I'll have my people call your people
Where they can set something up
Make sure they schedule a meeting
So we can get something done

We'll put our heads together
Brain storming like never before
Working off bold charts and diagrams
That we've drawn up on the board

Calling out for coffee and doughnuts
We could be here all night
Screaming and hashing it over
Till we get this thing  perfectly right

Only one thing I need to know though
That's not exactly clear
Who called this meeting to order
And why are we all here

what i said:
"you sound rough this morning."


what i meant:
"your voice is lavender and honey and tea time and supernovas colliding with gentle breezes and if i could wake up to it, just once, cocooned in a tangle of your arms and couch cushions and that blanket you keep in the back of your car, i swear by the stars in my eyes no one on this godforsaken planet would be out of earshot of my singing

i hope that tonight when i dream of you--it is no longer a matter of uncertainty, but anticipation--you speak like you've just overslept your alarm and frantically motored yourself to where i am, like is the case today.

i wish you had chosen me but if i could only listen to you speak to me, about anything--rivers or math homework or football or belonging or music or even your girlfriend--i promise i would listen with the beating urgency of a swimmer in a frozen stream, i would savor each word from your lips, like they were the spring and i was the underground daisy waiting for your kiss.

and in precisely three days i will have an essay to compose about a beautiful topic that would consume me thoroughly were it not for the memory of your groggy morning voice, so full of raspy complacency i can't breathe but instead of fulfilling my obligations i will be hashing out halfway comprehensible poetry about you and crying about how i cannot recreate the sound of your voice with any combination of hollowly clicking keys.

you are so beautiful that i could spend the remainder of my life with a five-subject notebook, scrawling 'your eyes. your smile. your hands. your voice' over and over endlessly and die feeling as though i had lived a thousand years of quiet adventure.

you are so much and too much for me and i have no idea why you see as much in me as you do but i will not question it, for fear that if i were to come too close to you, to run my fingers along the marvel of your face you would shrivel and unfurl into nonexistence, like the leaf in the fire."


and also:
"why can't your voice always sound like this?"

and finally:
"******* you're attractive"

buy me on the black market like the instability I am.
watch me hurtle through negative space backwards,
the planet-wide catastrophe of a sun-sized storm in me.
Call me Carbon-14.
it’s the latest piece of my galaxy-sized identity, another chemical
small enough to wage nuclear war.
you’re witnessing my radioactive decay,
the deterioration of everything I used to be into
everything I might be,
a kind of reaction that happens when one of my ‘downs’
becomes an ‘up,’
no aces up my sleeves or full houses of face cards in spades,
but I’ve got straight sevens,
protons neutrons electrons, carbon to nitrogen.
beta decay, the mass production of passive procrastination;
second in command, sidekick sidetracking heroes.
Call me Nitrogen standard 14.
watch me decay into the air that you breathe,
seventh most common gas in the Milky Way galaxy,
keeping things fresh and stainless like my steel armor,
try and make me combust but I’m fireproof, bulletproof,
balanced and on my toes in a defensive position,
fists raised for the fight that you’re going to put up.
my axis is more stable than yours. step into the rings of saturn,
ring the bells to start the rounds, champion takes home the stars,
wraps orion’s belt around their waist and buckles it tight with nuclear waste.
everyone loves an underdog story, but only when they know,
positively, that the underdog will win.
with you and me, it’s a 50/50 on who exactly has the upper hand
and who exactly is going to win, but I’ll make bets with the elements around me,
the carbon that I used to be hashing out 20’s and oxygen
claiming she’s not one for gambling.
baby, you’re in my lungs, you’re in my corner of the ring.
she’ll slip in a 50 like my chances, and I’ll pretend that I don’t notice.
phosphorus is too fiery to root for me,
he’s more of a heavyweight believer than me.
Call me contagious
when my knuckles bloom across your jaw and knock away
all of your sensibility, stability, bruises like moons
as the mirror shatters every reflection of who I used to be.
Call me Carbon-14, but know that I am radioactive,
actively changing, reigning champion of breaking perceptions,
and you’re just the impression of the death that I’m carbon-dating.

chilly morning wind awakens my skin
             her mystical electric blue cat
   dances in the daylight
me green fox spirit yogas on the hill
    dilly-dallying licking air droplets
dreaming of a sacred light,
the mirror meadow is a sphere of reflection,
      A rasta moose and a few gnostic bunnies sit in a drum circle
hashing and workin out a rhythm for the dawn....
Bebop bear bares it's soul in the lapis lake,
      meditating on his thankful Mother Nature and her blacklight berry provisions,
Technicolor roses nuzzle together by the water,
          velvet vines hug willow trees created of patched fabric
as prink energy embraces the wise tai-chi eagles
      atop the ruby mountains.
Serene gardens brush away dirt blankets
        fire flowers,
  light flowers
lilac compassion illuminate the shade
autumn leaves of time flutter toward sky horizons ......
watercolored wickiups
          and spray-paint thipis rest closeby
as the timeline continues to be sewn.

Oh what a shock, he changed his mind.

In a conversation dripping with sarcasm and oozing distain, I begin to tell my coworker about my big news. I begin with the transition with *remember that guy I used to talk about. For months now we had been hashing this situation out at work, the unanswered text messages, the constant apologies, the sudden disappearance of what was seemingly the perfect guy. Everyone had heard the story, it just glided off my tongue whenever the conversation came to relationships, which at 22 is the topic of choice. By now everyone is either so stable or in some varying level of turmoil which makes my story not all that unique. It’s a classic girl gets drunk in costume, falls for a tall guy who listens to records, then spirals into self-doubt and bouts of frustration.

So how did this happen, the coworker asks with a laugh as we drive back. He knows the story up until this point and cannot wait to hear how I managed to get to this level. It started just as it had begun, a full circle of drunkenness. I had texted him after an open bar, and to this day I don't really know what I was expecting to come of it. After a casual opening conversation, the first that we’ve had in many months, not counting our stream of snapchats, I tell him we should hang out soon. When I saw that he was pretty drunk.ish. drunkish, I knew that we could have the first real conversation in a long time. We discuss his unavailable nature casually and he identifies as not being worth all the fuss.

Of course he is not worth all the fuss, I had been telling myself that since the beginning. Of course I had been fussing all the while but at least I was aware that it was not necessary. This is where all those craft beers stepped in and I agreed with him. Yep I told a guy that he wasn’t worth effort. To make it even clarified that due to a lack of variety, he was just the best out of many bad possibilities.

I deserved to see him reply with a single, punched in the ball style, ouch. Being the strong independent black woman I pretend to be I once again hit him with a one-two punch of truth. Oh please, as I electronically roll my eyes, you know I am interested in you. I tell him that he confuses me and that we could figure things out. I hear the classic line that I have now heard from many more guys than I am happy to admit, blame it on my need to hunt down every damaged travel ****** in the western New York area: I’m going to be nowhere near here in a few months.

They never are, this one is bicoastal but the last few are across an ocean, across the world, a verbal cultural and emotional divide away. To follow up he hits me with possibly the worst thing you can say to a girl, in my very extensive history of turn downs at least: I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings.

*****, please. You are talking to a psych major here, I know more about feelings that your barefoot running lack of *** could even imagine. Saying that would require that I have feelings in the first place is just the tip of the ******* iceberg. I am on lock with being in charge of my emotions. I am a grown *** woman who knows my **** and has healthy *** cognitions most of the time leading to stable *** feelings. Don't get me wrong I feel but no vegetarian is going to reduce me to a puddle of disgusting feelings.

So what are you looking for? The same thing I was looking for four months ago, a friend, a fellow explorer, maybe some physical contact, someone to confide in, worry about, cook for. Nothing big, nothing serious, nothing forever. ohh

Sorry bud, ohh is just not going to cut it here. Now’s the time to check back in with what he wants. As a recap, originally we had a conversation, same topic different tone. In that moment he wanted a friend, a fellow explorer, maybe some physical contact, someone to confide in, worry about, cook for. Nothing big, nothing serious, nothing forever.

Oh what a shock, he changed his mind.

This time his conscience was taking over, he couldn't hook up with me because its not in his nature, because it wouldn't form something real, because that's his guiding force. It’s certainly tempting, it would be lovely. He took my a good time in the present, no strings attached * as a ******* which wasn’t its intent but finally I was relieved.

The purpose of this story is not for pity or out of unbridled rage even though I used a few swears. The conversation goes on to target some insecurities, to open up about this being a pattern, and ultimately to wish him the very best.

And, I do, honestly and entirely wish him the very best. Although he had disappeared I know that he didn't do it with malice and that he has a really kind soul. Once again it didn't work out but this case was different.

We had 2:30 AM closure of the best nature, and I feel free and so much happier for the time I spent hung up on him, which is not something I can say for all those previous cases. I really enjoyed our sparse conversations but even more than that, this was the first time I came out of my shell and got pushy about what I wanted. I did all the work and had nothing to lose and for that I do not have a single regret, and I feel like the sky is the limit. No more texting rules or hurting other people feelings in the Game just for the sake of winning.

thank you, you too :)

His response was perfect, and I promptly removed him from my social media. After all, I am human.




*NSYNC’s best hit

We're probably very different,
You and I
But maybe I don't want to feel disconnected
When our viewpoints don't match
When I become separated from you

There's more to life, you see
Than focusing on our differences,
What separates us

When we disagree, we disconnect
From each other
I can feel it
You can feel it too
Don't tell me you can't
I've heard those words
Enough to know they aren't true

So please, when I say
Let's not discuss politics,
It means
I only want to remain close with you
I don't want to be pushed away

So now, rather than re-hashing old news
Like politics, or rather,
What separates us,
Let's explore what unites us,
What brings us closer to each other
Within the beauty of where
Our commonalities lie

Because as I said,
I just want to feel close to you

I often wonder
Why I can't write a nice little poem.
You know the kind-
A nice, little poem
About the woods,
Or maybe a field.
Perhaps about a butterfly or a cat.
Maybe about hope, or sunshine.
I often wonder
Why no matter how hard I try
To write
Nice
Little
Poems
They grow fangs
And spit the truth like venom.
I can never seem to write to somebody
Without saying precisely how I see them
No matter how unfavorable the view may be.
What I think just....
Spills out, all over the page-
Every theory, every wicked little judgement
(All the more wicked because many of them are accurate.)
Every criticism that I haven't the gall,
The courage,
Or the tactlessness
To say aloud.
Why, tell me,
Can I not quit this nasty business
Of hashing out and knowing in flowing language
Just what I think of the people I love?
And just write a
Nice
Little
Poem.

You cannot frighten me
(A demon that had dimmed)
I am not scared of you
(Awakens every time I encounter you)
In spite of your spite
(Reminds me that a rest)
Your venom, your vitriol
(Is not as good as a change)

You are not the monster
(I am undone in your company)
We make you out to be
(Everything I want to be)
Screaming, thrashing
(Lies patiently at my side)
Lashing out
(As my past unfurls ahead of me)

Re-hashing conversations
(‘I thought....you’d gone?’ I whisper, pleadingly)
Re-presenting words in new ways
(‘Not yet’, you stretch, luxuriously)
Our days are difficult with you
(‘There’s more here to be done.’)
But what are they compared to yours?
(I sigh. It’s not a huge surprise)

Fighting everyone to be right
(I’m twenty-nine, not twenty know-it-all)
Your actions drown out everyone
(There’s still a lot to learn, un-do)
Even your words are lost
(And always will be...)
In the wake of your fury
(Do you see?)

You’re fooling no-one but your own
(You cannot frighten me)
And not for long
(No-one scares me more than myself)

¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
     As I walked the cobbled road,
a fallen leaf had called to me
“There, they sit atop the elm
and sing in wing'ed harmony!”

     As I looked beyond the limbs,
t'was as the amber leaf had said!
Crows—a trio, black and jade—
sat sewing thoughts into my head.

     Doting all, their call, acute.
Feared, as they began to chime
and paint the scene in cackled rhyme—
a stunning scene of ag'ed time!

     “As the Earth sits up on high,
          Await the end; the end is nigh!
          And shaken from its pedestal,
          a common custom—gone awry!

     “And as the scrib'ed granites tell,
          the darkened lord shall cast his spell,
          and all of praxis slashed to
          barren ash and taken to his Hell.”

     Their words, a curse to roam the world—
a call, aloud—a siren's scream—
their call—the Cawling of the Wind;
this flawless song's an endless dream.

          They sing an endless, painted dream.
          They dream of endless misery.

     As I walked, my mind raced on
and paced about this patchwork key,
both singing of that cursed song
and laden with reality.

     And then this bent my hashing mind:
this pasture’s blinding paths abroad!
So ****** by its ****** disguise,
what once was fair is now but fraud.

     The thought of sin had bound my feet—
a burning chill that once was good.
His hell was just beyond my reach.
My body fell; yet, there I stood.

     And through the void, his spirit falls.
Gone, entranced, as he recalls
a house of cards with meager walls.
Atop the crown, his spirit calls:

“Hell is just beyond the green;
     past the lies and life you lead.
     As you age, the world will die.
     Your questions, answered;
          so, says I.”

     Around me, then, were those a’brood;
their dreamless nightmare once bestowed.
Our numbers fall; his rise in lieu.
Alas! Submit! We chose that road!

     This pasture waned an age ago—
a mountain, this buffet of lies.
For in his realm, the truth will show
that deaf ears harken not our cries.

     To a deity of piqued display,
upon a steed of dark dismay,
a fleeting wish, we're told to pay.
He'll raise his staff and he will say:

“Hell is just beyond the green;
     past the lies and life you lead.
     As you age, the world will die.
     Your questions, answered;
          so, says I.”

          Your eyes say no, but his say yes.
          A curse is thrown, and so we stress:

Our Hell is just beyond the green;
     past the lies and life we lead.
     As we age, the world will die.
     Our questions, answered;
     so, we cry . . .

                        *. . . and so, we cry . . .

And maybe below moon,
we shall rondevu in dreams.
Re-hashing moments so grand,
where temperatures rose with passions.

Or drift in hearts to know our real contract,
where fantasies met in a kiss.
Perhaps we'll look in each others eyes
and find excitement build once again.
Until morning light comes to echo.
Farewell my love,
as I must tuck you in my heart and move on
As...what once was does always lead to what will be.

If I had but twenty-four hours,
Who would I call?
Each daughter would take a year;
The brothers and sisters would yammer
For a month each;
Every friend would spend a week
Re-hashing our adventures and antics;
Favourite teachers and colleagues
Would like longer, but I can't afford more
Than a day per;
All others, except my detractors,
One minute,
The latter,
One second,
And with them,
All,
I'd need another lifetime.

The world across the street
Is a world apart
When you're four.
Cross, and walk
To four corners.

Four years of high school,
Perhaps followed by college,
We yearn to commence.
But for the rest of our lives
We relive those vaulted years,
Pining for them
To re-commence.

Then came the real world,
Of life and family.
I became a man.
Achieved all I dreamt.
Now I'm in danger
Of re-hashing
Lived events.
New reaches are needed
To excede new grasps;
The future's ahead,
Behind is the past.

My mind is broke my heart screams with tears in can't cry out. My regrets follow me pouring nothing but a dreary rain cloud  pouring Frigid rain soaking me down to the bone till I go insain.  I wish I could of told you inside I'm slowly wasting away just like a graveyard filled with rotting rusty  machines.
I wish I could of told my mom is really needed her when I had the darkest days where I felt like I was suffocating.

Every ******* ******* thing I nevery told or should of said enstead  of  holding and hiding my life mistakes.

My every wound seems to fall deeper and my heart feels so heavey with all my battles I problem killed to breath.

My regrets just keeps me from stopping I rather run.
My 25 regret it wish I was able to keep strong but I feel like I rather not necessarily there for  my famly.

Butmy biggest regret is my fear of losing my mom or dad in the night if they pass away threw there sleep I'll let be broken sending me to pack a back and leave my fear is I'm bipolar and I'm scared or losing them. My every word doesn't seem to matter only my creative thoughts do.



I am filled with wounds scares all from my every single regret that is like the darkness or the smoke from cigarettes.


I am broken to the point I'm unfixable.
So I just drag myself and long taking blow by blow making me weaker ad time goes on .
I  know you have to tell your life stories bit shut the **** up if you see or I tell you my life story  you'll problem drown your self in your own tears if you look at me you'll not bear able to but stair so don't tell Meveryone our ******* story  look at my broken mind body tell me if you can fix the years of the he'll that consumed me killing me hashing my voice where I couldn't scream or breath I was traded into ****** silent only that funny side I was torched till my lungs burned with hate

So don't tell my your Bulls **** life stories just look at me and try not to drown your self in your tears just listen and know I'm note strong enough to to be fixed

My biggest regret is I'm scared to lose my mom and dad I don't know if my last Batley ids strong enough to  hold I might just shut down and fall apart

I am broken and unfortunately unfixable