You're cute.
Adorable.
Sweet.
****.
Lovely.
Amazing.
Rad.
Beautiful.
Awe­some.
Handsome.
Different.
Weird.
Crazy.
In the best possible way.
You make me smile.
You make my stomach do backflips.
And 180's.
You make me stutter words that should be easy to say.
You make my cheeks turn firetruck red.
You make me want to write again.
You make me want to love roller coasters.
And horror movies.
You make me proud to be
A womyn
Gender Queer
Gay
A Confused Person
You make me want to learn about feminism.
You make me reconsider my original definitions for words some people use everyday.
You make my heart melt.
You make me happy.

Thank you.

It was a suicide.
He had gotten drunk,
too drunk.
He tried going to the bar he worked at,
it was his night off,
but they turned him away.
“You’ve already had too much to drink. Go sleep it off, pal.”
Instead he went home,
put a glock 9mm to his head
And blew his brains out
on his back porch.
His roommate found him.
There was no note,
no answers,
just questions left behind.
A week later was the memorial service.
He was an atheist,
a vocal one at that.
Had a tattoo of a rotting zombie Christ
on his arm.
But his family was devout Lutherans,
so that was the send off he got.
Standing against the wall,
in the small chapel,
the lines were clearly divided.

Seated in the pews were people
dressed in bright, happy colors.
Pastels.
Blues, greens, pinks, yellows, and lavenders.
Those were his blood relatives
and Lutheran members of the family’s church.

Then on the edges and in the back
Stood and sat his other family,
the metal heads, the punks, the ******* kids, and subculture misfits,
Dressed in black,
arms & legs tattoed with ink.

The pastels
spoke in unison, reciting prayers and scripture,
While the kids in black, stood silent
Unmoved by the minister’s words about Christ.
The pastels bowed their heads in prayer, for the poor boy’s soul.

We in black looked around the room,
studying their pinched faces
while they remained blind.
One woman apparently could feel my stare
cause she opened her eyes, and looked right into mine.
Never will forget that look she had,
like she knew something I didn’t.

The minister in the white and green robe kept talking,
saying my friend was in the loving arms of Jesus.
Guess he forgot that suicides got
a one-way ticket straight to hell.
It was typical.
A spiritual buffet,
take what you like,
ignore what you don’t.
But I don’t blame them, not one bit.
What parent wants to imagine
their child burning in that lake of fire,
never to be held in their arms again?
No one.

His mother went up and said a few words,
Some stories,
funny ones from his childhood.
Then his neighbor went up and spoke,
then an old girlfriend from high school.
And then a great silence.
The podium stood empty.
Before I knew it,
my hands were gripping the wooden podium
and my mouth was talking.
Telling the pastels & black shirts kids
about the first time I saw him.
He was in the mosh pit doing spin kicks and backflips
like a five-foot-six, blonde, ninja in Saucony jazz shoes.
And how I never saw him be unkind or mean to anyone,
that he was a GOOD boy.
My eyes began to burn,
I felt my throat tightening.
“Really gonna miss him,” I managed to choke out.
I took my place back against the wall
as the slideshow & music started up.
They were playing The Beatles.
My friend was a Black Sabbath kind of guy.

Outside I saw faces not seen in years,
not since I was a 17-year-old kid.
I saw Matty standing there.
We had just buried another one
of the boys from the crew,
Munster
less that six months earlier.
Poor Munsey.
Now Matty and I were the only ones left.
Went straight up to him and we both latched on,
sobbing & shaking
hugging each other as tight as we could.
“It’s too much, man. It’s too soon. They’re both ******* GONE.”
He was broken and I was worried about him.
Very much so.

Then we all met at a bar,
his bar.
The one he worked at and got turned away from that night.
We told stories
like when everyone was trying to **** this girl
and he wasn’t, but she pulled him into a room
at the end of the night …
picking him over us all.
Or how he could make his ***** do all kinds of tricks,
disappearing and reappearing in his red *******.
“The popper” he called it.
We slammed down shots & brews
burying our little buddy, one glass at a time.
And the last thing …
His parents showed up at the bar
cradling T-shirts on hangars, his clothes.
I saw someone pick up his Blood For Blood shirt.
It had been OUR shirt, we shared it back and forth.
We both loved that band, they sang about “living in exile” like we both did.
“****, that was our shirt,” I said to the table of drunk and grieving friends.
“Well, go get it, man. Go on.”
I went up to the guy holding it.
“Hey man, that shirt means a lot to me, can I …”
Before I could finish, it was in my hands.
The guy gave a generous smile,
“Then you should have it.”
I sat back down at the table of friends,
holding the shirt up to my face.
He lingered in my nose, one last time.
But my little buddy was gone,
a faded T-shirt and a few funny stories
were all that remained.
We all toasted one last shot.
I said,
“to the lost …”
and the table of old friends all repeated,
“To the lost.”
Rest well in your dreamless sleep, pal.
Down the hatch.
Watch it go
With a black tooth grin.

If ever you forget me,
try searching the folds of your skin
the secret space that bends to form your elbows
the nook underneath your collarbones
because I'm almost certain
that I've dropped a postcard or two
with riddles that lead to
your memory of me.

If you ever forget me,
drift off to sleep.
sleep deep.
I'll be the one in your dream
who is cheering the loudest in the crowd
as you spin and do backflips on an elephant's trunk.
I'll be the stone you trip on
the one that causes you to fall down a mountain
but I'll also be the eagle that saves you, and
we'll soar.
we'll soar.

Just
in case you forget me,
just
play songs from the winter birdhouse
and maybe the shaky voices and
dusty guitars will help you remember.
I told you once upon a December's eve
that no one can sing
they can only cry beautifully and
the best singers are those who weep the loveliest
so maybe a playlist
filled with warm nutmeg kisses
will help you remember.

If that still doesn't work,
go back to every time you bled
replay every tear, pause at every clenched fist
every second you were on your knees
but didn't see me standing beside you
behind you
whispering prayers
trying to plant seeds
you never heard me
but the entire time my being was screaming
I'm here

Only when and only if
you forget me,
I hope you'll at least try
to close your eyes
and see the treasure map I tattooed on your eyelids
the one where x marks the spot
where we cut paper figures
by your favorite river
next to the little meadow with
tiny spring flowers
but if that doesn't work either
lie awake at night
search your heart and
if you aren't able to see
my fingerprints on your veins
or my toes peeping out from your
heart's deepest chambers,
it's okay.
Because even if you forget me
over
and over
and over again
I'll always just be here
wishing I never had to
write a poem about someone
you'll never forget
when they've already forgotten you.

He says
"we're close enough, lets just go"
and i agree, reluctantly
so we take a right
after we climb the hill and take the trail.
we end up on the main road
and walking along the white line
on the right side
we pass a bus stop and apartment complex
before we cross
walk a block
and take two more trails.

he knocks
each knock lessening in volume.
she opens the door
ten years old and wearing a blue dress
her six year old brother charges past to hug me
and pulls me inside
but he's the only one truly greeting me
I can see i'm not truly welcome
not today
when they form the
"guests can only stay in the living room" rule
just for us.

we have a good time
as we always do
but i catch a couple glares
even as we all dance across the living room floor
to some nightcore song.

All because of some Facebook message
that in it's simplicity meant:

"people are *******
but there's in a beauty in you that's only in you.
a beauty made when chopping onions and potatoes
for some type of bean cookies
while screaming at your siblings in a mix of spanish and english,
a smile on your lips
even as you drag a protesting six year old
across wood floors and carpets
to sit him down in his room alone
for doing backflips off the couch and into the shoe rack.
there's nothing more beautiful than lips stretched across teeth
in just that way,
the skin around your eyes gently wrinkling a little
and your eyes themselves open, clear and aware.
that is where the strongest beauty lies,
in a smile
and yours appears in the most beautiful of places
and that to me is truly mesmerizing"

I summarized that thought to her, greatly
I apologized at the end
I even said (truthfully)
that she is a great friend
and a wonderful sister.

but i keep catching two or three glares on me
as i sit on the couch
her brother flopping around on my feet
glaring at his seven year old sister standing on the couch
behind me, laughing.

"this is my real home"
I think, for a second
as i always do when i'm here
but they glare at me, quietly, secretly
saying that it isn't
at least, temporarily
and I hope this bubbles over fast
but i'm glad my words are bubbling
she deserved them
for chopping onions on the table
and having to scream at five wild siblings
while their mother works.

she works so hard,
and her smiling face while doing so
is more beautiful than even i can tell her.

most nights I'll say to myself
"someday somebody will find her who sees how beautiful she is"
some nights I tell myself
"get off you lazy *** and take a chance, you're already here"
But today I'm just being glared at for trying




©Brandon Webb
2012

Carnitas on the pit
Oranges searing as they hit the grill
Carne asada marinating
Waiting to be sampled
Coronas add lime
A **** shot of jacks
Laughing kids running around
Saturday morning was meant
For memories like this
Searing their own grill marks on our brains
Trampoline backflips into pools
Picking a lemon off the tree
Charcoal growing white
Familiar goodbyes and laters
Maybe another time joy will reach
This house that never seems to smile

Another typical afternoon
In the Sunshower State
South Florida we call it
On my way in to work
Listening to music
Phone in hand
Then it happened
I slipped and fell
My phone now airborne
Me on the ground
No good could come from this
Once it met with the pavement
It did three spinning backflips
Then stuck the landing
The screen now cracked
Now I'm left living phoneless
A liberated attachment
No phone calls, texts or e-mails
No random googling or facebook status checks
Freedom from complications
These are the first few days
Then it sinks in
Detachment from the world around me
In these digital days
I have lost my lifeline
No quick access to information
No calling for help
Disconnected from everyone
And everything around me
A week wait for the repair
My dependency has become clear
If you don't want to admit it
It's ok, we all have it
This is just my story
How I found out about
My cellular co-dependency

Even the Greenwich Meantime pips sound mournful on a Tuesday, the newsreader however seems full of beans, seems the BBC canteen serves up a good breakfast.

I ate my last doughnut which I
put away for a day such as this.

I will keep being your hero
Gliding on nothing but cables and daring
Catching you to a cadence of pithy one-liners

I will keep being your hero
Beaten and bloodied by owls and doubt
Always with cocky grin backflips and in four colors

I will keep being your hero
With You beside me
Masks not covering flushed cheek smiles and kisses

Your hero
Will protect you
Help you swing a little higher
Fly a little farther

And when I can't be your blue and black gymnastics god anymore
You will still be my hero

I wanna moonwalk upside down on a cloud. Do The impossible. Things that aren't physically allowed...
The unthinkable. The unachievable. Everything unbelievable.
Saturn stride on an asteroid belt.
Swim on the suns surface as long as I wouldn't melt & live to tell how good it felt.
Run a moon marathon.
Ride on top a mastodon.
Float on an angels wings & pluck on her harp strings.
Slay a dragon wearing chain male with a long sword & as the rain fell scoot away on a long board.
Walk on water & rise on sand.
Crumble to pieces & return to solid on command.
Perform all my own stunts.
Be a double dog dare devil.
Be everywhere at once.
Always be next level.
Quadruple backflips always landing upright. Catlike. I wonder what that's like?
Perfect.
Supreme.
Living in a dream.
Surfing on shooting stars.
Canoeing in Milky Way bars as we all snicker. Keep going. Rowing as the chocolate stream grows thicker. Graham ******* life jacket. Icing filled lifesaver ring marshmallow packet. Candy cane Twizzler string racket. Lemon, where's my head at?
Drop the ball. Been there done that.
Rabbit in a hat magician.
Endless scarf transition.
Habit forming tradition.
Senseless. Don't know where the end is. Nowhere. Everywhere.
We're all right here. Left of where you're standing. We're all falling. A different act of landing. Stalling. Waiting... Weightless. Comfortably relaxed. Anticipating the parallax. A soul eclipse. A solar wisp of her lips. Kissing. Puckered. What you've been missing. Feeling a bit like you've been suckered. Willingly overwhelmed. Reminiscing.
A play on words. Play on. Hug tight on the curves. The days gone. The night is forever. Sunshine's for the birds. Maybe it's twisted. Take the road not taken. The unvisited. The one not listed. Take advice. Take it again. Take it twice. Around the bend. Bound to press send. Copy & paste it. Don't waste it. Even if it's sloppy give a chance to taste it. It could be sweet. Sugar it soft. Repeat. It's worthy. No need to worry... What's the hurry? There is none. Visions blurry but it's still fun. Super funzies. Adulthood in onesies. Toddlers in slacks. Giant bottles of milk with twist off caps. Baby sized six packs. Reversed living. Invert your reality. Introvert personality.

My heart does backflips
When you speak to me

But you're not the person
That should make me feel
that way

But the heart wants
What the heart wants

It evidently wants you

But you don't want me too

What do I do?

My writing has not been good at all and I think it's because I'm distracted
Every time I close my eyes my brain is doing backflips
I compliment myself because nobody else is going to do it
I compliment myself because everyone else is going through it

I remember when I flew.

The freshly cut grass glued its self to my bare feet, the blades wanted to fly too.
I took off.

A powerful start, rocketed off the damp visage of Mother Earth.
She had great power, gravity, is what they called it.
They said more than kryptonite was needed to stop it.
Gravity, only defeated by breaking the laws of Newton.
I didn't want to break any laws (jail would not be fitting for this hero who needed to be back in time for lunch).

But I kept going, if birds can fly ( and knowing they have much smaller brains ) then I could figure out how too.
I kept going, until my toes kissed the leaves of the oak tree.
Each time I touched the tree time would freeze.
In that moment I watched the wisps of hair flow back and the shadows cross my face.

Soon I was over the trees, doing backflips and summersaults in the air.
I was floating on my back.
The sun warming my face.
The harmonic hum of far off lawnmowers singing in the distance.
I arched my back further and further ready for another backflip.

On my back looking up.
What happened?
I blinked.
A permanent scar on the hero's back.
Sit up.
WHAM
It hit me, the loss of flight, the loss of that reality
and the reintroduction of the other.
It was all gone Mother Nature won again.
A life long battle.
But I'll try to never forget,
I flew

Hunger or Anxiety?
My stomach does backflips and I think it's Hunger.
You know, the kind that clings to your rib cage,
Trying to **** out the bone marrow.

Well cheers to you, Hunger,
The kind that makes my eyes hurt and go fuzzy in sunlight.
Your never ending creepy-crawly feeling makes me feel like going for a swim to wash you off.

It's times like these that make me want to live.

It’s a “travel week” here in Georgia. I’m writing this on June 1st at the Atlanta airport. This morning Sunny’s flying in from Nebraska, Sophy from California, Lisa from New York and Anna from Oregon - all around noon. Charles put a hard-shell luggage carrier on the roof of the Navigator because he didn’t trust it to hold the luggage 4 girls could bring.

My parents left last Saturday for Warsaw to join “Doctors Without Borders.” Charles, Leong and I drove them to the airport and then we took Leong to “The Mad Italian” for the best steak & cheese sandwiches on this side of andromeda.

Sunday was a typical lake day. We tied off in our favorite cove and were quickly joined by everyone who could get on a boat. Imagine that Dunkirk movie - except this was a get together - with motorboats, sailboats, skiffs, pontoon boats and canoes all crowding the little bay.

Leong’s an avril lavigne - who knew? On Monday, I surprised her with something green - a trip to “Fun Galaxy” roller-skating rink. I made reservations for a “birthday party” and a group of 15 of us had the rink to ourselves all morning (and cake). I thought I was a skater but Leong’s legit. She says that in Macau you either skate on the street (rough terrain and dangerously between cars) or at one of several huge multisport pavilions where the rinks are cement and resemble our skateboard courses.

She’d never seen an air-conditioned, basketball-court-smooth-hardwood, disco-lit, rock concert sounding, American roller rink. It was love at first sight. She spins, does double lutzes, skates faster backwards than I can forwards, and the manager threatened to pull her off the floor for doing backflips (“There are liability issues,” he insisted.) She was also amazed because there was a built-in diner. At home, she said, you have to bring your own water and sometimes your own toilet paper (toilets are completely different in Asia - don’t get me started on THAT).

Yesterday, Leong, Kim and I were waiting for a Facetime call, to coordinate today’s arrivals.
Before that though, at my behest, Kim helped me ferret-out - Holmes & Watson like - the dire skinny on something, and we, as long time besties and co-conspirators, had a plan.
“Did you know Rob Chen was class valedictorian this year?” Kim asked the room.
“No!, congratulations Rob,” I said.
“Yea, Rob,” Leong echoed nonchalantly.
“We’re so proud of Rob.” Kim continues.
“But, you know,” I said seriously, “there are Rob haters out there. I understand it - he’s hateable,” I expand.
“ek,” Kim blurted, like a little bird, at Leong’s reaction as Leong gasps, “What.. Why?”
“Because he dresses ugly!” I explained.
Kim, unable to curb her excitement, squeaks out loud.
Leong looked at Kim, shocked, Kim was looking down and rocking with the effort of silence.
“That’s not enough REASON,” Leong blurts, “to hate someone!
Again, Leong looked to Kim for agreement and got none.
“I don’t hate YOU,” Leong says, turning on me.

There’s a moment of shocked silence.

“WOW.. wow,” I say, as Kim nervously snickered with glee.
“First of all,” I begin, between my own chuckles, a defense:
“I’m wearing a very **** black ensemble but not exactly dressed to go OUT, (Kim laugh-coughed) and SECOND,” I pause for drama-queen effect.
“YOU,” I say, turning my head significantly and accusingly, towards Leong, slightly askew for a better view, “seem to have quite a few hickies on your neck this morning.”
Kim can't stand it any more and squeals, full out, with delight.
“You, need,” Leong said, pausing just before she lunges at me playfully, to put her hand over my mouth, “to cut off THAT line,”
“I knew it.. I KNEW it!” I say, bobbing and turning my head away as Leong pins me with her body while still trying to mug me and we’re all howling with laughter now.
“Those are Rob Chen hickies! - I. KNEW. IT.”

The facetime ring interrupts us and Leong reluctantly lets me go to answer it.
We all sober as she moves to press “Accept.”
“Let me just loop-back to say,” I looked at Kim with elementary-dear-Watson satisfaction, and said to Leong, “you didn’t deny it,”
Leong blushes crimson as the call begins.

Someone spoke the word "love" and it gave me a flashback to watching elephants in the circus so I decided to start teaching goldfish to do backflips as an interesting parlor trick similar to pulling out a deck of cards and always randomly choosing the queen of spades

I have a flashback to a flashback in which someone spoke the word "love" and it reminded me of the Blurred Crusade and a trip to the circus and an elephant graveyard, my brain is a goldfish in a fishbowl (watch me turn) it's like the old parlor trick of pulling out a deck of cards and always randomly choosing the queen of hearts

My intention was never to be reasonable

Dance with me, Lucy
Show me kaleidoscopes of the spirit
Colors mixed and found, anew
Make the little clock
On my iPhone,
Spin in violent motion
As I stare into your eyes

Lie with me, Lucy
Tell me your stories
As I lie on my back and listen
In wonder
To the sounds caressing my soul
It's only you that brings out
This wonderful, wonferful feeling
in me

You make my mind do backflips
I lose myself in you
My conciousness expanding
The third eye peeled open
By your paper fingernails
And the taste of you,
Keeps me coming back
Wasting all my money,
Wasting all my time
But I'd lose all that only if
I can have you by my side

Why do you have to go away?
Why do you leave me drained?
Do you find solace in,
These tired eyes that remain?
I can fall into your influence
Like a perfume inviting my sweetly
To the breast of a conscience yet unexplored
Miles away, I am from me,
With you alone, the third eye sees
everything left unexplained
To me
I love you

facing the ceiling
tears down my cheeks
puddles in the sheets

already saddened
fingernails in the mattress
my heart's doing backflips

something great
dust of yesterday
still in my brain

your nightmares
but my days scare
no one to pull or pet my hair

I don't understand how one person can:
Send my heart into overdrive,
Make my stomach do backflips,
Lift me into an everlasting happiness.

I'm not quite sure how:
Your eyes are like gateways to a place I've been longing to find,
Your touch is as magical as the childhood dreams I once had,
Your kiss is as powerful as an army defending their home.

What are these feelings I seem to possess?
I don't quite understand what you do to me,
This grip you have that sweeps me off my feet
And leaves me feeling as if I am unbreakable.

What are these feelings I have when I'm lost in time with you?

You were trying to cover your footprints in the sand
and only ended up leaving more
a spiral of your perfectionism
look over there -
over the beach houses on stilts
and the fauna - scrap metal bushes and dry, lonely trees -
see how the sun’s kiss sets the sky on fire?
the water is licking our heels with an icy, arctic tongue
we could walk westwards until our silhouettes are vaporized
but the sand is relaxed and this beach is empty
the acoustic guitar is talking in its sleep
ADD children are doing backflips in the backyard

Night crashes and crashes and recedes into the horizon
we climbed atop one another with visions of lunar satisfaction
time slows down and each drop of condensation on the window
contains the secrets of this muggy southeastern air
the strangers are encroaching too thick to think
warped monstrous faces ripe with desire
we couldn’t answer the questions so we burned the test
tinder to our fire so we could ward off the predators for another night
but the ground is growing smaller day by day

Mr. Demon do not deviate from this round of double dutch
my shoelaces are tied together
and I am hopelessly drunk off of your ideas on romance
that mix of sunscreen, sweat, perfume, and your breath
as my fingers prune
we mistook the blinking jet engine for morse code from the stars
once the clouds part we will have an escape route
taking flight with the startled panic of street birds
the earth will shake, the seas boil over, and the clouds will applaud
with wings made of coat hangers, brown paper bags, and masking tape
we will arr through the sky
like fireworks

She sleeps upside down

her crucifix nailed to her black wall

it's her resting place

as she binds her feet

she then propels herself

backflips upside onto her cross

there she spits blood before she sleeps

with many souls to treasure and keep


She is one of the loyal to the word

her ranks are many with interchangeable faces

leader of the lords of reason and might

a glory to behold in battle

she shares my rank

has one less black ribbon then me

her wings she repels to the floor

as she hangs from her cross


The rush of dying again and again she dreams

knowing tonight she battles to die once again

if she gets to the nexus the last black ribbon she will gain

death will come before the sun screams morning

she is good at dying

nearly as good as me

in three nights she will rise

and I will hand her, her final black ribbon




By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

aside from my asides and internal divides
I stand in my prime, converging with the divine
plucking daisies in my backyard
doing backflips in my backyard
tired of trying to find gold in a scrapyard
denied due to pride and internal divides
he stands in his shame, colliding with the divine
doing abstract art and failing to put a finger on
the very thing converging all along
the growth not seen, he daydreams
but can never put it into action
stagnant dissatisfaction

This isn't normal
I barely even know what it is 
I barely know anything anymore
I've had this before 
But this time it's different
Because I'm refusing to admit 
What I'm feeling 
To anyone, even myself 

I'm refusing to admit
That you make my heart do backflips
That you make my stomach churn
In the best possible way
I'm refusing to admit
That I think about you everyday
That my breath hitches
Whenever you come my way

If anyone asks me, I'll deny it but
I really think I actually like you
This feeling had never lasted this long 
Except for one time 
But that's for another time 
I love this feeling because it gets my blood pumping

But I hate it too because things never  end well
In fact- scratch everything I just said
I'm not ready to open up yet

With my mental acrobatics, I create verbal aromatics
Conjuring sweet scents with my perfect meter and tense
Using my dense prose to weigh you down like soggy clothes
And then I dry you right in time with my fluffy rhythm and rhyme

I execute mental backflips as I dodge Freudian slips
Spinning into the subconscious ’til my wordplay makes you nauseous
As I twirl around in this whirlwind I am reminded that the world could end
But it hasn’t happened yet so I might as well forget it

I'm starting to think Saturday's are supposed to be late mornings because breakfast lasts longer that way. Leaving around 4 to catch a settled sun. Hundreds of merchants in the park as the live music goes from the close bluegrass bop to the distant rock drums. Saturday's have become ears filled with Spanish noises you've learned to ignore because the pain of dancing still in your toes from your night of bachata speak louder. Walking to the ferria as the sun settles and since you're alone you finally get to listen and watch without being interrupted bites of alfajores sweeter with the solitude. Finding your love in each couples palms as they hold hands, remembering how much you miss your boyfriend as you walk in the direction of the sun. So settled and strong it looks as if it's rising like your hips used to do as you felt loved. Steps feel lighter and your shirt blows with the wind and for once you start to think this is what You always wanted out of this. Finding your face in the rips of a passerbys jeans, feeling your muscles as you wonder where the stairs lead to. Today you had time. Watching backflips that demanded applause and handcrafts that merchants hope you'll take off their hands. All the while it's only 6 o clock on a Saturday and you feel as if the day won't be as perfect as it is right then. Feeling like the first kiss on the Friday night, you waited and it finally came. Saturdaze.

today, i looked into the mirror,
and under the hollow cheeks and tired eyes
i saw the ghost of someone i used to be,
back in the days of dimpled cheeks and gap-toothed grins
and oversized jumpers,
and i yearned.

those were the days of hurling ourselves off swings
to see if we could fly,
of doing backflips off monkey-bars
for the sheer joy of it,
of chasing each other round and round the playground
until our legs felt like lead and we were breathless with laughter
for no reason at all.

those were the days of dirt caked under fingernails
and knees covered in scabs;
souvenirs from various painful encounters
with the sun-soaked concrete.
i hated the sight of my own blood back then,
sharp and red as it was,
and so i’d wail in banshee fashion
until it was all patched up under a nice neat bandaid
which i'd proudly show off to my friends
(“no, I didn’t cry at all!”)

now tubes chew at my skin instead of sunlight,
and i am always out of breath
even though i do not run.
there is scarcely a scratch to be found on my body,
but my pulse has never been so weak
nor my legs so tired.

i hold the memories of those distant days
- tiny glowing bodies -
in the palms of my hands,
and maintain a reverent distance,
because there is no way
i will ever be that young or that carefree again.
still, sometimes i look into the mirror
and can almost reconcile my weary reflection
with the person i used to be.
and i long to shed this ruined skin, this brittle body,
and go back to the good old days
when everything was simple
and pain could be fixed
with a dora the explorer bandaid.

and sometimes, i want to burst through the doors and run,
atrophied limbs flailing, frantic heart pounding,
and catch muted copper sunbeams
with my hands outstretched.

most of all, i want to stumble.
i want to stumble
and i want to fall
and i want to bleed -
just to prove to myself
that i still can.

What fuels the fire behind your eyes?
Tell me what causes your lungs to rise and fall in time with your heartbeat.
Ramble on and on about what makes you tick, and what you enjoy about this life.
Tell me why you hold that cigarette to your lips knowing the things inside of it split every single atom of your being, and tell me, go on and tell me how you don't care.
Make me crave more.
Make me cling to every word that spills from your full lips that I catch myself constantly dreaming of, and I'll explain to you how you've infected my entire mind.
The way you tilt your head back when you laugh so hard at something that isn't even remotely funny.
Or, they way you hunch over the kitchen counter cutting onions, pretending the sting doesn't make your eyes lose tears, like how I'll lose you.
And so I'll hold on tightly, like a child clutching a blanket, onto you and your words,
And I'll remember the way your hands trail my spine,
And how you make every nerve in my body stand up and dance.
I'll remember the curve of your smirk, and the gap between your teeth that makes my stomach do backflips.
*I'll remember it all, even if you won't remember me.

my stomach does backflips,
but it isn't butterflies.
i cringe as he continues.
i wish he would stop talking,
then i could think straight.
get his face out of my mind.

Hi my boo,
I really do love you,
My love was built for only us too,

My love adorns your neck like a gold braided charm,
keeping you warm,
When you hold it no harm........can come

Like half a studded masquerade mask,
but sweet like spices from an Alabaster flask,
encasing your natural beauty like a cast.......from "Friends".

My mind is your home,
Your love does Olympic backflips in my heart where it roams,
I Cheshire under its dome...... still soaked by the rain of your kisses.

Yes when I kiss you goodbye each countdown restarts,
I'm nuclear when apart,
But a placebo beside you, resting in a Cinnamon Guava ****.

I melt and then crust, melt and un-rust,
Responding to your every touch, like a rose mulched,
Your love is my crutch.

I used to fantasize about the existence of a never ending hole

Huge and full of nothing but darkness, wind and freedom big enough to jumo into and fall forever

For so long I forgot that anything can touch me

So long as I forget that anythig exist outside of the air licking me

And If i felt lost I fantisized company

Someone to do backflips with and laugh

Silent cause the air grabbed the sound and held it

If I didnt I was happy

I was a child and it was all I dreamt about

endless wind and air and dark and abandon

I am no longer a child

I wish freefalls would consume my dreams

Just one more week.

My heart is thumping
like the stomping feet
of elephants.
Can you not
be so cute?
You’re making me act
like a clown.
If I could,
I would do
backflips like an
acrobat.
We all know
I’m no contortionist.
I’d try, though,
if it would impress you,
make you sit back
and eat popcorn.
But I can’t provide
that kind of entertainment
for you.
Not yet, anyway.
Keep buying tickets.

Blank...a blank world a blank canvas...its

Time to fill it up and paint a new planet

Blank words called spaces I write them

Down, now I’m space traveling

Illustrations are still scribbled...and

Sketches are still massive.... nothing is

Learned in a frozen room

I call it stilled classes

I'm diving in a dreams slip stream with my slick glasses

Visions of intermissions after the actor perform actions,

Insights and intuitions are known...from the crying actress

Results are all scripted...we attack with flying backflips

Its...like a car in reverse so I hit that backshift quick

Stay away from the snake never kiss those acid lips.

Suddenly I become a target on that hit list

what is he talking about? Why is he such a misfit?

So it continues down the field like I kicked it

I think it's time to make a deal in 5 minutes

And what I say makes no cents like poor pigeons

But I do have a big sense of smell like am Nixon

My minds a broken table it needs fixing

Montana will never be complete as a full state. The west side of the state has always left the map lopsided with mountains and beautiful lakes. While the east side is an overly unattractive sheet of black white paper. plain.

I grew up in kalispell. A whirlwind mixture natural with casinos talking to the trees. I was 8. Tommy was my best friend. He was a rolling fire ball full of oxygen waiting to breathe molecules dripping of rebellion.

We made this pact. Now I can't tell you the name of it. Well because I don't go back on that ****. We climbed trees with t-rex watches wanting to jump years ahead with springs for ribs that expand as our imaginations launched backflips through dusty alley ways.

We never once lost a game of cops and robbers. A grown up now. By age. I found a place. It was hidden in that tree in Montana. Lost in translation between the waves and the shores. Fallen somewhere after the suns rays and the way plants will always gravitate towards warmth.

I burrowed into my own synapses to find something more than right here right now. A place of altered reality sliced into a 7 piece pie. Slice one.

The scent of this place alone is enough to leave me undone and ready to fall.

Two. Penguins.

Three. It's an underwater cave. Hidden in your chest holding out reasons to let everything go and work right.

Four and five are somewhere dropped down a water fall trough the canopy of the napali coastline.

Six was in my legs as I ran through dusty pages of libraries full of knowledge I can't wait to learn. Drenching my veins in liquid inquiries.

And 7 is a place I call home. It ends up being wherever I am. Home with a marching band heart and quarters lost in couches.