Every minute,
twitter receives ninety eight
thousand tweets
and facebook just got
six hundred ninety five
thousand status updates
and in the time that it took for
someone to type out
"today *****"
a heart was broken
a peanut butter jar was emptied
someone just got caught in the storm
while another girl dances in the rain
a newborn took their first breath
and someone took their last
but a caterpillar turned into a
beautiful butterfly
just as an earthworm
shrivelled up on the sidewalk.

A mathematician's son
forces himself to write down
equations out of pure fear
that his father would get angry
if he told him he'd rather be an
artist and paint a picture
of daffodils and sunsets
and maybe even the
pretty girl who sits behind him
in class but the truth is that
she could never ever like someone
who wears rounded glasses
and attends all his classes
because hey, that's not cool.
Cool is skipping school
and taking your first drag
on a cigarette and
maybe even having ***
at a stranger's house with
a strange boy who never
even cared to ask you for
your name because
it's all just a game anyway
so stop asking so much
you're losing you're losing
stop.

At this moment in time,
a father came home drunk
because his life is another word
for something that comes out of
your **** and that's when he hit
his daughter for the very first time
but it certainly won't be the last
and no one else knows but that night
she set fire to her dream catcher
because she thought
it wasn't doing its job right.
It never ever ever kept the
nightmares at bay
because they stayed with her
every night and every day
and that's when she realized that
the nightmares were coming
from inside of her head
but it's okay it's okay
daddy said tears are for
weak people and she
must be strong
because how can you not be
when everyday you endure
three punches
two smacks
and a kiss
on the lips
for good luck.

At this moment,
a girl fell down while
walking to school
while another girl
watched and laughed
and a penniless lady
is stripped of her clothing
and dancing in a way that
no one should dance
just so she could feed her infant son
who can no longer breastfeed due to
his mother's alcohol addiction
but somewhere somehow
there's a rainbow coming up
after a day of grey skies
and a constant raincloud that
drooped over everyone
but it's okay because
a dying wildflower
just had the most
amazing drink
and you might think
that this life has no meaning
since we're all going to die
eventually and I know
that your cheeks hurt
from smiling and your
mouth can't tell
anymore lies
I'm happy I'm happy
don't look me in the eye.

Just remember that we
all feel pain and we all
have those days where
we just can't win
but let me tell you:
at this moment in time,
you're beautiful
you're beautiful
you're beautiful
and you'll be
okay.

(panic in the woods)

i will name things
i will name myself
i am not afraid

i will speak
my name
i will show
my face
i am not afraid

i cannot
in good conscience
remain anonymous
with this
one life

i cannot
stifle the
one thing
i have
that is
my own

in the woods i named
a stick and
in a rage i held it
wanting to break
stones with wood

i looked frantically
about at
the trees
with their many
notches and
dark hideaways
and was astonished
to find they
had not made
a place for *me
to live and hide

i wanted to
scream fire
i am here!
why isn't there
a place for me?

then i felt as if
i were a tree
a bare tree
with thieves already
bargaining for
next spring's leaves
not yet sprung

so i marched
down the trail
in a desperate
fury and suddenly stopped
because there
on the grey, dusty ground
was the most beautiful,
vibrant red berry
i had ever seen

and i silently
shouted and named,
red berry!
i am a red berry!
i *know i am a red berry!
why, then
do i feel like
the trampled
grey dust?

tears streamed down
my face
and i panicked
my breath came
too fast
i looked around
wildly
and i named everything i saw

and in my rapid
breathing
i desperately wanted
nothing more than
a warhorse
i wanted my stick back,
that i had flung aside

i wanted to roar
"break!"
and watch the stone crumble
i wanted my horse
to be strong and lithe,
beautiful
a thundering
terror
i wanted to
wreak vengeance on...

what? who?
i couldn't name
my enemy

but i am the namer

i will name
the bane of my heart
the cursed
corrupt nightmares
of government and
moral authority

but my deepest self
is lashing out
for something more
to name

something to break
myself against

but this thing
escapes me
remains nameless
slippery
and out of
my control

her soft apology
tear stained letter handwritten in the
dust of yesterday on the tabletop
it gives voice to her perfection
and the imperfections her perfection hides
delicate like a steel syringe full of regret
like a bitter song full of time that cant be recaptured
she releases me seeking to deny cruelty
but it is cruel to have been there and cast aside

deprived of the moments
when her sky was mine
her eyes have lost focus
her touch lost its immediacy
buried it in the scars on her arm
parallel lines red with regret
but hers or mine
they are so infront of me even when unseen
how can i contain them
how can i softly speak the nearness
of what i must be feeling
but i cannot discern I'm too close to her tears

i race with complete abandon
the hours and days across the vast emptiness
of this world
to bring even a moments ease to what
she must be suffering
to do anything that would cease this for her
but it slips through my crying fingers
slips through my screaming hand
and softly falls to the white tile cold floor
like death like tears
like her heart falling from grace
like me falling trying to catch her

her soft apology
handwritten  in the inky dust of my yesterday
feels like a voice trying to rationalize
self immolation in tangled lines
in sorrowful beauty
all the perfections of her
and all the imperfections they hide

I was born, raised and cultivated by my favourite books.
As my eyes rolled along paper and ink
My mind traced each curve of each letter
Fingers move to turn the page
Seeing who I will become next.

I am nothing but these words I've read.
I am a collage of paper trees and paper dolls
Photocopies of human beings
Who are photocopies of other human beings.

I am nothing but what the commercials want me to be.
I can't think outside of this television-shaped box
Suffocating ideologies of powerful men in business suits
I crave their orders in order to get by.

I was born, raised and cultivated by my favourite books
And I wonder if this is how I am supposed to be.