I lay in the bathtub soaking
wet with water running
around my silhouette.  Shaking
as the washcloth smeared regrets
over my skin. The bubbles
give my sins a scent.

As I vent I leave the shower
running so my sobs
are the only thing drowning.
The constant tapping on my face
keeps me awake as I sink into
the various stews my mind creates.

Weights are lifted with pruning. Peeling
of dead skin keeps me from
reeling into depression. There is a harmonic
progression between the faucet and my face,
the scrubbing and my disgrace, the steam and
my own embrace.

I need this state. The decompression
from being bottled up, like a coke, with a smile
is worthwhile. It teaches me
that the expression of  weakness
is key in the building of a better Timothy.

We held hands as time's sand
passed between. Night chocked
the last sun beams. Our conversation
was pertinent to the dwindling
red wine bottle. As the moon glazed
shore began to roar, she whispered
"Let's cuddle." I dropped you, holding her,
and thought "Oh" and began to coddle.

I wrapped myself around her like a shell to a turtle
and she began to nestle on my chest. I guessed
the indigestion came from the Bordeaux bottom.
Boy, was I wrong. See, as I lay with her,
forgetting about you, I remembered
blood is thicker than water. The loves
we choose are stronger than ones
We've fallen into. I wasn't falling there,
underneath the stars, next to the parked car.
I was laying. I was contemplating
as the wind was spraying the lake
into the air.

I came to the conclusion
I was in an illusion of  love.
Confounded by smoke and reflections
from movie magicians. She looked up
to me and I guess she could see
my reality crumbling in the breeze.
She asked if I was ok. My slight smile alluded
I was and we laid in love
until the sun's intrusion.

They were the knotted extensions of her soul.
They showed how she twisted the truth
right out the lies she had been told.
Since birth people tried to typecast her role.

Marry a man
Have some babies
Grow old

Her family would say someone mucked up the recipe;
sugar, spice and everything nice. She was
dissimilar to the 3. Her sugar was solitude.
Her spice? Tattoos. Everything nice in her
had been stripped and *******. So the only
thing left of that were the bits of metal in her lips,
nose and ears. "Brush your hair 100 times a day, dear",
Her mother had said for years. And she did
until the day she told her parents she was
a different kind of queer. Then,the tears.

Somewhere between her mother's damnations,
her father's belligerence and her usual
rebuttal of indifference, she began to take interest
in her hair. Those long, straight strands were
nothing like her. The red reflected
her parents rejection. In that moment.
There was clarity in the contorted
version of love she had to incur.
She decided the only expectations
to accept were hers. And just like that
the barrier between her and the world cracked.
She decided to dread her hair and dye it black.

As the years went by,  her parents learned
to accept their daughter. And in return
each year  she would send them a photo
showing how her hair had gotten longer.
She also added trinkets to the locks and let
the strawberry color grow back.
Yet she kept the tips black to remind herself
no matter what the world wants her to be
the most important thing in life was her self-esteem.

Usually people will say
happy birthday without
actually caring for the day
I am a lout


I had no idea the 26th was so important
Instead of perusing thoughts I laid dormant
Had I risen from fake wars in Afghanistan
I would have noticed it was the birthday of Lori Callahan!

I apologize for missing such a special date.
I hope it was one that no others can equate
For you deserve a day to yourself
and a special memory to put upon a shelf

Happy Birthday Lori! A friend so sweet.
Happy Birthday Lori! I hope someone massaged your feet.
Happy Birthday Lori! I hope you had a cake with candles.
Happy Birthday Lori! May this year be guided by angels.

Happy Birthday Lori Callahan!

I like to eat spaghetti with my face.
I like to throw it like confetti
or wear it on my waist.
Whether it be freshly made
or reheated after 12 days.
I use the noddles as a short blade.
I like to hear them crack and crunch like a bag of lays.

She wanders with a ponderance
of an unfulfilling existence .
It's like she missed the instance
when life was handing out
purpose. She became subverted
by her own thoughts.
Self-image contorted
like spaghetti noodles or dreadlocks.
The simplicity of existing has become brutal.
She keeps the gold within
vaulted like Fort Knox.
That protection is like an island
preventing her journey's beginning.

A man came to my door late last night.
It was about 8pm if my guessing is right
He seemed shaken and overcome with fright
He stuttered and stammered as I turned on the porch light

Timothy he said
Timothy he begged
Please listen to me he pled
I must save you his tongue shed

Flabbergasted at the sight,
my thoughts abstracted despite
his quadratic explanation of my plight.
We connected like an arc light.

Hold on I demanded
Wait a second I commanded
He could tell by my look I was stranded
in the immensity of the situation so he spoke candid


*So your here to save my life? What do I say to something like that?

I can't help but wonder
how I have come to this place.
Held together by the past.
Rallied for the future
Accepting this present
It is a wonderful gift, I must say
Yet, I can't help but wonder
how I came to this place.
Did I come here to be safe?
Did I come here to be known?
Will I stay here?
Will I venture into the unknown?
No matter where my mind goes, I will always wonder
how I came to this place.

Life does not walk these streets.
It rolls by in tin foil fleets.
Love does not fill the air.
It gazes from windows with forlorn stares
Liberty is merely bought.
Dollar bills and silver change give amount to the thought.
Dreams are what happens when you sleep.
A lie.
There are lessons to learn and rules to abide.
I
will not adhere to the word of the day.
My path deserves to be walked,
my dreams are not fall
acy.
My love is louder than the trains and sirens that permeate this city.
I will show liberty to all who seek.
Life is beautiful.
Even if the earth is bleak.

Yes, you're beautiful. No, I don't want a ****** relationship.

I don't know why
I keep telling myself
"You and I.", "Us.", "We."
like butterfly wings
are paired, intertwining.
I need to face reality.
Your constantly showing me
That I am uninteresting,
Romantically.

Spinning on the north pole.
Truth be told, it's being pulled
in all directions thus the spinning inflection.
A prosaic misdirection.

4 cardinal directions but when they conflate
you get eight.  If you prorate
in-between you get sixteen
directions you can take.

The only mistake you can choose is standing in place.
At the pace your face is rotating on your flesh case,
your bones will displace. your mind will efface
from it's designated space.


Don't be a waste. Move along.
Pick one of the 16 directions you can take
Whichever one you pick is the road you belong.
Just get to where your going before your swan song.

In my absence
My mind has been doing back-flips,
back-spins and hand-springs.

They really should be called head-springs.'

Off a spring board I began vaulting.
Trying to spin, tumble, turn des pairs
of thoughts stuck in the landing area

Threw a little french in there for ya.

Grasping at hysteria asymmetrically with sanity
must be stronger than anxiety. Like a glass coat, it blankets me
however you can see to the core, translucent rings of a tree.

Walking the balance beam
between life and suicide sporadically.
Being pushed on both sides by a jet stream

Surviving is a pipe dream because we are all dying.

Once again I am on the floor. However,
I am implored to look forward by poetic neighbors.
All I gotta do is knock on their door and they'll gladly give me a cup of esprit de corps.

*More french, Au revoir

Names are funny.

Have you ever wondered what your name would be if your parents didn't name you?

I'm one of the lucky few
that know.

If my parents didn't name me,
my name would be
Timothy.

You see, apparently,
when two people love each other,
Mommy cheats on Donny
with daddy and all three
demonize the baby.

Unfortunately,
abortion isn't an option.
Poor Donny believes
his little Johnson
made a tiny Willie
but really
it's Mike's Rick.
The trick wasn't revealed
until
Donny signed the birth certificate.

Obviously, Karen's husband abandoned their family.
Mike ripped his love from her and gave it to Dominique.

Karen,
twice-scorned,
mid-divorce,
postpartum,
decides a shelter isn't suitable for a nameless infant.

At this point, it's a little too late for abortion.
Nowhere to go,
knowing she can't stay,
Adoption became the practical option.


The noxious auction caused a nauseous reaction to her conscious. Karen picked the option, least pompus, with the most promise. An intuitively honest Christian was brought to her room so she could sign the synopsis.


As she's reviewing the terms of this blood oath, she glances at both of the parents cradling her second baby boy. They turn and ask


"What is his name?"

"I don't know. I thought he was going to be a she so I had the name Sade."


"That's ok, we have a perfect name in mind. Timothy."

It is a quickened erosion of the spirit
culminated in bad habits
a crisscrossing  lattice
over and under like a ferret

Its too small and quick to fight
this parrot is breaching thoughts with its well versed screech
Luring the cavalry into its cancerous reach
Benighted by several regiments of blight

Enticed by visions of a name spelled in the constellations
Do not forget you are a child of the stars
The strength within you contains quasars
A single mind, your mind, has the ability to illuminate a nation.

It's a three pronged hum-a-long.
No captions while you sing-a-long.
Mumbling, stumbling
over words that don't belong
in your mouth.

Across the street.
Opposite direction;
Conceit paved with concrete.
Flashback perception.
Across the street.

Anxiety and nicotine
Piercings and red hair
Cigarette guillotine.
One dred behind your ear.
Anxiety and nicotine

Strawberry blonde
Curly or locked?
Wizard's wand spawned
levitation Air blocked.
Strawberry blonde.

There's something about walking into an empty house
that puts my mind at peace.
Instead of a spouse,
there is a fan flowing on 1,2,3 beats.
Oscillating, turn-tabling,
air stagnant like frozen meat.
Simile.
smile,
Haha...it's supposed to be funny.
It was yummy 'till he
started Ralphing over the balcony.
But, his name is Anthony

I don't care.
He can't fall asleep here and
he won't be driving.
The music is cacophony
Turn the music down for the homie!

The silence is so sweet.
Stumbling into the back car seat.
Oh ef Wolf Ge
Stop lights switch with the beat. Obsolete
keys scratch the lock; He's in the hot seat
Walking a few blocks to his homecoming.

I awoke alone,
after a horrid dream.
I turned to your face
to feel something comforting.
In the spot that graced your silhouette
were sheets weighted with regret.
My misdirected inflection
coupled with the misconception,
that 1+1=1 not 2 you see,
when the correct formula
is 1+1≥3


Fact is I lied.
When I pronounced "love"
with greater strength than "as long"
Fact is I lied.
When i said unconditional.
It is the beauty in song.

My regret lies in lack of earlier cognition.
This is not the first time this has happened.
Which means I never learned a lesson
inferring  to my lack of a mission
or understanding,
in a man's mind muddled.
I took the position
of sitting down in the struggle.
My body fatigued, eyes bloodshot and wary
I refused to see your definition
of affection realized in the lines of the abstract.

Fact is I lied.
When I said forever;
Knowing I am temporary.
Fact is I lied.
I never finished my sentence.
A more complete thought is "one of many"


The complete truth is my love was uniform.
Designed to let any woman fill the mold.
I lacked passion.
Which gives direction in a sandstorm.
I gave up my attempts to understand why water is wet.
Returned to my dreadful fantasy
wherein my heart would contort and deform.
As I told the truth to you
in a Scarlett and Rhett fashion;
We caressed in a snowstorm.
The message cut deeper than I could ever myself.

Fact is I lied.
When I said I would be fine,smiled
and drank in the last light you would reflect.
Fact is I lied.
When I said it was me
It was the both of us I wished to confect.

It's cold outside.
I found a box
to hold within complacent thoughts,
outrages and jealousies.
Firewood to keep me warm.
Labels on the things I sought.
I'm seeking
the definition of what
why and how words are wrought
My raddled mind
latches on
to the slightest runaway fantasy.
As if reality
is a scorned
lover who refuses to dance with me,
declining my apologies.
My dearest paramour
return to me.

As I climb each step
slowly, I'm getting higher.
Transcendentally.

The days have blended into a poetic haze
of mismatched syllables, hanging participles
accented with a hint of discourage.
My purpose use to be therapeutic.

Each rhyme I wrote was a comma in my run-on sentences.
And for awhile, I could breathe. Each breath became less wheezy, uneven and strained.
After I gathered enough air, I dared to speak.
Me? How could I even have the audacity to think!?

To my disbelief, my words didn't fall on deaf ears.
The anxiety, shame, depression and fear woven
into every poem made me familiar in the minds of strangers.
These strangers made me feel human.

With quickness that's comparable to the slickness of a parable
I was ****** from a catapult into the essence of prose.
However, the latency between the beginning of my literary journey
and the discovery of my gift for poetry was afflicting my sensibility.

I succumbed to the bullying from hyperboles
and the taunting of iambic pentameter.
At times I was afraid to talk to neighbors
for fear of narrative structure overhearing.  

Now, I am wandering in a fog
though the hills of unpublished work,
echoed only by the crunch of "not good enough" beneath my feet.
This was therapeutic.  Now I use it to influence my movements.

Rippling outward till the waves stop.
Dropped from a 5ft 10" skyscraper with a plop.

Perfect circles in precession,
stretching into regression
The placidity is eerie
as it returns with no sign of it's companion

The next one cast did a flip flop
across the liquid table top.

Those ripples again.
As if this lake had a brain,
it feigns space to detain
the stone and share knowledge arcane.  

The last one I decided to swap
I traded the lake's ripples for ones in my pocket.

Its a reason to return to the lake
The reason behind the pebble's wake
Scientifically, I know the make.
How is done, now why is at the stake.
,

Today is my birthday
I turned 22.
I will not be partying
I have things to do
Cold stone at 2
Class from 6-9

It may seem like a poor way to celebrate
Such a wonderful day
However happiness is in the moments remembered
So alcohol isn't in my plans today

Take the strings off the viola because
That's where the music is.
Take the nails from the floor boards because
That is where the pain is.
Remove the support beams because
That is where the strength is.
The uselessness
Of these objects
Is determined
By where they are placed.
The fire.
The warmth.
The burning reflected from
Your face
Is incomparable to the destruction that has taken place.

A series of gestures & looks
hidden between words in our composition books
As we study the opposite situation
We have the right page lifted in anticipation

The story is intriguing to be honest
We hang on to every letter as if written words couldn't lie.
When in fact,they make the lie permanent.
To be truthful, we speak in winks and flutters of the eye.

It is a language we never wanted to learn,
speaking in premonitions.
It frightens us like an unlucky number
A common and uncanny superstition

So we watch happiness from the corner
with an odd sociological perspective.
The trends we notice make us loners.
Lovers without an object of affection.

We used to say " I love you";
Now we just think it.
The people we became
are an odd fit.
I will admit
I am no longer pleasant
to be around.
Constant scowls and frowns
amidst the silence.
The clicks of keyboards
divide us.
Define us.
Align us.
We used be to analogous
like Bubble gum Princess
and Finn.
Just like them we've become unakin.
Padme & Anakin.
My fear of loosing you has caused me to loose you.
Like an episode of That's So Raven;
attempts at the prevention
of the future
ripped open the sutures
in my heart once again.

64 squares and 32 pieces
white and black or black and white
pending your thesis
whether your black or white
they all have the same features

8 pawns, simple creatures
8 x 2 is 16
infantry disguised as peasants
trying to get above the 7th
to the 8th and replace
their meager form for something more severe

2 rooks, sitting on the edge
2 crooks robbing everything perpendicular
to the perimeter provided the king
doesn't falter in his pledge


When the night rolls through,
the knights roll through.
Puffing green goo, these squares or cubes
will move an L make a 7 and ***** you.

The bishop will say a blessing
as he stumbles across the board.
Moving forward diagonally,
these drunken priests drink towards
a leader hung with dressings

The queen? That greedy broad
thinks everyone is a pawn.
constantly placing her place
in the face of those trying to take her place.

The king orchestrates the beat
carefully placing his feet before god.
His feat is living, no great givings,
giving up the wrong square will make his crown your treat

Lost in a sea
Of false realities,
****** fantasies and
Tiresome formalities.

Accustomed to the overture of
Treachery writhing in mouths.

Staggered by waves
Eclipsing my
Avenue to fulfillment

Yes.
I know.
It is irrational for me to think like this.
I poke holes, second guess
and jackhammer at my own foundation.
But, you see, I do care even when
I come off as crass or I dishearten
your image of me.

I
Just
Can't
Stop
Myself

These destructive feelings
and urges towards relationships
are deep rooted in a fear
of abandonment.
I'm a battered man.
Batting below average.
Yet, every chance I get
I bunt or try to get hit
because that's more comfortable to me
Than swinging and missing.

But I do care. I really just don't know how to show it.
I hold on too long to brief moments
that seem to pass from memories
as if I stole them. I'm just nostalgic.
It's the little things that are big to me
and the silly stuff that resonates profoundly.

I do understand though.
The burden of my depression
rests solely on my shoulders.
It's not something I can brush off or
roll over. I just hope that you all
bear with me as I tunnel my way
out of this insanity.

Spitting up the mucus lining
the back of my throat
binding my gag reflex
to every breath.

I hope I don't choke.

Stomach lining
forcing it's way up
and out my throat.
Sliding it's way back down
into my lungs.
Coughing and burning
my air ways. The pain is profound.

It looked like cold bbq sauce at first
but as the forced
contractions became less dispersed
Every thing became more clear.
Whiskey had put me here...

*It didn't hold you down and make you drink it.

She made breakfast
of sausage, toast and eggs,
sunny-side up.
With a smile that reflected
my shattered perception,
I scarfed the food down.
It was a pitiful apology.
The toast was burnt;
the sausage cold and
the eggs were runny.
It was a meal put together
by someone that knew
they could do no wrong.
I ate every crumb in a false show of good faith.
You see, breakfast comes every morning
with or without our participation.
The tears on my heart, however,
are only made with her designation

Consumed by perfection

Corrected actions

Fractions of receipts

Scratch sheet of nature

Denature the function

Compunction removed

Improved endeavor

Never seen

Seams over obvious

Genius hidden

Ribbon tied

Dyed cheetah print

Hold on.
I have to clean this up.
I don't want your soles to get cut up by my lack of ambidexterity.
I'm right-handed but I thought I'd try this out with my left
And I'm not as deft with it, especially in the moment, but I thought I'd give it a shot anyway.

It's my fault... I don't know how to juggle.

I'm usually good with rotation but
between the dilation of my eyes and the inflation of my ego,
the sensation of being flippant left me in a painted tuxedo

And it's raining...It's been raining.

I'm not complaining but the paint
is running and bleeding; An apotheosis of Leonid Afremov
needing emotional content to prove I exist.

*I don't mean to be like this. I don't want to be like this.

A little slice of the pie
I try to consume but I
throw it up every time.

Bulimic the scenic
route I take.
No mistake I meant to regurgitate.
Choking down lies, smiling like it taste great.
Get another helping of the American pie plate.

Washed down
with whiskey, strong and brown
like the strong and brown brothers
that scalped heads and used skins for covers.

Good morning, America!
Ignore the hysteria.
Pay attention to the sensations
on the surface area

Cap'n crunch
is more important Captains getting crunched
in a 13 year war we started off a hunch.

If you pay attention to the news
notice they ignore the trues

like the flammable water coming from your hose
or the fact you can't afford your children's clothes

We're buying apps and devices for $1200,maybe,
instead of $20 to buy a real ukelele

You see, we pay companies
to do things
because we're conditioned to be
to lazy when DIY was the real American dream.

More smoke than air in lungs if your a buyer.

More fire than water in blood if your a writer!

 It's 4am, settle down, your not tired?

All that caffeine will shorten the time before you expire!

                                                                                                                When the sun is up , I'm in my bed.

                                                                                                         When the moon is up, I'm out my head.

                                                                                                        Cabinets open, take the tie off the bread.

                                                                                                  Twisted close, my nickname's ***** thread.

Cans over here. Cans over there.

Can you get out your recycled chair?

Spinning around, rolling eye glare.

Perched on a throne in a 4 walled lair.

                                                                                                  Coordination of letters into a poetic diction.

                                                                                                      Separate each word like fact from fiction.

                                                                                                           Space things out; "and" "or" transition.

                                                                                                Correlate the points for a literary  prediction.

I...
I...
I can't find words
to properly observe
my absurd
feelings.

I'm dealing with
A lack of a fifth
appendage.
I'm missing my thumb

Well...
Well...
Well like an appendix,
I'm useless
for your senses.
Sensing

your numb to me
your like Nestle
chocolate is addicting.
and soothing

But...
But...
But I went to rehab
where I met Ahab
who was on Jihad
cause of some white girl

We realized
were hypnotized                          savages
victimized by
self-reliance
the key word being lie

Now...
Now...
Now were stagnant
spaced on various fragments
adorned with magnets
to the walls

surrounding
counting
drowning
*in cement

Tick
Measuring the angles
hands shaped triangles
acute attention paid
obtuse thoughts laid
when the clock is isosceles
I can leave

Tock

Its only been a second
apathy beckons
anxiety comes in second
JUST BEGIN THE LESSON!
YOU! STOP ASKING QUESTIONS!!

Tick

Mood unchanging
Motion stationary
Minutes deteriorating
Minus thirty
Master wary

Tock

Bottled up like salad dressing.
Top on, sticky side down.
Put a little pressure on the pressing.
Call it depressing when you take the finger from the noun.
Wrap it around
in a figure eight turn.
Discern or nerves will churn.
Pain is the name of the burn
sensation.
Loosen it at the day's cessation
and keep it on for the duration.
The continuation of blood circulation
is key to the prevention of amputation.
Whether physically or metaphorically,
keeping an injury wrapped in a challis
is the best thing to keep a healthy tally.

She begged me never to leave

I pleaded to the same degree

She said she's having my baby

I joined the ˈmiləˌterē

She claimed to be high risk

I exclaimed "We are better than this!"

She explained the reason: diabetic

I replied "Your excuses are emetic."

She mentioned money would help set her pace

I sent several hundreds to take my place

She disappeared without a trace

I, broken and weary, continued the race.

Silhouettes of perfection
mirrored in the moon's reflection
As they dance across the plain.

Sheets of grass are crisp with dew
From the condensation
caused by the concentration
of their gaze.

Blind to the life they draw
they are stopped only by thunderous applause
from the voyeurs of their strain

Horns shattering the silence of an intimate exchange.
Excited by the very motion of the living.
The color of their exsistance change.
Any misgiving and the other will find where fury preys.