the
teacher
talks
but
the
students
talk
too

the poet in me is quiet now
no longer does he sing words
of love and whisper songs of
passion, no longer does the
drive to create pull at my feet
and walk me into the pit of
fresh reality, no longer does
the relief come when the word
emerges on the page, instead
there is only dissatisfaction and
sadness.

the poet in me must have left
no longer friends with the beat
of my heart, no longer in tune
with the secret channels my mind
broadcasts, no longer demanding
me to feel that which I refuse to
even acknowledge, no longer
there reminding me that I am
more than a body of flesh and
blood.

the poet in me is dead or gone
no longer putting up a fight with
the destructive order of my soul,
no longer bringing out the human
side of my heart, no longer engaging
all of my brain, no longer pushing me
to be more than I am expected to,
no longer making me sing and
talk and believe in myself, no
he is too good for that now.

the poet in me is quiet now
and all we have left is his pen
and our memory.

there are some
that you owe your very first
and your very last
to

but to you
I owe not just that
but everything
in between

and I am more
than happy
to spend every day
of my life
repaying
you

you miss a lot
when it’s happening
as you hurtle through
the wonderful moments
of your life

looking back
you can see how it all unfolded

the little glances and motions,
the afternoons spent in thrift stores,
the evenings spent in movie theatres,
the conversations till the sun came up,
the jokes shared, the laughs enjoyed,
the almost, nearly, so-close chances,
they all flew by the first time around.

she’d laugh at me now
because she always knew
but I was too dumb
or too nervous
to know

(but I knew,
deep down)

and it tell the truth to you
it’s been almost four years
since I first fell in love with her
and I never stopped, not for a day

not through the cancer,
not through Christina,
not through depression

she was my core,
she was my life,
she was something I knew
I would always have,
even if I didn’t
have her,



so even if I missed some things
while they were happening
I want her to know
that I wouldn’t have seen anything
if she had not opened my eyes
in the first place

and for that,
and many other things,
I will never miss anything
ever again.

you’ll find me
on the streets
offering love to strangers
reaching out with my arms
with sweet words
bubbling out of my lips
but when you hug me
in relief
at having found me
I will recoil
scream
look at you
with wild eyes
and fear
wondering
who you are
my love
because
like a beast
I am afraid of fire
and I will try to hide it
behind my own flame
which offers no warmth
to anyone
and
you will wonder
where I have gone
and eventually you will
realize that I haven’t
gone anywhere
and you will
leave me there
to fend off the cold
in my own ways
and take your love
to someone not so
much a cowering
beast

I want to write a poem
about being swept away in the ocean
except everyone else is being moved
and I am the tidal wave moving them

but I am not the tidal wave
and you will not move for
me

instead,
we are both being moved
and the wave is something
greater, hiding openly in
the shadows of our lives

there are no unmovable objects
but there are unstoppable forces

so I wrote a poem
about the tug/push/shove/drag of
           the ocean
about digging my feet into the sand
           and finding just enough purchase
about seeing how long I could hold on
about feeling myself weaken and give way
about falling, eventually, into the sea’s arms
           and floating away, lost on the world

so deep under the ocean,
can you hear me? can you
see me? can you breath?
can you think? can you
understand? can you
tell me how you
got there? can you
talk? tell me,
are you still
there?