I like chocolate
So creamy and filled
your wildest dreams,
all in one bite.
I like chocolate
the chocolate I love
sweet and unhealthy,
thats right
Yet chocolate is
curious, and
different.
The emotions inside are not always machines.
The feelings you give and take
think about it,
aren't these kind of...mystic.
They hold memories or futures, thoughts, and dreams.
Dreams of futures and thoughts of memories.
Sure there is outside taste but,
don't you taste it?
The feelings, hopes, thoughts and dreams
only by a nibble on it's seams?
Well if you don't it can't be helped.
Savoring taste can't always be developed.
However,
I still want to let you know
chocolate is just as good as cookie dough

If
You
Sow seeds of harmony in your minds

The coming generations will taste its juicy fruits,

Wishing to plant more in their own

i have tea bags hanging from a tack
they are tangled
like our legs
and you whispering
"i want to hold something of yours"
i will create a *** for you
you're welcome to carry it
and ask for donations
because God knows
Lord knows
Buddha knows
that *** will never
never
never
be enough.

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i'm getting drunk off rain water.
it's been hiding in the gutter for hours.
along with the leaves and tree flowers.
i sing a song as i stumble down the street.
"and IIIII-I-IIII-III will always lo-uh-ve youu!"

it's true.

there's a string attached from me to you.
and hung from it are not-so-shiny stars.
spring has sprung, love is in the air.
i choke as i inhale the pair.
hands entwined with their pail white string.
what if i were to sprout wings?
i doubt i'd stay on earth for long.
i've always thought i don't belong anyway.
i tucked my heart away in a sock drawer.
that's the safest place i could think of.
i trace the scar with my fingertips.
another star fell down tonight.
this town never sees a thing.
i add the fallen to our stretched-out string.
i had a dream in black in white.
where i had caught a beam of light.
and i kept it safe all through the night.
all through the year.
all through my life.
and as i died, as all of us do,
the beam of light died too.

i used to think the beam was you.

i scream to the moon.
my rain strewn across the ground.
i found myself lying in my reflection.
i point my thumb in one direction.
hoping you will soon come pick me up.
i kick a cup left here by a stranger.
"danger", the smudged sharpie reads.
"love is", written on the other side.
i chuckle at the irony-smittened phrase.
i graze over my scar once more.
i swore to the sun i would visit someday.
i'd bring with me my hidden heart.
ridden with love the sun would burn up.
she'd turn my heart anew.
in it will be hope i knew had gone.
and happiness i had given up on.
i dipped the cup in the rain and took a sip.
i held the styrofoam lip to my own.
five fingers grip it tight.

love is danger, this i've known to be right.

i'm getting drunk off rain water.
and stumbling off into the night.

Let me indulge you, and tell you the only story than I can ever tell.

Last night, I dreamt of our pub. It was as gold and black as a caviar tin, a short walk away from school, aching with sun and ready with my pint of London Pride. The grubby green booth kissed your cricket whites and you were seventeen forever, seventeen and as blonde as a mothered statue of a prince, bone-idle, as blonde and as young as dreams can make you.

“Jesus died, for somebody’s sins…”

My hands were sweating around the pint glass and I could feel the promise of a **** in the air,  a good **** in some pink carpeted upstairs room in that ****** little pub from ten years ago where they played old music over tin speakers, where my youth dribbled **** into the flowerpots, where you and I had our first shut-eyed kiss in front of all of our friends and they never said a word about it, not one word.

“…But not mine.”

I fell in love with you in this pub where all I wanted to do was love you, touch you, tell you that you were the most amazingly screwable piece of **** this side of the Milky Way, when just your wayward finger could give me the hardon of my life – and in this dream, darling, you were as real as you ever were, as gold and compact as a star, pink crowned and already wet and I took you between my lips to soak you



G

L

O

R

IIIII

A



I dreamt of the whole length of you inside my throat, with my body so young and beautiful, and you coated me in your own saliva covertly, always hiding the things that I most desperately wanted to see -
batting my head and my hands away...

(Come on - let me see,
le us both be suspended in your spit,
insects caught in the molten gold, gold -)

“Jesus, died, for somebody’s sins…

But not mine.”

……….

I am a deformed pudding cup
I am the lid that never opens
I am the spoon that bends when you try to get ice cream
I am the piece of tape that never sticks
I am a thumbtack that never goes into the wall
when you try to put me in I just break and fall somewhere on the floor youre afraid youll step on me
I am the rock underneath your slip-n-slide
I am the grass floating in your pool
I am a burnt dry burger with no salt
I am a water gun that doesn't shoot as far as you thought

Iiiii am everything unfortunate
I am the little thing that has to annoy you

I am the pebble in your shoe
I am a forgotten password
I am physics

I am a low quality image

I
II
III
IIII
IIIII
IIIIII
IIIIIII
IIIIIIII
IIIIIIIII
IIIIIIIIII
­
a glass bottom boat
in central park
the snowflakes all
have your smile
(their mother
of the ice)
stirred her drink
with a finger
and fell asleep
in the sun

I'm dying,
Don't you understand,
Each and every day,
I'm dying.

I used to think being dead,
Was to mean,
Your heart beat,
Went flat.

But,
Being dead?
Not so much a state of being sometimes...

I'd wake up,
Every morning,
Saying...

"****,
I'm still here?
How am IIIII,
Still here?"

With not much will power for life,
Every day mundane,
Every hour, pointless.

Until it drove me mad,
I became so mad,
I gave that girl in the mirror the finger
And walked
The hell
Away.
She was no good,

And saying to myself after I said...

"Hey bro,
I'm dying each
And every day!

I don't have time for *******,
I don't have the years for hatred,
I don't have the months for grudges,
I don't have the days for no success,
I don't have the hours for wasting,
I don't have the minutes for standing still,

But what I do have,
Is millions
Of itty bitty moments,
Placed together
So perfectly,
That I notice...

I never saw that before i died.
Before the brain waves took a vaction
To
lets be depressed and unsure, unworthy of life

No,
I'd never seen how beautiful

Life is,

When you slow her down,
To a slow dance,
A graceful pause,
A gentle breath,
A simple laugh,
A single tear,
A precious moment.

And Time,
She is just an odd one.
Letting you decide when her dance is done.
But willing to offer so much more,
If you stay.

And There is,
Always,
Always,
Always,
More, my friend.

I would know,
I'm still here,
By some magic of this universe
I got plopped into
21 years ago.

And I've seen enough,
Telling me,

"ehy,
They still want you here,
Your family,
Your pet,
Your friends,
They need you here,
Its not about you!!!

Its about us."

Time will whispers gentley
Into my ears

"its about us,
You are dying,
You will never be eternal,
And life,
Well,
He's a ******* sometimes,
Don't always listen to him,
But never
Never ever,
Take him for granted."

She reasons with me.

"in the end,
You will go,
But now,
Is not the end.

I have much more,
much more,
To show you"

Still,
I'm dying,
And every moment counts.
Every encounter,
Every butterfly in your stomach,
Every bruise you take,
Every battle you fight,
Every love you have,
Every person you care for,
Every memory you hold close,
Every blink,
Every word,
Every whisper,

Its all worth it.

Let it be,
Worth it.

You are dying
Make it worth something to you.

i.

your ribcage is not a ladder
for demons
to crawl their way up your body

ii.

your eyes aren’t black pits
in which everybody can see
every part of you reflected

iii.

remember that you are the only person
who can look in the mirror
and see you staring back,

iiii.

you cannot creep up on yourself

iiiii.

and just because blackberries
taste sweet
doesn’t mean they won’t rot
over time

iiiiii


It’s okay to feel like the roots
that anchor you
are mangled underground

Friday oh Friday the 13th that's my day,
June oh June how consistently you tend to loom.
One time it was power rangers and clay
Another, IIIII just went out to play.
I remember very few and yet the years stick like glue.
I am dissatisfied with the skin and bone I was supplied,
yet
I bet
With all my heart.
That I will wake with a smile, even when I'm falling apart

back in the days
where it all began
in the land
where the little children ran
a religion rose
we will now stand tall
Judaism
one god
one god for all

i.
I fell into this hell
at the age of twelve
on a warm Sunday in Texas.

While the rest of my family
left to church, I was to remain
at home with my 16 year old
cousin.

They thought her harmless
because of her physical ailments.

I soon found out
anyone could be a Roman.

She held both my skinny arms far apart
as though she was preparing to nail me to a cross;
Later on that night she taught me how to dance
like a demon; I've never been burned by an
effervescent fire since.


ii.
This hell does not define me,
but has marked me forever as an outsider
to pure happiness. I've been set ablaze
for life. My relationships have sunk
into the depths of the inferno; their remains
are stories now. The kind you tell
at campfires to ***** all the naive
children.

iii.
It's a long climb when you
start at the bottom. Where the scarlet
teeth gnaw at your insides, where
the claws tear away at your badly drawn design.

iiii.
Mother, you have forsaken me.

A fool who only wanted proper nurturing.

Goddess of Neglect,

Your imprint has stained

everyone who wants to love me.

iiiii.
I can live with these tattered wings.

Bruised skull. Punctured Lungs.

Aching muscles. Taut body.

I can fly if only for a little while.

Be free. Be free. Be Free.

Love myself.

Love others

just as well.

i. i could write about so many things,
about how i love him like he's a fungus
like something that is creeping and slow and is definitely not planning to just let go anytime soon, how i love him like he's a part of me that i love or rather that i love to hate.

ii. i could write about how i love her and she loves me too but not in the right way.

iii. i could write about how she feels like moonbeams and the wink of a star, like something that you're so lucky to have and you know it.

iiii. i could write about how i only really miss her when we're together, because then i'm afraid, afraid that i won't be how i seem online, afraid that i cannot possibly love her enough to justify this horrible betrayal of friendship which is letting her believe i love her like a friend

iiiii. i could write about how he doesn't love me, how we're not even friends, how he feels like love is a cage, a trap, a sugary addiction (and it was with him)

iiiiii. i could write about how it felt to kiss him even though we didn't kiss, how it felt like you were nothing and he was everything and how he didn't even love himself so i had to do that for him

but i'm just so tired. i'd rather let words dance on my tongue and then tell myself to remember them and then forget, forget the words, forget the emotions, because even if they were beautiful they're tearing me apart, because to write good poetry you have to be able to rip off pieces of yourself and observe them and write them down, even while you're still bleeding.

iiiiiii. i could write this. i could hit the save button and just let it go, go back to wasting the potential that feels so much like something else, like kissing him, like when i'm working on myself, (my work, that is, essays and diagrams and all those pretty little traps) i am really working for someone else, because if i were really doing what i wanted, it wouldn't all feel like a trap, like i'm stuck in a mental net, would it?

iiiiiiii. i could write about things that never happened to me, but they might as well have because the real way to know if things have happened to you is if they changed you, and i am changed like these people in my mind i so love to write about are.

iiiiiiiii.  i could write about how my realest poems are things like this or scenes from my imagination, from people that never lived and never will but suffer like me every day of their nonexistent lives.

now i think i've written enough to know that there won't ever be a good ending to the poem, but i've started it so i have to finish it, and this sentence is just that,
an ending.

~fin~