Exiled to dusk,
Fractions of the sun
Begin to lift away,
In concealment
We shudder,
Casting our reels
Into a pond of uncertainty,
Clock hands bend
With advancing shadow,
And speak of time
Only in past tense.

I so want everything
I ever felt for you
Preserved for posterity,
Even should forever
Be far less than
We imagined.

One day I'll be gone.
Do not cry for me
It was always meant to be
Like this.
I, a traveler in this life
Journey onward seeking.

I think to places I've been
Tales and visions and glory seen
Stones of great cities far and wide
Speak to stories, times of great pride.
Snow capped peaks, spine of the world
Shimmering mystery of heights untouched
Give down in endless amber plains graze the antelope freed
From bounds as trains roll through the scene
Onward to horizons hiding lands unseen.

No longer am I there
Memories turned to ash and dust
Time, the destroyer of all
Spares none come nightfall.

This feeble mind of mine
Journeys faithful through sands of time
Remembers few and far between
The kind words and kind souls
Pierced the boundaries that lie
Between here and there
If only for a moment.

Creamy lukewarm milky coffee

coconut herbal black tea

and toasted flaky sesame croissants

keep me company on my lop sided desk

alongside a tattered worn laptop

placed across a stack of crinkly unread books,

whose pages rustle, wreath, and rip

upon hearing the youthful chimes

from my sleek, shiny smart phone

with its masterpiece of shattered glass

sheathed in a case of faded blue flowers,

bewitching my weary entranced eyes

until they reach the very last moment

of their sorry sights,

and my long lost friends emerge

to take my remains,

and scatter them across evergreen tree tops

and delicately dying flower petals

on misty winding mountain peaks

I need to straighten
my dreams out,
they got crooked along the way.
In my frozen castle,
in this grueling winter of life,
lies in me an invincible summer
that longs to be free;
scabbed up knees and
grass stains on my soul,
it just itches to run, and
swim the rivers,
and lie long in the sun.

Eating my beyond burger with a fork and knife,
drag race in the background,
my Samantha doll by my side.
This isn't loneliness anymore.
This is just life now.

I'm not very good with words anymore,
maybe I never was.
So little has changed and yet everything has.
I still long for love.
I still want to be wanted.
That might never change.

Yet now this lonely world is one I've come to accept,
come to love.
I may be my only friend here,
but that's one more than last year.

Nothing I create is good,
but I'm learning to create anyway.
I'm learning to share my bad art,
at least it's art.
Right?

I dream of slitting the throat of the dog next door.
Someone outta shut him up.
I used to think that was an evil thought,
now I know there's no such thing.

I turn 21 in 2 days.
Math. Yuck.
I'm old,
getting older every second.
Whatever.
I will grow into this skin,
I'm sure of it.
Maybe.

I'm grateful.
More than anything I am grateful for it all.
The pain,
the pleasure,
the guilt,
the anger.

Pills,
family,
friends,
dolls.

No one reads these except me.
So this one is for her.
For you.
Anne,
my love,
my villain,
my biggest fear.

May this year be kind to you,
may you be kind to it.
May you listen to your spirit guides,
may you accept what you never could.

Growth is sticky and wet,
Knowledge is thick and grey.
May you be the light and the darkness,
the cut and the band aid.

More than anything,
be okay.
You're gross,
in a sort of beautiful way.
May you be okay with that.
Truly.




Bad art is still art.
Right?
I think so.
For now.