beset their soul
and stared out through their eyes

few some still
hesitate, ponder.
fold their anger away
in an envelope. safely
and when they open it,
it may be white
bruised and creased, where irate thoughts skittered violently about to escape.
where
angry hands slammed it shut, gentle hands silently
reopened
and when their eyes peer in and see ashes and ice
where the anger; so flammable, so frigid, so uncontained;
raw energy in its true state and alone out of host, ignited and shattered
itself not them

and

the siege is over
as they pour the worthless contents out
of the folded, creased envelope.

the biggest
lie
ever said, is

uttered, muttered
shouted through tears
wailed, mailed
failed by ears

twisted by mind
but worn in the heart

but really.
don't worry, my friend
this time,
i truly am.
                     i'm fine.

life
does not come from
breathing
alone.

1. to exist: have objective reality or being
indeed, it is the struggle
of life
to discover what
makes us real
or to be a being


2. to exist: be found, especially in a particular place or situation
is it not
the goal
of each of us, as humans
to be found.
in a place where happiness is
drunk by the gallons,
eaten at feasts,
gorging our stomachs:
swollen with happiness

as for me.
i am lost, itching
to exist again. to find my life
i am breathing
underwater.
but
i have no anchor
.
.
.
and
         i      
            will
                     refuse to sink.

i am invincible
like a rock is

tough

dropped for a millenium
but if it lands
in the wrong
way perfectly

it cracks in half.

i really hated it when you kissed
my cheeks. your beard was so scratchy.
in fact, i always dreaded that part. i think you
would laugh if we talked about it now.

your chair outside, to watch the mountain
was always there. and every morning you'd sit there.
you'd shuffle down the hall, wearing your beret.
you'd give me cantaloupe even after i told you i
didnt want any. im not entirely sure whether you could hear me and
gave me some anyway, or really just couldn't hear me.

i can't remember your voice. it kills me.
i remember you'd take forever at scrabble. i really miss that
you'd always eat french vanilla ice cream and sit at the head of the table. even after, it
took awhile for anyone to sit there.

when i go back, it looks different. the walls are white
now, clean. not smoke covered gray. when i painted it, i wondered what
you would think. that ugly linoleum in the kitchen
is now replaced with tile. it looks good.
even still, i only see the rug and the red chairs in the living room.
it could never be anything else.

sometimes i go in your room. i find letters you wrote.
i try to picture you writing it. i can. i can't imagine you as ever
being young without your beard and glasses. you seemed so wise, how could that ever have been
different. im told i have your eyes. your spirit. and your drive. i think my dad has
it too. its nice. thanks, for passing that along.

i wish i'd known you longer. you never heard me
play cello. i think you would have liked it.
      i told my dad the other day " i miss the old guy "
i like to think you laughed at that.

so i just wanted to tell you, i think about you. i hear you in the wind.
i know its you. i think you'd be proud of me, the little sprite girl.

and, Baba, i wish i'd let you kiss my cheeks.

we run for our lives
away from death, and
our feet become dusty,
as we look back frantically, scanning,
inhaling short bursts of air. we can't stop
even as we trip, and let escaped sobs
burst out. trying to remember

as you see
behind.you , terrified

as much as we run for our lives
from death, eventually running
for life is only death;

we someday must stop to breathe.

i am undiagnosable.
my injury is not see-able. but my wound is not closed
as i am only myself, when i am alone.

i have found understanding life is
simple. it is the ability to accept
non-understanding.
simplicity:
thou art a cruel *****

indeed, to understand
is heroic
or crazy. i may call you a liar even

[i am a liar. in many ways]
but to my mind. i destroy
me, where it counts.
i do not
understand myself. and
that is the worst of all.

Should one believe happiness
is key to life
without ever finding
the door
where one’s spirit aches to be found

since i’ve found myself
in every emotions sharp grasp or gentle hold
not a moment passes
where the passion of life hasn’t escaped
from my mind’s value

how rewarded I have been
to see every aspect of heart,
after its essence has been spilled throughout my core
like the milky stars
into life’s deep creation

you laugh, adorably
perfectly.
i, embarassingly.
i can't help
myself. with you

i love our jibber jabber.
late nights, awake
smiling.

how can you not see
me?

The cosmic process
of spaghettification
is real.

Going through a black hole causes
an object to elongate
and stretch.

This phenomena makes the individual
observe a never ending edge
in the distance.

To an observer, they are infinitely stretched.
Until they don't care anymore and turn away.

And the individual just keep wishing
for the ultimate simplification

tearing up
the roots that once held me
stuck to the surface
of the earth

is easier at night
when no one can see

spread-eagled on cold hallways.
wandering the house,
almost tripping on the stairs
before realizing

i was bleeding from the fingernails
i pried at for too long

when feelings and thoughts become one
and tell me I'm wrong
again
and again
I want to believe
against obsession
that I didn’t this time
and I won’t the next.

i keep searching the skies for
my rocket ship
take me to the quiet space
where I can remember how
small I want to be


when feelings and thoughts become one
and tell me I'm wrong
again
and again
I want to believe
against obsession
that I didn’t this time
and I won’t the next.

when i slip into
a phase, I find it
exhuasting now.

every minute, a test of character.
every hour, a new demon to fight.
They hide inside, chip away at the interior, until it's like peeling paint.
Those days, I feel barren and broken, my detail is failing.
I watch jagged pieces splinter away and drift in the air
cruelly landing underfoot in
the crackly, dead leaves
that the streetsweeper missed that week.

"But what if..." it says. And that's all it takes.

I become frigid inside.
I feel it slide in my brain, clicking
and prying inside.
crooning, throat just out of reach; caressing, hands just out of reach
until it slaps me to the familar ground,
where I frantically gasp.
It's laughing now, as I curl back to darkness,
wiping my silent tears from my red cheek and my cramping heart from my sleeve.
My head pounds as my
unwelcome, yet comfortable
friend of mine simply
opens the door.

I can't even lock it.

when i started high school
i was in a box.
perhaps, i was boxed before
9th grade. but the box closed
with packing tape
very soon after.

this box--cardboard, brown
small. too small. too much.
became my ideal.
                                  "there is nothing outside
                                   these cardboard confines"
and so i went.
no air holes
no time to
breathe.

it is here
now. gasping hard for air
where i decide,
to cut the tape.
rip apart those confines
to which i have been conformed to
fit. just so

no matter
i have the ******* knife.

it hit me sharply
i cannot describe the faces i saw.
only that they were not human.
malicious, creeping beings.
and the worst part, i knew what they were,
as soon as i crossed into the street.
maybe it was the gait, the dark green hoods they crouched into.
but my legs wouldn't turn.

and then they slowly turned to me, cheeks twisted
into scarred smiles and monstrous looming eyes of dark intent.

my legs fell from under me, even as i tried to sprint from..
scrambling on the ground, i begged.
they were deadly silent. just shuffling

and i knew the whole **** time.

and i woke, my heart pounding.

you see
as much as i see
that we cannot

yet we both know
which goes to show
how good we get

each other

you make this hard
for it to be easy

just to reach out and
hold your hand
with my small hand

because even doing
that
folds my heart
corner

i do not choose wisely
and i do not release
rarely

In the day's
dying rays,

I wonder,
        "Isn't this better"

consider yourself..
lucky?
perhaps, to feel nothing
but elation. at any given
moment

then there's the rest
of us.
you know, the common--
real
humanity.

where tears salt
the food. make oceans
of our water glasses.

yes, its true.
while our tears may fall
and fall
fall
.

we.
unlike (lucky) you,
DOnot.

when i sit
on a dilapidated shed
barefoot. again

                           i laugh out loud to the pain i
                           was in
                           the rock i had stepped on
                           embedded in skin

                          this rock, this pebble, this stone-cold
                          killer
                          at a closer look
                          left only a scratch?

              when i held the rock
              in the palm of my hand
              it was coal-black and
              reflective; i saw myself within.
              "unique-cality" i probably said.

the scar may last a year or two
but the blood has stopped ebbing, and this skin
of mine is anew

often, as a people
we think. we function.
it is grand, is it not?

often, as a person.
before, i
would do the same.  

until now. when thinking to
hard is not only possible, but painfully real.
where functioning, is a "almost there; better luck next time"
occurence.
ah, i have come far
in this new reality i have fallen through.

but listen as i must now do
where do you hide--
escape
             and sleep.
when you no longer
can.

I stood flickering
momentary memories
disappearing.
skimming rapidly, then-
smashing with the wind
wobbling
the whole world hanging on a cliff.
as the crevice parted below
then
once
steadied
rising, I stood.

i find myself
here again.
blue jeans and barefoot

the ground, too
cold.
ah, all i can do
is watch the single tear
fall, with that cruel deafening silence and explode
on the dirt below

for all i have left
is that one tear

but when i returned later
after slamming that same ****
door
i found a single spring sprout
stretching its limbs, growing
out of the
less-cold ground

if our situations were reversed
i'd say nothing.

but i am not you, and
you are in no way, me

while my ailment may be
only fiction
to you.
you mock, and silence me.

ahh, yes, but how would you know : "friend, do tell me:
what you cannot see must not be real?
is that so. what a philosopher
you are. i'll ask you this, you see so little, though
how do you compensate?

wait, i remember now...you don't"

i never expected understanding
i hardly believe in it anymore.

it is the misunderstandings that are
tiresome
and you,
                 my friends,
are too.

when i find myself missing
my thoughts lopsided
like a undone braid becomes after Running,
i close my eyes and see every nothing
and shout only silence to fill it with anything at all
pursuit of pressure,
clawing at me to choose,
constant tears draw a line to me in
the paths of potential pushed suddenly
so i only want to be in my present mind.
how can i discover without determining
where have I Run to now?

our skyline is hazed
and our system a maze
the streets are lined with
blood
and all you see is mud

you, political giants
billionaires in chairs
pretending like you care
when all you do is claim its "fair"
your lying to the poor
as they die on their kitchen floors

you are not above humanity
even in your mighty vacation house its insanity
who are you to say
that you are to pave the way:
you claim democracy
we see hippocracy

you cheat the poor
to get rich more
is it so hard for empathy
you arn't charged with a felony

your racism defines you
yet somehow they defy you
maybe as you bomb their land
and say you are here to save their band

look here, ******, can't you see
nothing is simply what i seems to be
how can you see fault in
when you can't even see past the color of skin