Someday I will meet you-
and probably be sadly disappointed.

I could stop writing about *******,
But I just won't.

Telling you "I'm fine, mom."
is always easier in English.

People are so romanticized,
until you come to know them.

Don't obsess over the romantics-
shadows of eyelashes
what longing is and means
the way a chest falls
when bad news is heard.
Do anticipate disappointment-
and revel in pleasant surprise
only for the moment it exists.
Understand nothing lasts forever.
Don't give it away all the time.
and form a forcefield- a wall if it wills.
Always focus on the next task at hand.
Stop being so gracious-
and have more ambition,
demands that are either met or excelled,
higher standards.
You are stone until you want to be water.
Trees until you want to be storms.
The mouse until you want to be the owl.

Anticipating discomfort
as high heels climb stairs
with light steps to avoid clicks.
Attempt to dodge the cigarette brigade
with quick nods and hellos.
Finally on their floor with labored breathing.
They are so loud- heard down the hall.
Behind the door there are friends
waiting for the next best topic.
Greeting friends,
drunk and drinking more.
Open the door to
loud friends,
laughing over each others voices.
The only thing worse than the clamor
is the spilt stout that nobody noticed.
But hugs and wise cracks are still in order.
Holding hands with a cup of speaking serum,
with eyes that already seek a clock.
It's too early, we've only just got here.
Obligation to talk.
Spy the lascivious in peripherals-
in the corners of the room.
What languid lovers narcotics make.
High stakes with low gains,
leaves mouths with ****** tastes.
Words exchanged in witty waste.
Spy the conversations that selective hearing
couldn't rid
about you- about him, about them
and the trouble we're in.
Avoid eye-contact, but answer to
"What's going on with you? New job?"
with a smile and a nod and an "It's cool."
Burning desire for an air
without so many ****** breaths.
Someone is hurling in the bathroom-
and friends are singing desperation.
Tap toes and fidget,
avoid more conversation.
Everyone is so involved, now.
Gravitating around the life
of the party.
The foyer's empty.
A platinum opportunity.
Fake a bathroom break.
Apartments don't have back-doors,
and comings a regret.
Slip past the lazy leg bridges.
No one's looking yet.
In between coffee tables and couches.
No one's looking, yet.
but some are rising for the night trips
of cancer indulgence.
Jet for the door and ever so
silently
close it when you're beyond
for relief.
The air is already colder-
slip off the heels and run barefoot
in to the rest of the night,
safe and alone with yourself
and your secrets.
Ignore the question texts.
Houdini?
Disappearing acts.
No, you're Candy.
you don't let them in your heart.
Ignore the question texts,
don't explain yourself next time either.

Who ever thought brooks should babble,
should really sit down in a public space for bit.
Because the sounds of cool water
slipping past patchy grass, pebbles and soil,
is not remotely comparable
to the grating voices of middle-aged women
discussing fitness gear, dinner parties and wedding plans.
I've become taken with silence.
I finally understand why it is coveted and cherished.
Silence is when life tries to speak to you.
This is something I didn't entirely grasp when I was younger
and noise was the only validation of living I had.
But the thing about silence that is much like noise,
is that you can only tolerate so much.
And then it's no longer a validation- but an uncomfortable pause
that won't stop
until you respond
to life.