Hey, past me from so close yet seeming long ago...

A knot from my sweater's bow I regret tying despite how unkempt the ribbons look hanging by my sides because now it's digging into my back

The hair I can't decide if I want out where it's pretty and makes me look less like a generic nerd yet gets in my face and food and life

The jeans I insist upon wearing without a belt even though their slipping down my **** may actually outweigh the pain of loosening the belt

The tennis shoes I'm too attached to give up that emit a constant squeak, squeak, squeaking through the hallways whether it's caused by residual rain from outside or not

The glasses, fond of slipping down my nose at frequent intervals, covered in smudges I rarely notice till they get out of hand

The phone whose screen happened to crack at the most inopportune moment and takes forever to read my finger print

The jacket that should be a highlighter blue but rather presents itself as a canvas of the week's tomato stains

The face covered in acne-
The stomach with fat instead of muscle-
The arms lacking muscle-
The legs with too much hair-

I've always acknowledged that perfection is not possible, yet I have to at least try to strive

I think, as I sit at my desk, fingers typing fragmented sentences, attempting to convey thoughts speeding too fast to grasp

Yet, just a simple poem of reflection brings to light these numerous deficiencies, many of which I COULD fix were it not the invisible fiend upon whom I stamp the label-laziness

These deficiencies, many of which aren't even noticed by those around me, some of whom are better some are worse

But it's not as simple as that, I've known I can't just be "one of the people", I need to find something, some identity, some way out of my seemingly impossible to escape label of "just above average"

In academics, in extracurricular activities, EVERYTHING, I seem to be at a stagnant

I've done bad, I've done "just above average", but never above. What is the point if you get plenty of losses and plenty of "fine" but no victories?

It's something about me though, somehow I believe, subconsciously, I'm impeding myself. I'm holding myself back.




...



Why?

I remember the supervised showers
The crushed ice
The cries at night
The feeling of losing control
The idea that earbuds with the right twist and ties could make me die
The sewn on pillowcases
The weapon in scissors, mirrors, handles, sheets, bedposts, bags, shampoo, straps, glass, pens
The misdemeanor
The boy who’s anorexia was his slow suicide
The girl with two siblings that killed themselves
How everyone wanted to **** themself
The 7-year-old that only cried
The lime green hallways that haunt my mind

it might be easier like this. lull, time, old notions. i
tell stories, not for any kind of living - save a richer
internal monologue - but, instead, to know that our
thoughts suffice to change the world around us. to
weave fiction so tightly into the earth, that it cannot
help but become truth. the longest story, the one i
could never put down, will always unfold:

most of the time, it was dark. without corners
to sweep this dark into, the world decayed into
modes of static blips. fumbled sparks, outside,
where i felt lawn between my toes, but knew not
of collections of blades. cold, a shade merged with
the remaining ripples. its exterior product, a
binding over my skin. one often knows not that,
sometimes, they cast their own snares (wrote that
a while ago, though. my own cruel traps.), and
sit and wonder who was so thoughtless as to
leave them out. dream of wakefulness. spend
days without movement, spent-up significance.
and there i was, collection of nested shells in the
backyard. concentric. so elated in the safety. my
sweet guardian, the embrace of stillness. left
wondering why i felt so alone, in crowded
hallways and streetlamps.

it was millenial, or epochal, sleep that kept me in there,
so long. the sparks spun under creation and annihilation.
and i, omniscient and blind, slunk out under a grin to
acknowledge the efforts. the pains of a sudden and bright
world. the fleeting hand of sweetness. and i stood, stone,
and knew to feed a fraction of it was only the more painful,
but that my crumbling surface was still too rough to give
it all away. always too early in the game. and i saw lakes,
from afar, and ached for all time, or just enough to lose
breath. i saw dazzling pinnacles and wished i were the
rain, for at least when water freezes, it is beautiful-
not chaotic and terrified. i had no facade of ice, though.
through to the roots, i was always
the same as the sun;

fissuring warmth, upon small bands.

it was just a single sliver of all time that
split every wall, though. i was at rest,
as eternal. the sound was impetuous, yet
left a permanent ring in my unfurling ears:
i heard your song. heard it ring out, forever.
awash with new & unfound oceans, i stretched
my wingspan wide and tugged at the seams
in the wallpaper. i pled, and cried out to
this new universe. to have known everything,
but only of a tiny & compact void. and, then,
i understood the shade. with bright light,
we see into darkened corners. the world is
a slipping tether.

i hold my eye up close, to the window,
and now know the majesty of my
so-called eternity was a ripple in a
footpath puddle. i grasp at the cracks
in the walls. i tear at them 'til my hands
bleed. i am but a small bird, stuck in
a nest of my own construction. but, i
have plans. but, i'm learning to fly, to
get back to the great glowing
shine, up above:

to bring back all the warmth, and lay, gently,
by your side, in new nest; this vast world,
and to never stop humming.

Before the opening of the sky where three men sat
asking questions why,
of where the King of men would sit among the shepherds who could pit their wits against the wolves and worriers of sheep.

Asleep and yet in sleep I woke before the Oldest Magi spoke and talked to me in parables, as if I understood the riddles,being middle aged and hard of hearing.

In the clearing by the burning bush as hushed crowds looked on,with fish and bread and baptist John, a Rasta man from Birmingham, stood Salome daring me to take off veils so I could see
her nakedness and blood that dripped black off her hands,
These Holy lands,
this righteous band,these writers of a history that we delivered to the three.a triumphant trilogy that we become before the opening of another sky,another sun that burned names deeply on a cross of wood
and beggars in the hallways full of Baptist John,who with no head or eyes,could not imagine what was going on
but ripped out messages from the scriptures to paint pictures that he'd never see,while Salome intercoursed with Roman scribes and perfumed men and if to be as if she could,
When her name was carved into the wood,  as if another cross to bear would do more good and her screaming could be heard in prophecies by Galilee,as people gathered on street corners,to hear what they could never see and not believe,
and lepers grieved by river banks,their thanks and blessings washed away,their only ray of hope
hung out to dry
as three wise men sat and wondered why, the world moved on
Forgotten is The Baptist John,another prophet dead and gone and are we any better off for all of that?

I put a penny in the hat that's passed around to keep the upkeep of some distant consecrated piece of ground I'll never see
but hedging bets is what we do,
and make lamb stew
because we're all wolves with appetites to match.
I ****** another bleating sheep
and keep my thoughts
silently
stewing.

All I need is some air
air
air
I used to walk over there
right over there
but now the hallways depress me.

I stretch and yawn
the hospice just fare
fare
fare
always cold and still,
white. Bare.*

My mother's questions
lodge crystals in
my colon.
Now we'll know
an emerald city.

The Coat
(Unsurprsingly) says
"It's my first day"
My cocktail of
tiny hard whites
and oranges,
yellows, blues;

A declaration I am not new.

In fact,
I
may never be through.
More white Coats
await corners as
mini-bosses do.    

*The controller breaking
in my palms.
I haven't lost but if I did where would I go?
The answer is, nobody knows
knows
knows.

If I'd known that five thirteen
On the seventeenth
Would be the very last
Before "I love you" became the past
I wouldn't have left you alone
I'd have said "around you I feel at home"
Because I will love you always
But my hearts as empty as these hallways
Because now you'll never love me back
And now whole world's turning black
Because my perfect angels gone
But still my love burns on

As it always will.

Dear Self,

For you it is November 9th, 2016. Despite all odds, Donald Trump is president. Mike Pence, governor of your home state of Indiana, is his VP.

You are 17 right now. You were born into a world run by George W. Bush. You spent your whole childhood hearing your parents yelling at the tv, angry at the Texas governor in the White House.

You grew up in Obamanation. You saw months of “YES WE CAN” and “CHANGE” stickers going up, and a magnet your family still has get put onto your refrigerator. You heard your mother’s sigh of relief when Barack Obama was announced the 44th president. That was half your lifetime ago.

You spent the last year following the campaigns. You were not surprised by Hillary Clinton running again. You “felt the Bern” of the somewhat radical Independent candidate previously unknown to you, Bernie Sanders. You laughed off the wild reality tv star Donald Trump’s campaign.

Months went by. Bernie and Hillary were fighting hard leading up to the primaries. Republicans slowly started to drop out. Big names like Jeb Bush, Mike Huckabee, and Chris Christie left the race. Bernie didn’t do good enough in the primaries, which was upsetting to most of your friends, your older brother, and your mom, who all voted for him. Ted Cruz fell off, defeated, in May.

It was down to Hillary and Trump.

You followed the comments made at their rallies. On their social media. You heard a lecture about the election from Josh Gillin of Politifact at Indiana University over the summer. You won an award for an opinion piece you wrote on Trump. As the election day grew closer, you watched every presidential debate. You analyzed them in class.

Last night, you stayed up until 4 A.M. to see the results of this election. You sat through excruciatingly slow interviews, political analysis, and different predictions. You couldn’t turn away from the blue and red maps, the aggressively American backgrounds, the anxious masses.

The tired tv hosts were right, it was a nail-biter.

As Trump gave his victory speech, you wept.

You wept for the months you spent wishing this wouldn’t happen. You wept for the 1920’s suffragettes, for the descendents of MLK and Cesar Chavez, for the Orlando victims. You wept for me. The people I joined. The people who will join me.

I am dead.

You learned in your final moments that homophobes look like normal people. They are not all rednecks with beer guts wearing ten-gallon hats. They are more elusive than that. They can be dressed smart. They can have friendly voices. Familiar names and faces.

A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend killed you. Someone you live near. You might have passed them in a car. In the mall. In the school hallways. It was someone that people you knew,  knew. You probably could’ve gotten their Twitter handle if you had heard their name before.

You were killed in a city that VP Pence had once stood in.

People tried to learn about your killer. Were they someone you knew? Someone who just went crazy? Someone who couldn’t handle who you held hands with?

You were too young, the local news anchors said. Your school administration said. Your mom said.

Mike Pence didn’t say anything at all.

Your friends didn’t say much. They cried. They withdrew. They wore baggier clothes. They bought switchblades. They washed “*****” and “ladyboy” off of your tombstone. They wondered about joining you, voluntarily and not.

The school newspaper’s headline: DEAD AT 17.

No one thought it would happen to you, except you. You stayed up late at night, imagining your funeral. The first thing you did in the morning was practice for your wake. Every time you left your house, you were a dead man walking.

No one  believed this more than you did.

The news anchors said it was just one of a string of murders. People said it was an isolated incident. Your friends said it was a hate crime. Your mom said it was the worst thing that  ever  happened to her.

There was no question that you were gone, even when they found you- chest jumping. There was only one thing to wonder: who was next?

Not an if, but a when.

I hope the when is  never.

All my love- to you and everyone else,

Yourself

i’ve been photoshopping old memories in attempts to bring back color to over-faded, twice-forgotten black-and-whites
tried dodge and burn but that’s too close to what happened
you dodged so i burned like a stack of photographs and albums in a house fire started by christmas lights
maybe if i crop myself out you’ll turn bright again
until your whole face washes out and i can feel like you’re a stranger again
replace all your blues with harsh reds and sharpen all of my blurred edges
for a while things felt like polaroids,
instant results
but then i realized that i was just wasting film by taking one photo per roll at a time
i was ruining prints of thirty five other potential moments
we were never digital
but we were only ever digitalized,
conversations only spent on snapchat and half-second smiles in hallways
i’ll layer all of our photographs
because we sure as hell never had layers then
your smile is the same in every single one of them, but my expression is always off and my eyes are never quite the same level of jaded
somewhere along the line i’ve realized that no photographic evidence was ever taken of our life
i’m just looking at bad sketches with too many filters
i don’t even remember the sound of your voice
i’m writing poetry about strangers again,
people who have never existed outside of my head
maybe that’s just a bad coping mechanism, pretending that you’re just pretend
but i’ve been struggling with hallucinations lately
because photographs and light and sound is so **** easy to bend into whatever shapes you want memories to take
i haven’t trusted myself for three years now and i’m not about to start
overconfidence leads to the edges of cliffs
and i’m all too familiar with the steep drop of the ravine
when did photographs of you become a foreign language to me?
when did i stop recognizing either of us? why can’t i look myself in the eye anymore?
photoshop steals the life from my laptop battery
and reminiscing on things that may or may not have actually happened steals energy from me
so i’ll try to see if we can forcefully power down this crooked old machine
unplug me
i don’t want these memories saved anymore
delete everything
delete everything
unplug me
delete me
delete me

4/16/2014

I was not always who I am,
In fact, I don't even resemble my previous self.
My friends, if in fact you are reading this,
Put all your old memories on a shelf.


Do you remember the freshman who was always quiet?
The one you might have seen down the hall?
The one everyone called a friend,
But never really knew at all?

You know the one, how can you forget,
His shoes and shaggy hair?
The way he smiled to himself,
When you didn't notice that he was there?

Do you remember the timid laughter,
As he struggled to fit in?
Coming to the monstrous place,
Knowing that he was truly alone.

I'll bet you never knew.
No, I know you never did.
All the feelings, thoughts, words, actions,
Were all the things he ever hid.

He strut his stuff down dusty hallways,
Secretly hating the way he was.
Incapacitated by his own ignorance,
Choosing to just accept his flaws.


Do you remember the sophomore who always smiled?
The one who was called the nicest boy?
Of course you do, everyone does,
You said his presence was enjoyed.

This was the year he began to see,
The direction his life was going.
He stopped dead, shocked, in his tracks,
When he saw was he was becoming.

He hated himself to the point of breaking,
But he didn't break, he just bent.
He resigned himself, accepted his fate,
As his heart and confidence were rent.

He receded into himself and his life,
Refusing to push harder; to push on.
If only the poor idiot had known,
He could have worked to a faster dawn.

But instead he became lazy,
People only knew him as the nice guy.
And for a while he was satisfied,
Until he found the final question: Why?


Do you remember the junior who always looked high?
As though his mind was always far away?
Of course you do, everyone does.
Because that was the year he learned to play.

That was the year that people finally saw,
Another side to the quiet, nice guy.
That was the year that would change everything,
Because he decided to change what was inside.

"Why?" is such a simple question,
But one that entails the entirety of life.
It was in this search that the boy,
Found something deeper in all his strife.

This was the beginning of a new path,
One that took years to complete.
But it was one that led him higher,
A throne to replace his lowly seat.

He finally learned to love himself,
He learned to throw caution to the wind.
He learned to build and better himself,
He finally learned to love again.

These things did not come easily,
Nor were they close to instant.
The path was long and tedious,
But the boy was finally persistent.

Only a small change was noticed,
He took his seat among varsity ranks.
People noticed a personality,
Where once before had seemed so blank.

The few who he let closest,
Noticed something deep within him first.
Two helped him build and grow,
One tried taking his potential for herself.

Fighting through he found himself,
Another year had passed him by.
But what the boy finally knew,
Was that he could change who he was inside.

Do you remember that one senior boy,
Who walked the halls with a grin and hint of swagger?
Of course you do, how could you forget,
This was the year that boy became bigger.

He suddenly wasn't just the quiet or nice guy,
Everyone looked on as if he were new.
What was the confidence that was in his eyes,
Where once only weakness and fear grew?

This was the question everyone asked him,
The one that everyone wanted to know.
What had happened over that summer,
That caused this whole new person to show?

He couldn't give them an answer,
How could he describe what he had done?
What was is there to say,
That he had learned to let go, live, and love?

Suddenly the ones who had ignored him,
Were asking him for his advice.
It felt so good to be validated,
After a lifetime of cowardice.

Do you remember the first game of the season,
When he blew the crowd away?
The ferocity and abandon that he carried,
It was his new favorite way to play.

Do you remember the first dance of the year,
When suddenly he was dating the track star?
Nobody could believe she came onto him,
The quiet boy who had come so far.

Do you remember how he was suddenly important?
It was because he knew all the dark and ***** secrets.
The quiet boy you thought meant nothing,
Suddenly new everyone's weakness.

Do you remember how he led the class?
He was suddenly leadership material.
You cheered him and his team,
When the trophy was hung with his orange Mercurials.

Only one person thought to ask him,
What exactly had happened, what had changed?
He smiled quietly, once again and said,
I let myself out of my cage.

It took four years for him to love himself,
To find confidence among his fears.
To build himself into a better person,
To gain the respect of all his peers.

The hardest part throughout it all,
Was not to feed on his new found pride.
To retain the innocence of his past,
And somehow keep kindness in his stride.

He was voted friends with everyone,
And indeed, he truly was.
An entire school known by name,
He graduated to thunderous applause.


Do you remember the college freshman?
No, of course you don't.
You haven't really met him yet,
Most of you probably won't.

He's doing well, the quiet boy,
He finally found a balance in good and pride.
He thanks you for teaching him about himself,
The testing grounds where he reached inside.

He thanks you for being exactly what you were,
Some kind, some not, some indifferent.
Without each and everyone one of you,
He might have remained weak and ignorant.

Now he lives his life the best he can,
Living and loving each and every day.
He lets cares pass him all by,
Only letting peace and happiness stay.

He learned to love himself,
That the most important of all that changed.
The confidence and wisdom inspired him,
To live his life unchained.

Surrounding himself with the best people,
Loving life and all its trials.
Holding those he cares about,
Almost forgetting the quiet boy in denial.


I've written here about who I was,
Because it defines who I am today.
I am no longer the weak, quiet boy,
I think the confidence is here to stay.

Learning to love myself,
Was the key to my happiness.
Everything good that has happened since,
Is a result of choosing to leave the sadness.

I write not for my own vindication,
Although in hindsight, it sounds this way.
I merely wish to express my changes,
In as few memories as I must say.

I've lost precious minutes here,
Typing out this soliloquy.
And now I fear that it must end,
There is more life for me to see.

Here I go, into the night,
Who knows what I will find.
I love to live my amazing life,
With this peaceful state of mind.




I realized that I am at an extremely happy moment in my life and I wanted to spend some time remembering how I got here. All of the toils and troubles and terrible experiences that I had have culminated to this one moment, this one day, this one year. Every choice I made, every word I said has been working towards the state of happiness I now experience. If I write with more than a hint of ego it is because I do feel pride for having come so far from the person I used to be.

There was a loud knock on the door. Callie froze.
“Hello? Anyone in there? Daryl! Open up!” The muffled voice of Ginny could be heard outside the lab door. Callie hurried into the back room.
“Daryl, your wife is here...” she said worriedly. “What are we going to do??”
“Oh my god. Just... don’t make any noise. If the boss knows we were here, using his lab, he’ll **** us. I know. I’ll call her and tell her that I’m on my way home.” Callie wrung her hands as Daryl paced back and forth, muttering to himself.
“Heyyy, Ginny. Sorry, work kept me out late. I’m on my way home now.” Dayrl spoke into the phone sweetly. “Alright see you there.” He hung up. Callie’s eyes were wide.
“I heard her leave. Let’s get out of here.” Callie grabbed her purse and her sweater off her desk and opened the lab door slowly. Daryl followed quickly behind Callie as they tip toed their way through the dark hallways of the Laboratory.

As Ginny left the lab and was walking back to her car, her phone rang. “Hello?” She listened as Daryl spoke quickly. He sounded very nervous. “Okay, Daryl. I’ll see you at home.” She hung up and stopped. Her husband was acting very strange tonight. She had been knocking on the door to his office and even his boss’s office. What is he up to..this doesn’t feel right. I trust him but... Ginny turned around slowly and made her way back to the dark, tall gray building. If he’s cheating on me I swear... Her mind was running through hundreds of possibilities, her anger and worry growing. Nearing the front door, she removed her heals and crept into the building. She listened carefully before ducking into a room that had a nice view of the elevator and the exit. Peeking through the blinds, she waited and watched.

Callie held Daryl’s hand as they left the elevator, walking towards the front exit. “Okay we’re clear,” Daryl whispered in Callie’s ear. As the young woman walked past Daryl, her rose infused perfume drifted into his face and he shivered as the scent filled his nostrils. Grabbing her hand and pulling her towards him he kissed her passionately. There was a loud choking sound behind them and they turned around suddenly. Ginny was standing in the hallway, eyes wide, fists balled up in shock and anger.
“Wha...what is going on, Daryl?” Her voice shook, and she didn’t take her eyes off of Callie. “Who is she?” Daryl was as stiff as a stone. “Who. Is. She, Daryl. What is going on?”
“Ginny, it’s not what it looks like. I love you. She was forcing me. I promise.” Callie took a step back.
“Excuse me?! Daryl, you started this between us. Do NOT act like you are the innocent one here. You told me you loved me more than your wife. That you were going to leave her... You...you are a *****, ***** liar.” Callie broke into tears and fell to her knees.
“Callie...Ginny! Ginny I don’t know what she’s talking about. I love you. You know I love you.” Daryl stepped towards Ginny. She held up her hands defensively.
“Get away from me, you creep!” Daryl stopped.
“Come on, Ginny. Let’s go home. I love you, please it’s not what it seems. Look, I ******* up. Come on, I’ll get the car.” Daryl backed up slowly, and then headed for the door. A terrible scream was heard and the next moment, Daryl was on the floor, blood spurting everywhere. A large glass paperweight dropped to the floor with a loud thud and a ****** as a corner shattered off. Two pairs of wide eyes stared down at the body silently.

When the police had arrived, Callie and Ginny were sitting together on a bench, shivering in the cold night air. A young girl in her late teens, early twenties was sitting across from them, her eyes dry. “Ladies, may I ask what happened here? There’s a man in there, dead. Which one of you did this?” A policeman came up to the women with a pencil and a paper pad.
The young girl looked up. “I killed him.” The girl stood up. “He’s been leading three different lives. One with me, my mother, and my little brother in Arlington. I knew about all of them. I followed him a lot. I found him leading one with her, that lady there.” She held up a finger at Ginny. “And then he was having an affair with her.” She moved her finger to Callie. “I couldn’t deal with it anymore. He was a greedy, selfish *******. I did it. I killed Daryl Stevenson. I killed my father.”

It is now four in morning as I wind down.
On this salty night in vagas you can see for miles.
The trees smell imported, the stripes of feet walking everywhere are visible in the floor carpets, the whole joint was colored tequila, and every face was that of an american.
Hotel hallways had grown small with the years.
There was this crane down the street, building the next casino over, again.
It stood amongst fifty-thousand billboards and american faces, all the same created, all the same.    
The tension now builds and I can only feel time.
The image of an illuminated nobody swiming in a mist pool, next to a hotel on the outskirts of town, the knowing of his distain for others, the sheer embrace of his mystic-all-knowing insignificance watching the crooked sunrise kept me going.
You once told me to pick and choose.
You once told me I should taste the air more, like a dog would, if he could sink his teeth in just right.
I took that as you wanted a mutt in your brain, maybe even a mutt in me, but I couldn't.
Not on this holiday and not at four in the morning.

I'm all alone now,
Sitting in the dark,
I lost the spark
In my eyes.

I can't see the other side,
Of the room in which I hide.
It's so quite and cold,
As I try to hold
The remainders of my heart.

A wave of sorrow hits me,
Now I can not see.
I can hear how his voice sounded,
The pain keeps me grounded.

Wishing he was here with me,
Back then how we use to be,
In love and happy,
And downright sappy.

It's all over now,
As I loudly vow,
To love him always,
Through these hallways.

But there is only me.

Junior high hallways of
Girls kissing, without meaning
It
Like boys getting the erections they
Did not hide
From those wishing to see them shy,
But not away.

Sisters were a specialty with
Incestual immunity-
A senior class with nine sets of twins and
Two-hundred, watching them share chapstick.

Girls at liberal arts school,
Painting our ******* like we were wearing the same dress
To the weekend's party
And could dance ourselves clean
Without touching a thing.

In Spring, the Bennington bookstore special-ordered
THE KISS posters
Stuck on girls' ceilings that semester like
Plastic stars
Glowing in the dark above their beds-
Alone, watching white-pantied girlfriends
Lick lips above their heads.

We moved mattresses,
Made floors into king-size beds, and mocked manliness
Our boyfriends' weariness when they visited.

Holding roommates and classmates naked by the *******,
We found by spooning each other
How deeply we fell asleep.
To wake up, stretching in the sunlight of open curtains
No one would tell us to shut.

Quickly, we were moving to Boston with our boyfriends and making
Pairs of plans,
Then abandoning each at our own pace,
Like we'd talked about at night before we'd have to have that pain.

Years later, I followed my lover to meet his parents,
Who took us to dinner, and after,
My head on his childhood pillow,
Looked up at two girls kiss.

Walking down the hallways
with her wrong fingers crossed.

Head down,
glasses crooked,
hair all tossed.

it is always nights like this, where everything is so quiet you can hear beneath the absolute threshold, when i begin to wonder if i am going mad. technically, if one were truly losing their mind, they wouldn’t take much notice to the clarification that their reality is nothing but intricate lies spun by their brain.

pushing onwards within the dark, i can feel it. a whisper of a dance in memory slices gracefully across my cheek. the hungry caress of a lost lover. it is a random number between three and four, counting the days of sleepless solitude; as my lover is playing tricks on me.

it is just before dawn. the house breathes and groans like a wretched soul trapped in a bottomless pit long before midnight. in the gray morning light, delicate wrists stained with ink serve as maps through a desolate labyrinth. “lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.”

from the corner of my eye i see shadows of uncharted men that feed upon the protective covering, encasing us; separating our world from theirs. the barrier is a shield at best, yet doorway at worst.

try to detach your eyes from their persistent, wandering gaze; and you might just catch a glimpse of a shadow gliding out of sight.

don’t second guess yourself sweetheart, you know exactly what you saw.

shadowy figures slightly out of reach, but still quite visible – gliding silently amidst, whispering quietly to those surrounding. looking directly at the figures, a gauzy lace veil delicately masks and covers each shadow.

unseen claws shred the thin barrier before it is tattered and torn. one by one, little by little, each figure sharpens into perfect visual acuity, wholly in sigh(t). as you slowly inch back, eyes unblinking with disbelief, their voices are no longer whispers.

the gaping pits of opened mouths drown you in hollow prattles, screeching rasps; the cruel high pitched icy sneers of laughter.

petrified with terror and shock at the shadow’s newfound ability to speak, you acutely notice that the house is creaking and wheezing. you can hear footsteps on the opposite side of the house, and with your eyes averted, they are gone.

with this, you must take into consideration that i have spent far too long with eyes wide shut, drowning in utter fear fueled by morbid curiosity for this world: things seen and heard. each is a cancerous tumor mutilating my mind beyond repair.

to me, the shadow figures’ tattered veil appears to be a doorway, a portal to another universe. this sheer possibility spawns the magnitude of infinite and parallel universes.
much like the shifting hallways concealed in an e(in)ternal labyrinth.

amidst this never ending maze, man is forced to wander blindly from birth to death; where he then circles back around to his exact place of previous conception, only to be born anew. condemned to blindly roam and repeat his unbroken cycle for all eternity.

in this labyrinth we are all gods, we are all monsters. each creation story is universal, yet individual to each new life.

the sinner and the saint are both born into divinity.

Her voice echoes through the empty hallways. She is loud but alone. The tears that you see are only a fraction of all the tears she actually cries. Her hair is long and blonde, but she despises it. She wants to shave it all off, to tattoo her skull to show that caring is superficial and WRONG. She lines her blue eyes with a liner called "denim". She throws on jeans that hug her body and a t-shirt stained with hot chocolate. She covers the brown stain with a scarf. She puts on chapstick because who knows? Maybe someone will think she's important enough to kiss her. Her brand-new bangs cover her forehead and eyes. They cover the hoop earrings that feel too girly, too pretty. Everything about her today just feels WRONG. The boy she likes is just one table over, and he doesn't glance at her once the entire hour. She hurries out of the room , not looking back. She bursts into spanish class, out of breath and ready for the boredom that will be the next hour. And then it is back to study hall. It is all too repetitive for her. It is her first day back and already she looks out the door, ready to go home. It isn't like she's got any friends there either, she's an only child and her dad works overseas. The rest of the day is a blur. It passes and she doesn't notice or care. And that boy still hasn't noticed her. No one has. She is but an empty shadow of a heart in a hollow shell of a body that wants to be warmed by another.
But it isn't meant to be...

Take all that is left inside
Make a place to control the design
It only hurts when you want it to
Keep the answers in the walls and hide
Its sensible and lost its taste
Contracting labors and more burdens
While humming sounds of broken tapes
It was so simple then
Casual and cool with all our friends
It was so easy then
Twist our way through all the insinuations
As locked doors hide the tears
Lose the questions of flaccid danger
Take a chance on humble aspirations
Provoking thoughtful comical gimmicks
As this darkness finds peace in the remains
Finding a place to question martyrs
Send away the places all the secrets stay
It was so simple then
Casual and cool with all our friends
It was so easy then
Taking all that we can give
And all the lies make up for every sin
Hollowed hallways hold the sounds
Let the anger shake the doubt
It was so simple then
Casual and cool with all our friends
But it wasn’t easy then
Masking all the words we never said

It’s the burdens of these hallways and casual screams
They sing of the results that were never meant to me
Cant control the distance when the time is always off
I will follow my convictions in the barroom left unlocked
Keeping away the promises made through all our talk
Bring about the sighs through unpleasant empty stares
I bet you could make honey from shattered glass
Lay all their eyes down as they make a pass

If I had 57’ chevy would you ride with me?
Let me pick you up and be what you want me to be.
Drive away to false expectations that never last
If I had a 57’ chevy could we forget our past?

Shoulder decisions to make others believe
Have my shoes shined bright trim the lawn real clean
Take a lonely picture with yourself and desperation
Save all the innocence for a fathers blessing
Tolls have laid themselves through nights that never end
Depend on others broken tabs to keep the lights on
I bet you could make charcoal into diamond eyes
Lay them on a table for others to walk bye

If I had 57’ chevy would you ride with me?
Let me pick you up and be what you want me to be.
Drive us down those roads of all the days that have gone past
If I had a 57’ chevy could I find a way to make it last

You could be a pin up in a polka dotted dress
Squander how both are lives remain an empty distant mess
I could chauffeur you steadily through different outside towns
And forget about missed autumn nights as all the leaves turn brown

If I had 57’ chevy would you ride with me?
Let me pick you up and be what you want me to be.
Drive away to false expectations that never last
If I had a 57’ chevy could we forget our past?
We have lost desire from open regrets
If I had a 57’ chevy would you just forget

Coming down with something
     blame summer
     point a finger at the city
worn-down pizzazz
     drunk trumpets
and I hide in my coat
    
trees look better without leaves
is it just me?
   see the sun bellow
   into buildings

student affairs
   like heat rash
bounce along hallways

foreign mumbo-jumbo
   mishpelt words

they say him met her
saw six pictures last night

I haven’t met me
   books know truth
not brunettes

good poetry
better than ***
   they’re running running running away with it
between spritzers
   and sandwiches
   now snooze until Halloween
   brown back in fashion

    caught in the middle
    piedra de aguacate
I handle guitars
    they fiddle with women

now  
   let apple juice trickle
from my lips
   and a man gets out a taxi
    drops his phone

Cross the neighborhood,
There's our old school.
Full of memories.
Ones we all we all wish,
Would've lasted.

Great friends then,
enemies now.
Lovers turned strangers.
Decisions found regrets.

You & I,
We'd be friends forever,
'Till we got our shades, that is.
Which wasn't much time.
But in between,
Lays beauty in our childhood.

Sitting in my seat,
I turn 'round,
at the smiling thought of you.
Only to find your welcoming eyes.

We used to laugh together.

Send notes in French class past our strict teacher,
Love notes soon to be; as everyone thought.

The times when my co-worker was away,
and you took the shift
to work next to me,
play 'MASH',
and do our mischevious things.

The time when we went trick-or-treating,
and our parents made us take the (ahem, gruesome-looking) photo together.

The time we both got cast as the main characters in a play (where eventually we found out we'd possibly have to kiss.) You were cool with it.

The almost daily embarrassing time.
Once, we were walking in the hallways to class, eyes locked.
So into the conversation, I bumped into a table and dropped all of my books. (Well, it was in the middle of the hallways!!!) You helped.

The time we went on MSN just to see eachother.

The time you (somehow got hold of my number) called me for the first time:
The time my heart raced to pick up.

Seemed everyone was right.

The time we'd gone to a music concert.

The time we'd talk on breaks.

The time we'd have lunch together.

The time we held hands.

If I was a mind reader,
I'd know you're curious.
Wondering why it isn't so anymore.
So am I.

I remember my primary school
which was all large hallways and shiny shoes

library
which was all popsicle stick projects
and a round reading room

after hours and finding a book about art.

I showed it to Mrs Romano
who was fat in a pleasant way and wore round glasses

and she said “Picasso?”
and
i said
"yes."

I guess I was always best at making messes of things like the inside of your chest or the rest of the world. its a lot easier than anyone ever tells you to become addicted to the sick and twisted feeling in your stomach when you hear things like "he lives with his grandparents now" or "she tried to **** herself in ninth grade". cracked ribs and broken hearts are not one in the same. one will always hurt far worse than the other and it's always the one that hospitals can't fix. white washed walls and sterile hallways filled with empty people waiting for their lives to change raspy breath and pale skin I remember going to the hospital as a kid and asking "are there people dying in there?" my mother never did give me an answer. the truth is, there are people dying everywhere. only the lucky ones make it to the hospital. the truth is people die on bathroom floors with a stomach full of pills and a fist full of love letters that will never be sent. people die over the phone choking on a throat full of apologies they'll never spill. people die popping sorrys like pills and swallong broken teeth by eating glass as if it were easier than saying I love you for the last time. we break ribs to make space for people who have no intention of staying and the last time I spoke your name was three days ago in a drunken haze lying on my back and shouting to the moon "I love you more" wishing that it was you I've screamed your name to the raining sky more times that I'd like to say but each day I find myself swallowing your promises and choking on the forevers you ensured me we'd spend together as if you ever even meant it
you didn't
and I can't even ******* breathe because its always been me lying on the bathroom floor with more pills than I should even know exist with a fist full of letters I'll never get to kiss and I still pick up the phone just to hear the busy tone and mumble apologies until I dont know what I'm saying and I'm swallowing ***** bottles and chewing on glass to make saying I love you for the last time feel less like living and more like dying
im dying
im dying
im dying

stumbling blind
through the hallways of my years
wasting time,grinding my gears
got to suffer
seems it's the only way
to make the effort
seem worth the pain

Stand back
take a look at what you see
drives you crazy,your so naive
all your troubles
you can add them to my list
my plate is full ,but I'll get another dish

You know who speaks the truth
don't forsake your entire youth
stand up by yourself and you will find the way
as the shepherd
leads the fools away

Barren wastelands
are the landscape of your mind
no more goals
no mountains to climb
treading water in a sea of misery
keep your head out of the endless waves

With a soft dancing flame
You slowly melt away
You provide me light
When the lights are out
Within the dark hallways
You guide me
Candles
Such a beautiful aroma you let off
With a simple slight gust
Your flickering heart goes out
Awaiting your next and new spark
Together again you will be

it's like there's a stranger living within me
one that wishes to take up less space
and speak not so loudly.

hushed tones sound deafening in empty hallways
no matter how few people are around to listen
I have become scared of the sounds I emit, no matter how necessary.

wish I could sit pretty on the head of a pin
and not have these thighs that rub together
like sticks used to start a campfire to roast me over

I am edible in the eyes of the insane
but there are more of them than there are of me
so I might as well submit to purgatory

treat it as I did for close to 12 years,
something I had to face at least twice a day
once in the morning and again before bed

you'd spit fire in my direction
and I'd send a thank you card
and tell you to expect flowers in the morning

i was  in still water and you were a tornado
you disheveled me every chance you got
and I never once thought to seek dry land

never once thought to rid myself of poison
because to me it was normal,
and I hate you for that.

hate you for making me think it was okay
okay to grow up in a home where abuse was normal
and accepted.

I pass the street of my childhood home and cringe
every slamming door, broken hinge, and shattered dish
replay like violent storms in my memory

things I wish I could forget, but know I never will.
you are the reason I jump as I turn corners
and itch at the thought of razor blades.

i lay restless turning the thoughts over in my mind
staring at a clock with numbers that only climb
screaming and slamming doors never did make for a good lullaby.

I knew him. He transferred into my eigth grade class somewhere past half way into the year. A friend raved about how the new kid was so quick to lend her a pencil. I didn't care.

He was in my PE class and even though he looked so athletic, he could never catch a ball. He was always a good sport about it, even as the other kids started to make fun of him behind his back. He talked differently, using big words, often incorrectly, and with a surprisingly hopeful inflection. He was loud. Not only did I not care, I contributed to his ridicule. It seemed good natured and I just wanted to fit in.

We all just wanted to fit in.

Coincidentally, we transferred together to a different highschool; we both didn't fit in, but for different reasons. He was in my home room. He was friendly and outgoing and always did what he could to try and make other students laugh. I couldn't tell if he knew they were laughing at him. I didn't care.

At first when he ran into me in the hallways, he would smile and try to talk to me. Mine a more familiar face to a boy stranded in a sea of strangers. I would only talk briefly and displayed no emotion, save impatientness. I didn't care.

He eventually caught on to my apathy, and left me alone. He preferred the company of those who laughed. At least an insult was a response.

We were all skippers, but he had been condemned to sail alone.

He twerked in a dance off at a school pep rally. He did his best to get in front of a camera when the broadcast kids came around. He was always extremely polite to our homeroom teacher. He talked a lot in home room. I sat in the corner and pretended no one existed. Before he would try and make everyone laugh, he would still say hi to me. I didn't care.

I joined the chess club for a while. At maybe my third meeting he came in and began to ask the teacher about something. I think it was the death penalty. I didn't care, so I didn't remember. At the end of the chat, he thanked the teacher for his weekly moral lesson. I never thought about it.

He said his morals were different from the rest of the world. I hear he shot himself. He said not to mourn his death but to celebrate his life.

I never did that. I never cared.

Even now, his life is catalogued in my brain as part of an awkward eighth grade year for me, part of home rooms I hated going to, part of a school that made me vaguely uncomfortable. Caring now is a lie, a lie to say I did all I could for a broken soul, that I am only an innocent bystander. I never cared, so I can't pretend that I did now.

I'm not guilty of his death. No one is guilty of his death. The blood is mixed with the dirt as his ashes will soon be. The blood is on the dirt, not our hands. But we walk on this dirt, we till this soil, we plant our futures here in this ground. It's time we all started taking better care of it.

“goodnight,” your kiss says, our skin pale and lips red.
“don’t,” i say. “don’t go.”
you smile into my mouth because you don’t want to.
our night-time habits are ******* with our heads. it’s hard to tell now, when we’re still trying to impress each other with magic tricks and hidden knowledge and by tattooing flowers and words onto each other’s skin, but in the morning, when we’re squinting in the too-bright light of the school hallways and sarcasm can only be emitted through minuscule sighs and shakes of the head, it comes creeping back.
we exist only in the night.

There is dust on the shelves
and more shadows than light to allow them.
The floors are awake with a moaning
that crawls down hallways my feet avoid.

Why have You brought me here?
to this place of introspection,
to my untouched furniture and silverware,
this place where scarcely a mat is welcome.
Why have You brought me here?
There were lists of reasons I hid the key
behind the smiles I wore as diseases.
This museum of wounds and clever bandages,
of wars and fears and organs broken.
My face looks foreign in the picture frames.

These are doors that scare me;
That stare back boldly with eyes like nights
when you find yourself without a moon.
I am embarrassed to say I will need a guide.
I could not tell You the bedroom from the pantry;
it has simply been too long.
The walls have shifted and carpets moved on
to cover some fresher stain.

What You mean for me to find in these piles of relics
is beyond my understanding.
But if I am to go on, then my knees will need convincing.
Speak to my infant soul, Dear Friend.
Convince it to sit down with me for dinner
and let some light in through the drapes.
Open the doors that divide me from You,
and make me a place worth living.

turn back the clock to the times
when rain clouds weren't as heavy
and my lungs didn't heave as hard

gasping for air to reach out to you
running
running
running

just getting closer to get farther again from your shadow

how did it come to this, i wonder?

boy meets girl
awkward boy in a jacket all day
short haired girl recovering from pain
it was nothing, really

chance, i'd say
fate, you'd counter

everything starts out great

fingertips barely brushing
against each other
too shy, too shy

secret glances exchanged
in busy hallways.
looking forward to break times;
looking for that special face in the crowd,
but never really going for it

we were cowards

and then it happened
fingers began to reach out for each other
grasping at whatever can be held

tightly
closely
fiercely

but now
your fingertips are spread
wide open, far away
i can't reach them

i run, and run and run
but my legs
can only go so far

take a rest
deep breaths
look back

the gap is so big now

we're still cowards, maybe even bigger ones now

how can i hold your hand now?