here.
yes, show me here
I'll show you.
show me the crash coming now
coming fast now
God, it's coming faster now
would you look at that
would I?
can it be
it already was.
then why do you need it shown now?
why wouldn't I need it shown now? I crashed from the front
and I never saw it from the back.
I crashed in the back and never looked front.
I crashed in the side and kept it all in.
where did it begin?
you can't see? honestly?
honestly.*
in in in in in

gripping times they were;
when they held me in the palm of the hour
i felt time wave me over
as i planned to pass it by.

we surfed here
      surfed to
and from
and away
like our seconds were endless
and certainly independent of day

to please myself i try to remember time in my palm than me in its.
cause its clutch sure killed me first in my wits
but i always feel that fake shell i have around this
construct crack little by little
when the staleness of my illusion starts to go brittle.

as i sleep soft nights away and outlive the hard days
dwelling on a stack of banal chores
too convinced as it is that humans are a face and life its pores

too desperate to be filled? wishing to be killed? (made for it, too.)
to cut off time, which so readily breaks.
to give more of it up, which the universe so readily takes.
till we cut it off till we reach the end of more
till we finally stop waking up from this forever chore

when we let these days go we do pretending they're wholly ours
and when we let seconds go we do pretending they're holy hours;
you give me a minute back of my time... sometimes sixty, too.
with every two seasons you say spring forward
with every two seasons you say fall backwards

is it what i know to be partial devour
when zones don't change the seconds but they change the hour

    then we stand ourselves only as we fill ourselves to the brink, till false fulfillment come
in the color of root in the color of frond
in the color of favored relationship and forced-on bond
when the grey colored it all a different picture
when we combined optimism with realism in strange hazy mixture
when we drunk till numbness permeated bone
when we drunk till white noise recaptured all pitch and tone
till the fastest hour passed till the
slowest hour swallowed
and till we fell deep into this
aging hollow

She said: I need you to hold still
or else how can I write about you

lean forward
time to learn
here is your story
here is my hand
here is our journey
faraway band
faraway land
telling a story
music playing backwards now

and he looks at me to tell me
you will know the taste of stubbornness
too much like a shape you used to trace in the sand
too much like a shape
you used to trace in the sand

trying to remember what cupid used to tell me
after i told him if he ever came was there a chance that he would stay
cause i got so sick of feeling a certain way
then having it go away

you call yourself the starriest gazer
sharpest blade on a razor

pull apart skin pull apart

faster

the starriest gazer, sharper taser

come apart faster now

sit on the grass
this afternoon- minds lazing
this afternoon- cows grazing
all gnawing on thought
all knowing of thought

but can you really know

and does this grass ever regrow

here i hear of home
here i hear of home and it is a twisted old melody
   humming back at me
who's humming back at me

in this deep-seated parental regard
will you look at me like i'm smart
about to take a scholarship from juillard

for the instrument of pulling apart
for the compositions of tearing heart
for the rendition of dizzy art

taking forever to open up and even
longer than that to close
it scares me how much she knows
here the truth comes here the truth goes
     here i am sought for sad
doubly ***** prose
can you tell me again how much she knows
    
as she watches onward i float off ****** propriety
      i am a ghost coming through the drift of society

does she wish
she could chain me here
does she wish she could change me here
i am a ghost stepping through
a different body

to myself i cannot be recognized.
  through things i love i remember myself
i see trees i see a breeze i feel
and conclude that
i am a person of ease

then i see spurting
silver
smoke
      and remember another part
of me and hope
to God it's not from another thing that I broke

she looks at me and I already feel what she knows
you are a breeze and fire as it blows
                 through a different body
       and it steps on my toes
tough chalk take it easy with all those throws
tough chalk take it easy on the hose
      why was she the one you chose
// // here she confesses to be a concept to expose
// //   here i confess to already know
// //  here she deviates from
internalized dialogue rendition
lending me renewal in my own special edition
          here the deviation is turn that suffices
                        to scare all existential devices
kiss the existential murmur away
here she faces me to colors parts i used to call my favorite of the day
    till she comments on the fact that i didn't notice they were gray
here she fills here she pours here i am floating on her insistence on coloring with elemental cores
here is a gas that makes me feel more lighter than higher
        here she gifts me brighter day
better ray. does more than she will ever say
not to be pathetic but i'm definitely hoping that all this coloring could forever stay
though i love her enough to send her away
     but  beautiful fire don't put yourself out don't
put yourself out. don't show me what's brighter
then gift me a lighter
then put yourself out.
 here i feel the reach here i feel
a gentle tug and it's
good for me, i can tell.

here I am laying in a light painted on for me
      and I am so happy to be living off a dream

performing live in this city here I am performing
live in a town
old lady don't tell me to come down
here I am learning names of
a crowd

I'll die before I lay ties to it and I'll live before I lie
to it

this is when survival feels tempting

but I shouldn't let a dream take me off another
if it was my dream to never be a bother
if it was my dream to lay low and live wild

it never makes sense to stay up with these feelings but i find myself doing it just the same as if one word is eventually going to catch fire and burn this whole poem out of existence again cause that's what it feels like after i'm done writing cause there's tension between me and this ground i've been trying to live on and the tension lights sparks which light sparkling fires greater than anything you've ever experienced before

back when i could write like that i remember i could stand my voice sometimes for as long as you would stay

and it made me feel better that somehow i was getting two in one. that i was convincing you and myself. and it was so nice to have that feeling stay for as long as it did

so you put your face close up to mine before
your eyes flashed a little wide
before you said hey let's go inside before you said
hey it's warmer in here before you said
why don't you have a beer
before you said all of this
        your eyes flashed a little wide.
so i guess that's when i should've known.
but as i felt my hand grip over my phone
i realized how badly i had to be done with the trust games
you said i knew so much better than to trust old flames
and you're a new thing. up and away
cupid's a shooter till this very day
and you were excited for me to
learn what would happen if i did it your way

you were excited for me
to finally see what was on the other side of this kind of fear.
so i let you be and i let me be too until my
fingers loosen and i don't even have my
thumb on speed dial anymore when our eyes finally lock again.
somehow i just
know this is a bad idea but at the same time it feels like
something i should've done a long time ago.

the things i'll keep and the things i won't
and the things i'll bury and the things i'll hold
and   the things you see and the things you don't
and the things you wonder and the things you know

the worry you hide and the fear you show
the way things bite      the way life blows
to an  away and beyond
horizon-binding     no more zone to hold my roots to
blowing me far into unknowing
      away and beyond

     the furthest   away and beyond
but my name means near
          so what is here in the away
what is here in the beyond
is my new here

my name means near so
that's what i try to make

when life pushes me again

that's what i try to make

fold far into half the distance. fold far into half.
grieve less. grieve less. i tell myself what
i need and it's to grieve less.

all my comfort is  untold
unfold this concept of near till the space between your fingers says i trust you and the space between your thumb and index is how i don't
i thought i could freeze myself into this
      but instead i'm unfolding
harder now. unfolding all of it
all of my weapons on the table
there it is again that
familiar nothing and you
can't escape this and i can't
stop this
this is the space between your thumb and index but four times bigger again. coming back over again
to make sure it's harder.
to make sure it's harder to go back

when i felt it change it
turned over to look at me  one last time
    the stars gave out their last summer sugar light
kissed both of us sweet good night. sweet good fall.
sweet good winter. till the very next spring
hear the leaves crinkle
then here the leaves grow
in the distance
i heard the dying croon
of our favorite old moon.

wish i had a pill for the memory and a pill for the pain and a pill for the bitterness and i just want it all to be numb for once instead of the weakness i feel instead.

now i look at everything like it's you
but everything looks back at me and
it's screaming me me me
and i was so deluded to think i could escape myself through another person

you and me have our own sense of time
a night is the day's wait to turn it all off

being born again
every night
   his hands laced through
to the ends of mine
                    he's

being born again
         asking me what happens every night
       if it happens every  night
yes, every night
you're gone every night

i love you
but you've gone every night
          
he's being born again
and i'm sinking into dreampools of him telling me everything is fine
he says:
you're alright
he says:
we're alright

he says bury your face in mine
        bury your worries, it's fine
he says        i can't hold you forever
      but right now please can you please
let's just forget about stupid time

and again and again and again
i hold him like a summer love that bleeds and cracks
    and scabs

being born again
looking at each other trying not to cry
                            and here i am drowning
in thinking in feeling
oh how i wish i could hurt the night
how i wish i could hurt the night
        and how i wish i could hurt the morning

all of it in all its lying sunny glory
taking me and giving me a sick sad sob story

being born again
he's whispering
'tell me about your night'
being born again
'tell me about your night'
being born again

tonight there's only knuckles
tonight there's only jaws locking
before fights

but we'll never get to the fight
because i know you more every night
and you'll slip away again like you do every night

are you sure we're alright?
he says:
it's alright,
you're alright

then he's gone again
like every night

then he's born again
back again
with me again

he's asking
every night?
i'm trying to breathe—

yes.

every night.

i didn't think you'd be serious about never being able
to look me in the face again.
i mean i'm not mad. just look at me. i'm not mad
i'm not mad i'm not mad
i'm sad but i'm not mad

but i am. i am so mad. i am frustrated
and everything is so clear to me right now.

why are you mad?

i don't know why it took as long as it did for me to ***** this up.
but the point isn't why
it took so long but that i did ***** it up.

but you realize i did too, don't you?

i don't care what you did.
that's on you.
but what's on me, you can either hate me for or leave.

so then why are you mad?
i don't hate you.
all i wanted to do after you told me was to hold you.
isn't that what you wanted too?

stop it. again with the guilt tripping
why do you always want me to be the selfish one.
why do you make me  mistreat you? just to get some peace?
just to feel earth? just to hold onto something better in my head
i have to break something real like you?
why? why do you want me to play bad guy?
i'm mad at you. for
making me feel worse than i am by
not making me feel worse at all.
just drop it. drop me. drop the feelings.
i said i don't want you here, so stop looking at me
like i'm going to give you a punchline to that. this isn't a joke.
this is real. this happened. and what's happening is happening.
so stop looking at me like i'm going to tell you it isn't.

i said please. baby.
i'm not looking at you
any sort of way. i'm looking at you like you are.
why do you hate yourself so much.
why do you hate me so much.
just because you hate you doesn't mean i have to hate you too.

you know what i did.
so leave.
leave me for it.

but you didn't do it. you want me to think you did.
i'm not dumb.

and he said
either way i would've done it
so what does it matter?

please look at me.

i don't want to see myself

i want to see you.

i can't see you
i only see the me in you.
and i don't know why you bothered
putting so much of the better me in you
because the worse me is all i'll ever be
and you won't ever get to
be happy.
not with me.

i said if you lied to me now. i'd believe you

he said
*i really don't want you to

every interaction there is to know, there is to have
every feeling
every color in the sand
     every triple-drip, color-trip in the spilt gasoline
coming off in a faint rainbow, coming off in spilt energy
on some days just as fly ash
on other days peeling off the moon
peeling off our walls as well
and maybe this is just as well
and maybe this is just as well

please don't
i won't

please don't
i won't

please don't
this time i can't
stay

i'm sorry i'm sorry
come back

hold onto this

hold onto this

i can't
then don't.

the sun always hung lower in september
        but high stayed the moon
      the tug of war of steady and ready    
that was to precede the fall to come soon

the lower it hung  
the higher it rose
telling me it'll fall soon
like i'll fall, soon

sweet chandelier sun beautiful and rising and painting my sky in her light
thank you for the fight you put up every night
     mixing yolky colors with the darkness ahead
and i stare at you till the sorry in me is dead
    and it feels so good to have sleep in my eyes with you singing to me in fading lullabies  
                    telling me in september
every tomorrow is our own reprise

     but it hung low, i admit
and stifling, too
too low for my own good
and i was holding a sticky sorrow in my hands
knowing about the fall soon

and the days went on with the sun over my head
   with me  trying to  stop  staring over it and ahead
i was done with it i said
   i was done with it

i can't believe i used to
think    it lingered close
because it loved me

he said I've never been one to swear when I'm mad
but I'll call you what you are
if I need to.

he said I come up with names for people that run forever
he said I'm calling you an aberration.
               if that's what you are
and if it is,
then that's the worst thing I'll call you.

but how is that the worst thing he'd call me?

when he called me
a painful love? and
when he called it
painstaking adoration

stupidity in the form of infatuation
he said be with me
but leave in the morning
cause after this i don't ever want to see you again

and then he called me to say i was an aberration
but his words felt like they meant to say that i was not quite the aberration but
    the  everything  that had gone   wrong
that was now getting what it had coming
and melting, coming in as purple flurries of
a sad sad sad till  it all  finally
  became the       red of the moon on the day i last saw you
and there was nothing more to mourn after that
        but the   hopeless, formless, blobulous
aberrations that line up like stars
that he calls consolations (you were a consolation)
not constellations

and the days i existed before i knew i was and wasn't one.

and i guess it's all too easy to say i
appreciate your honesty but harder when
i'm here on this rooftop
trying to balance old equations
       that don't have numbers to them
trying to
take these pieces  and pretend they're from
the same puzzle.
        taking one stupid piece after another
of myself hoping to
draw myself together into a
redemption
against him  
and i'm sure this is fair because
love is an emotional minefield and he knows how to play *****.

she looked at me and I could tell
it got harder for her to breathe thinking
about what she was about to say before
she just closed her eyes and took the deepest breath and said
please
if there's ever a thing that you do     that isn't about being on a whim
or getting your thoughts away from him
        then let it be that you are the you that you are in that second
for longer than a second

   she put her hand out and laid it on my cheek
she said please, i know you don't like this
        but just hold still
she said hold still
because there's holes in me that i've been absolutely dying to ask you to fill
          and it's not that you gave me nothing it's more that i've been
trying to paint a picture of you     but i can't
       even decide what you look like
      because light seems to fall on you differently every time

she said you're mad at me
     but i don't care
    i'm still trying to memorize the little things you've told me
still here holding pieces of you that you swore
         would be in my hands temporarily
you should know
i'm used to the weight now and
i don't want you to take them back
because i'm going to be so empty without them

and honestly
after the pieces
my hands got stronger
and i want to be this strong     forever.

please don't change me and
then leave.

how about you play with my hair one more time
and tell me about what we're going to do
when the world falls apart
and it's just us two

but how many times did we count days
      apart
only to forget
what day it really is
when we're together

         that's scary to me.

is my life wasting away      
     merging into space
                  am i losing touch
with what i used to
           believe was my destiny.

how many times did we find ourselves
producing more
                out of less
and less out of more
what little frustration we had
        pounded into its older cousin
anger
what little jealousy we felt
                      poured over fights that
boiled out of nothing
that stirred
out of a lot of love
            and bitterness
but mostly                  strong
unapologetic love
that blurred
a thousand nights
      together
as one
as        one.

but i wanted myself
as a whole field
    i wanted myself
in my entirety
i       wanted myself
wholly me

                   not some passing field
on this destination of
                                     forever together
not some
                phase of life before we blossomed into one
not losing one to become one.

She said: wait. what are you apologizing for.
I said I'm sorry for the words
and they're never enough to tell you
about the things that I never meant to happen
She cuts me off: everything means too little
to me right now.
I said again let me say I'm sorry for the words
She puts her hand on mine
she said I understand
but if you don't go now
I will.

you say the problem
is I am ground zero
   I am the Earth's surface closest to the detonation
you say the problem is
I am ground zero
    and the Earth is at war.

I kept trying to tell you
I was made to feel.
everything on this Earth that exists without a purpose
all the ethereal
that was made for me.
    and I am made to feel.

and I feel those things.

but she doesn't care she says
what are you hiding

stop, i'm not,
just trying
    i'm trying to forget

now she's screaming

why are you behind
why aren't you keeping
yourself here
why are you always drifting
why is there so much fog around you
why is there so much fog around you

stop crying i'm so sorry

because I am feeling so much
all the time
and I am drowning in myself
and i just want to know how come it always ends up with
me on the floor sinking.

of every mistake of
every person on this Earth
and they are all
causing me SO MUCH
I don't know which one did it to me first

how many names do you have for frustration?
how many names do you have for frustration?

if it makes you happy, i'll have none.

okay okay I'll
**** it up and say
I'm calling you again
hoping you'd pick up because
all I'm ever asking you to do is to
to take all these pieces of
me and reconstruct them into something
that makes sense to us.

it already makes sense to you

You think it makes sense to me?
which part of it?
   why i'm thinking about
these things all the time
why i'm losing myself in my own mind
why i'm trying to get  back
          into what i'm trying to leave behind
why i can't admit to habit
but i can admit to loving some of that kind?

i'm still salvaging
nothing's changed
i'm still salvaging dollops of conversations we've not yet had
this is a continuation
of the love I used to feel.
it doesn't mean it wasn't
real
it's just not
here.

so you expect me to feel better?

then where were you when I was trying to convince myself that I'm too busy thinking to feel?
that I'm too busy feeling to think?
and which is worse? i'm asking you, but you're dreaming now, aren't you/

                   It's okay.
but do you keep wondering whether it's worse that these feelings don't come from me
               that they come from you and everyone else on this Earth setting off a million things all at once
clawing at earth
pulling apart at earth
     pulling apart at earth
the earth of the Earth that's always tried so hard to be my ground
and yet you all break it
      and expect me not to fall in cracks
that I promise you I tried to
fill with
everything you wanted me to fill with but
I was never a builder. I was never
able to fix anything
more than I was able to stare at it
with a longingness that never served me any good.
then yes
but now my thinking session is over- you're awake again"
you say
I am ground zero
and everyone is
going through
the same war over and over
and I'm so sorry I'm so sorry to say this
but can't you just get out?

and
that was two months ago
now you're whispering
you're caught in yourself, you're caught in yourself, you're caught in yourself
so I can't help you
caught in everything around you but
mostly caught in yourself
and crashing into waves
that are so intent on crashing back into you

always letting go of things you know will
come back for you
and pulling at moons and watching them float past you
and betting on games
and losing those, too

and even after all that
she takes my hand and says
*you're going to lose me too

when I go back to you
and you run to me
thank God for this

I'm the sun if it makes you feel better
I'm a rising tide washing away
too much of today
too much of yesterday
how many shores did you land on before you landed on this one here?
how many feelings did you run through before you decided to let go of fear?
how many faces did you memorize for hours and they still disappeared?
I'm feeling so much today baby
but do you think it's all about you?

Tell me it doesn't mean anything
that I'm still cleaning up an act from years ago
that I'm still healing from wounds
that I got catching fire.
He was fire-safe, he never told me
      wanted to see what I'd do for him
wanted to see if I'd burn.
Baby, I'm sorry
I'm sorry if I let you think I wasn't the kind
to do anything for you. Yes, this is my fault
Yes, oh my God, yes, I'm so sorry
Why are you crying, baby?
Baby?
Baby?
I didn't think you'd do it
I didn't think you'd do it

I said hold me
I'm sinking
and you kept
trying to teach me how to swim

quick fire: midnight,
I call it an ember.
I pretend blackened remains
are remainders that are at peace
with the past.

I know you write at night, say you'll have time to wither in the morning. funny how you fight yourself when all your body wants is rest and surrender.
Is it really a battle when both sides come from the same?

How crazy that your body just wants you to be okay and you can’t even bring yourself to listen. How crazy that I tried so hard to be your pillow and you wouldn’t lay down next to me.

and how many mornings did I watch you sleep through?

how many nights did you spend in the dark cracking knuckles and biting the wood off pencils?

how many times do i have to give in to you before you let me in?
how many times do i write about you only to write about him?

how many times does the subject change from one to the other and i’ll argue with you about him when we’re looking at one another?

how many times will it hurt before it all feels the same? how many times will this stop feeling like new burn and pain?

you kept talking about mountains.
and I died wondering
how you could climb so high—
and still not come for me

You never told me what you thought about me, you were always scared of reducing these feelings into words.
I never knew what you thought about me, I was always scared of knowing those feelings you say are bigger than words.

I can't write anything
    that doesn't sound slightly stupid
            anymore
                    my words haven't kept up
with my maturing. Or so it seems.

         maybe I'm just outgrowing
   the stupid words I used to use to describe
things. but maybe is also another stupid word.

maybe maybe maybe
          the word dances off my tongue. which is totally
(completely) repulsive.
        why should a word
that sits on the top of everyone's
        tongue
               waiting to strike
dance. it's a drug they don't warn you about
     ****** if you use it ****** if you don't.
        
the next best excuse
                     to 'I don't know'-- couldn't tell you how many times
i've held back because i clutched that word
     like it was a part of me.

maybe. here it is again. maybe, I thought that "maybe"
     really was a part of me. it's hard to distance yourself
from something so excruciatingly
     fitting.
there was something about "maybe" that just felt
necessary. as though certainty never stood a chance.

the worst of things being that we were all defined by our cowardice and that we couldn't stand
       the thought of being wrong (not even once.)

nobody  saying anything
with any certainty. they knew how fragile
the world was. none of us were
strong enough to deal with being any shade of WRONG.
we're all too insecure to be throwing around words like that anyways.

Been feeling like
I'm one of those cuts that you can only see under a certain light
and once you see them in that certain light, it's hard to unsee it
   and you can't stop seeing it in that light. Even when it's dark you can still see it on your skin.

Lately I've just been cut with my own sadness, as though there's nothing more occupying in the world than the chills I get after a disappointing text message. Hugging my knees, I'll sit and stare at a wall. I'm depressing myself, they say.

Maybe I am. But I can't fight the urge enough not to.

there wasn't another day
where i looked here right in the eye
to tell her i loved her

i was so scared of her
being alone in a room with her
was like going into a dark house
and having all the lights turn on at the same time

she was bitter at best, everything mean she said
came out like spit in her mouth,
but i loved it so much because it always
made me see the whole world anew

and i loved her so much,
i just couldn't tell her that
she's not the type to want to hear it
but i'm the type to want to say it
i just couldn't

you understand, don't you?
when you want to do something so bad
when a word is on the tip of your tongue,
when you're about to confess something but you find out
the person isn't so trustworthy,
so you change the subject. pretend to have forgotten
what it is
you're about to say.

i never forgot.
i never forgot what to say.
i loved her, it was always on my mind.
it was terrifying. i would think about something unrelated for
a single second of peace and then back
to remembering her and how much i loved her.
and how much i couldn't say it.

i wish i could end this off saying i told her, that
i caught her by the shoulder and looked
right into her eyes.

but when i finally realized
to say those stupid words
it was too late

I have written about this before. About you.
About you leaving. About you leaving without me.
About you leaving without me and forgetting. About me.
Leaving without me and forgetting me.
I have written this before.

He takes my hand, gives me
a reassuring glance that I don't
feel I need. I need him, and I have
him and I don't need this. This is a waste.
A waste because I don't see him, he is never
here. Here, right now is the desert. The desert,
because it has not rained in an eternity. An eternity,
yes. Yes, it hasn't rained a year. A year, or maybe it just
feels like a year. A year, it could have been. Could have been,
but even if it was and even if it wasn't, I still don't know why he
is wasting it. It doesn't come too much, he knows that. That it doesn't
come as quick as I need it to, as often as I feel it should, as easy as I would
like it to. To come. Come and stay for good, not like this. This, coming, going,
indefinite waiting periods. Periods of no rain and periods of no love and periods
without him and periods with him and periods where my heart beats incessantly and
periods when the rain will not stop striking the pavement-- in floods, I float all my weight
on a dwindling river I call my sweetest home. Home, away from this desert, home a place for good.

Your shoulders, sturdy,
hold me, heavy,
I am groggy but awake.

Push at a rock and hope it will move.
You reap what you sow but I did not
plan for your barren lands,
I hadn't thought of the desert,
I have not been able to dream, I have yet to fall asleep.
Watch me fall into the abyss of my own unconscious,  salvaging dollops of conversations we have not had.

Look at you ramble... uneasy, too afraid to let
a comfortable silence sit between us, too insecure
to share anything but emptiness disguised as words.

I did not believe in the power of company,
and their influence.

Now all I can do is stare inertly at the fallow lands of my nightmares
Only to awake, heaving, still heavy, gesticulating wildly,
reaching for familiarity.

I hate this obstinate reality.

We are friends by habit not love.

I am not scared of you leaving.
I'm scared of you not coming back.
I hold my breath till my lungs feel like they're on fire
when you tell me goodbye.

the hairdresser used the wrong dye
       your boyfriend dumped you for a guy

all you have left is shattered dreams
      camera flash blinds you with its beams

missionaries bring word of an impending doom
    your dog snuck in and broke your fave perfume

trying to grow your hair but you have split ends
        the guy you've been eyeing wants to be just friends

your favorite jeans ripped and you don't have spares
        you would ask for a friend's but nobody cares

you're late to work and you don't know why
      you got scouted to model but you were suddenly too shy

you failed the pop quiz that everybody aced
      you got mistaken for a celebrity and brutally chased

you dropped your wallet jogging around
      you found it empty a week later in the lost and found

you forgot not to and picked a scab
       your favorite uncle's stuck in rehab

your grandmother mistook you for her son
      in reality you're female, and nowhere near fifty-one

you're a penny short but the cashier won't budge
     your mother is still holding that 10-year grudge

what can you do, what can you say?
when all you have is first world problems, today.

distance rolls into the highway
as we vicariously live our lives
rebelling against the speed limit
whose faulted existence was deep-rooted
in restraints that meant well
but were restraints all the same

"ehem"
we all hear it
the voice of the once-feeble boy
whom we always assumed would
end up in some shabby office job
typing away schedules and making spreadsheets
avoiding fellow humans and drinking coffee– black

the voice that seemed so small to us then
now seems impossibilly loud–
ridiculously honest, and tragically sad

and no trace of anger or shame
or anything that bears resemblance to
the last picture of the boy
you carry in your minds

important people, marked by name-tags
and good posture–
nice suits
surround him

it's all very intimidating
all of you hoping
he makes no mention
of you, or you, or you

and the wait, for him to speak
is nerve-wracking and
feels remarkably long
with people tapping their feet
impatiently, and readjusting their ties

until finally he clears his voice once more
and addresses the crowd
the audience exchanges expressions
of amazement, wonder

his voice is strong and reaches you
though you're hiding in the very last row
and you can't bear to meet his eyes
or return his flashy smile

he makes a speech
and you settle into your seat
as you forget your own presence

all seems well
until
he stops mid-word
and meets your stare

and

all of a sudden it's 1979 again
and you're back in that playground
and you have a bat in your hand
and he has fear in his eyes
and he's crying
and begging you to let go
but something in you snaps
and you hit him
right across the nose
before you could stop– and then you sprint

it sinks in when you're halfway home
and you stop and hesitate
feel the guilt
but shrug it off
and walk the rest of the way back

the roles are reversed now
and he is clearly the bigger man
and you are small, and weak
and petty

a playground bully is your only claim to fame
while he is the president of this ******* country.

he starts again
and you feel worse than you would had he
given you the punishment you deserved

nope, this boy ain't angry- or ashamed,
only hurt, and blatantly sad.
so, so sad.

You cry everyday
      and you lose a bit of yourself everyday
and the only time you feel yourself smiling is after you've drunk so much you're passed out on the floor.

you love that headache you wake up to
because it fogs up your brain
you don't need to stop yourself from thinking too much
cause you can't think at all.

and you're thankful you can't remember last night or even the night before
and if anyone asks you if you've been drinking again
it's always a "no, not anymore"

and it's clear they know you're lying
but they've given up on you for a while
so they just pat you on the back
and leave with a forced smile

people call you
to "check up on you"
to ask "how's it going"
to say "I miss you"

you mumble
"thanks" and
"it's going." and
"yeah."

it's hard for them
knowing you don't miss them
back
knowing you want to die

and it takes everything in you
to stop yourself from crying
so you hang up
grab a bottle

and laugh
because in a few minutes
you'll be smiling
while you pass out on the floor.

from the very first glimpse of world that greets you every sunday,
                                            tuesday
or perhaps thursday morning
the thought of an ordinary day will not dawn upon you
for every day, to you, will be as good as your first
and as bad as your last
life is your dress rehearsal
and its creatures are your cast

seated at the breakfast table
alone
   with alphabet cereal
swirling in milk
avidly spelling out the names
of all the galaxies
    and daydreaming
of sleeping under the stars

daytime means schooltime
which is synonymous with
underpaid teachers
    and high-pitched gossip
and boys with peach fuzz
who never bothered remembering your name.

the cafeteria is a habitat
which houses many
different species
of human
including the undercover poet
scribbling on a grease-stained
napkin :
the ballad of a sad child.

upon a steady return
to the undercover's residence
three things occur:
      his fountain pen is quenched
          his tears dried
and of course, a bitter realization
that his day had been most banal.

so once again the poet sets off

footsteps patting against textured carpet
   your shaky palms
grabbing layers of soft duvet
  dragging it across the empty floor
through the hallways
  and out the front door

under the stars
   you lay and weep:  safe forever
and fully submerged in the calm of the night

forever is not a lifetime
it seems
but the time it takes
for the sun to win over the moon
in a fight

we are praying
by the day

we are hoping
to find the way

in a crowd
we are lost
open your mouth
speak your thoughts

in this world
you are judged
for many things
but
your beauty
has no amount
if the words
stuck in your mouth
on the very tip of your tongue
in the essence of air you breath out don't
make their way
around.

horror stories muffled by pillow forts and blankets that stretch across the
vast of my beloved
room.

in hiding--
your young skin
    is shielded
  by a lonely
shadow dancing
with sunlight.

the room's symphony plays on as
a crescendo of
soft laughter
and light footsteps
cues in.

magazines     sprawled on
the carpeted-floor
jennifers & ashleys
glamorously sporting
shiny hair.

away messages
are synonymous
to x's and hearts
bordering
your
besties' names.

and these are the best
years of your life
but it just feels like dirt
to your name
being young
gets old.

mobiles in purses
strapped to your chest
"I HEART NY" keychains
dangling by the locket
that frames your blurry
picture of
him.

you feel so important
surrounded by friends
and people who
shower you with
lots of
cheap love.

you don't care
about what you don't know
and it's easy
living
when all you're living
is the lie of happiness.