dragon’s flames

rubber bands and blank paper sheets

a pair of *****, red sneakers

black and white keys

thick, old books

crumpled paper

a box of paints

pencil shavings

shades of gray

stacks of cds

dog-eared magazines

ancient stuffed toys

newspapers from two months ago

ninja gear and beyblades

a box of keychains

picture-plastered walls

last week’s jeans

yesterday’s jacket

ballpens with no ink

worn out satin slippers

an overused waveboard

loose change and

illustration boards

all found in

my room

In the middle of the night he cried-
arms outstretched wide to his father
who was never really there
and the times when he actually was
the liquor stained lips would reply
with an adaptation of his truth-
"**** it up and be a man".
The boy looked at him with hollowed eyes
and a heavy heart and from that day on
carried a burden upon his shoulders
at the life he thought would treat him well.
But it painted dark skies over his sunset
and brought clouds to the sunniest of the days.
He was born in a world where emotion is never okay-
So the chip upon his shoulder turned into a hole
and eventually made it's way into his heart.
That chip now a disease on his insides
his brain rewired to push everything back,
to swallow his hell whole and to hell if he did
because he knew what this life was doing to him.
His insides turned to stone and he held a stone face.
As his father told him the names of all the men
he should look up to and he left any women off the list.
So as the boy grew old he found himself hiding away
his insides and never showing a hint of emotion
because he knew it would let his father down.
Outside he took his fists and misplaced them
upon four walls-
his arms outstretched around little sister's neck.
Society's genetic defect.

Someone once told me-
men are more likely to commit suicide than women
I thought about this for a while-
Women wake up everyday in fear of dark alleys and street corners
Afraid of men with any address begging to undress them-
We can't walk down the street, any street without worry.
We cannot go into the store without fear painted at our feet
We have become afraid of our own shadows.
This life has built resentment upon our shoulders
ever since the wage gap got less and less
and even now we still have work to do.
But we can't forget that society has painted a picture
of us all and they're nothing close to a self-portrait.
They're more like those fat faced comic illustrations
you get at amusement parks and laugh at
because they look nothing like you.
Us women have been taken advantage of for years-
hiding behind car keys in-between our fingers
and pepper spray on our keychains.
Men have had to hide their pain behind fake smiles
and bank accounts that are supposed to make them feel bigger.
When in reality, we all just end up feeling tiny.
We all feel like the edges of our feet are on top
of years and years of misandry and misogyny-
and although the words feminism encompass feminine
all it's really about is total, complete equality-
so now is the time to treat everyone equally.

A bad, worming feeling in your belly
because
you've had nothing to eat today,
and
you hopped in your car,
giddy as a bird,
and rolled over there.

There being the magic store;
the store with it's keychains of glory,
bottles of distilled religion,
and a whole lot of prayer
that your debit card sings.

Tomorrow means work
and the evil dollar that drags Jamaican children across
intersections
as they scream at the Americans in taxis.

It seems we all need a break.
We all need a chance to forget
and say we're not culpable
for anything.

This is the magic that'll save you from your whiny conscience.

You say I don’t need a poem
to capture the day in a frame and tuck it
beneath my pillow
But I’d like to have it there in case I forget
the way the armadillo on the side of the road
lay belly up, beer bottle in paw
a redneck's respects for the deceased

or the feeling of three in the morning
pounding in my skull, soaking in memories
trivia pursued and articles of obfuscation: the elucidation of the world
seen through bottle-green binoculars and heard
through the neighbor's windchimes ringing out diminished sevenths
and questions I don't want to answer
or even ask out loud

I want to tuck it in my wallet
for times that I can't remember your faces
or the scent of your shampoo, or the order of keychains
on your keyring, or the times we drove to East Jesus Nowhere
and you ripped the leaves from my calendar, ticking
and turning my seasons by the mile markers in the cement

I do this to engrave it in my cerebrum
the nights we ran outside in our pajamas in the rain
and danced for a while, then danced some more,
turning and leaping and spinning and reaching
and falling down to weep for no reason
mourning the morning
among the sharpened blades of grass

You laughed at me once
remember that? how you scoffed and snatched
my paper from my spiral and stuffed it in the trash can
telling me not to write fiction in history class
but it's just as much history as every other Jefferson
another amendment you'll never read

But I forgive you. you're not the first
to tell me to get my feet out of the clouds
because my head's already gone too far for saving
or to attempt to stifle my addiction to
the scratch of pen on paper
the scent of ink on tree
the pulse of blood in my brain

I cling to syntax like religion
keeping the words pinched in my fists like pixie dust
hoping if I say the right abracadabra
the pen will turn to a wand
and I can paint you the details
one day at a time

horror stories muffled by pillow forts and blankets that stretch across the
vast of my beloved
room.

in hiding--
your young skin
    is shielded
  by a lonely
shadow dancing
with sunlight.

the room's symphony plays on as
a crescendo of
soft laughter
and light footsteps
cues in.

magazines     sprawled on
the carpeted-floor
jennifers & ashleys
glamorously sporting
shiny hair.

away messages
are synonymous
to x's and hearts
bordering
your
besties' names.

and these are the best
years of your life
but it just feels like dirt
to your name
being young
gets old.

mobiles in purses
strapped to your chest
"I HEART NY" keychains
dangling by the locket
that frames your blurry
picture of
him.

you feel so important
surrounded by friends
and people who
shower you with
lots of
cheap love.

you don't care
about what you don't know
and it's easy
living
when all you're living
is the lie of happiness.

1.   Hi, my name is James                              ( I know that sounds like a start to a really bad dating profile but bear with me )

2. I have lived in New York my whole life, I am afraid that if I don't leave the state for college then I will never leave

3. I'm scared that I might be lactose intolerant

4. I really love the cold

5. If music did not exist then I probably wouldn't be alive today
6. Whenever I am alone I will belt out any song that I know at the top of my lungs

7. I really like to play solitaire... Online

8. I am a Russian/German Jew and when I tell people that their reactions range from "cool" to "How the **** did that happen?"

9. I have a lot of opinions

10. The movie with the best soundtrack is Guardians of The Galaxy 2

11. The TV show with the best soundtrack is Grey's Anatomy

12. When I have a panic attack I will count all the green things possible or recite song lyrics or name as many Gilmore Girls characters as I can

13. My biggest fear is never dying   I used to wish I was dead, came very close to fulfilling my desire but I'm glad I didn't because in the last few months I have met the best people ever

14. I quote John Mulaney a lot

15. I plan birthday gifts months in advance because I expect to still have someone to give that gift to I have throw out so many gifts

16. I get addicted to things really quickly and really easy, things like music, tv show plots, the fact the Mattress Firm is definitely a front for money laundering drug traffickers, also books, toxic people, and drugs      
That's the last one tends to shock people

17. I own 34 postcards, I had about 200 pins now only 17, I have a lot of funko pops maybe 70 all stacked on a shelf like a really impressive game for Jenga, I own too many keychains and way too many stuffed animals

18. My best friend was produced by GC2B

19. I used to participate in GLSEN Day of Silence all day every day
20. The words scarred and scared mean the same thing to me they overlap in my head and on my body
My scares tell my stories                      My tool of choice is not a blade or flame but my nails.
I have my anxieties stuck under my fingertips

21. In my last therapy session, I mentioned the fact that my father lives like a ninja turtle   This made my therapist laugh like really hard

22. Sometimes I think maybe I could be a stand-up comedian but no one would like me because all my jokes would be self-deprecating and I would be on the verge of tears the whole time

23. When I was younger I was told nobody likes sad people so don't be sad

24. When I was younger I was told a lot of *******

25. I'm still learning new things about me,  I'm still learning how to love me, I am nowhere close to complete, I am still growing from experiences and that is okay                          
    
Thank you for learning something about me

(Please give critiques)

-
This is the only poem I am allowed to write about you.

I went to a strange store today. Immediately, it smelled like my childhood. It smelled like the stores my mother went to downtown. The snacks in transparent little bags, the keychains, the painkillers, the unmarked items. But this place was different in that it was so big. In the toy section, amongst the many visibly cheaper toys, they had a handful of toys from big brands, just sitting there collecting dust. I found a certain big brand stuffed lion and thought, "This is unreasonably priced but I can't walk out of here without him." So I got that for myself. I'm excited for when he's washed so I can hold him all day, he's very soft.

There was a small hair section. Hair ties, hair brushes, hair things; hair clips. One of them caught my eye. In a white, slightly bent square piece of cardboard- mostly unmarked save for a tiny, tiny logo that said "Melody"- was a hair clip in the shape of a flower. I thought it was so pretty. I instantly thought of you, I'm not sure why. It was beige, and soft to the touch. I noticed there were other colors. I picked up a red one and looked at the beige one. Obviously the red one, right? And with a little bit of hesitation I put back the beige flower, the first one I'd seen. I always do that. I feel so sad picking a different one, slowly setting down the first one I'd picked up and held in my hand. It feels like abandoning someone you love.

For when I see her, I thought. For if I ever see her.
-

Archive that text message
and print out that photo.
Tomorrow isn’t promised
and the future is unknown.

So be a collector of moments
and always hoard the keepsakes.
They’re not just meaningless accessories,
but tangible smiles or heartbreaks.

Movie tickets and keychains,
birthday wishes, and card games.
Photo albums and Summer rain,
love notes and paper planes.

The people in those memories
will come and go over the years.
But they'll be remembered in the saved
tokens of the past or in your nostalgic tears.

The golden baby
In the last slice of Mardigras cake

A half dollar
Well after they stopped being printed

A rare right sided conch
When most others are left

Are the rare treasures I find buried underneath

The glass bird
Dainty as can be
And the size of a nail

The miniature tea cup
A full set
Spoon and all

The Minni and Miki
Mouse holiday wear
mini collectibles

Miniature Kitty Kat
Pouches
In four different colors

Are the tiny bobbles I couldn’t bear to part with

The multitudes of dice
From classic six sided
To 8 To 12
Even dice in dice
More than can be counted

Erasers by the gazillions
Stingrays, baseball gloves
Eraser pencils with missing erasers
And a baby head detached from the body

Keychains, by the plenty
Sunglasses, Weapons
Dream catchers, bird’s with bells, all sorts
Of strange and curious oddities attached to a chain

Coins, many sizes countries
Fake, real
Dinar, Rupee, Euro, dollar,
Replica of ancient yuan

Jewelry-
Don’t even get me started
Necklaces, bracelets
Rings and earrings
Even though my ears aren’t pierced!

My hoarding tendencies coming to light in this
Curious collection of collections
Also known as
The objects in my closet

You Don’t Even Know My Name

I don’t remember that night,
That night you should have taken me to the hospital.
But apparently it took me blacking out to tell you
That you had been pronouncing my name wrong,
for a month.

The first time I saw you eat a burrito, I told myself,

I could never date you

3 ½ years later and I would **** to see you eat a burrito.

You are so gross.
And I want to kiss you,
So ******* bad.

You silly sloth! you said
As you kissed the tip of my nose,
Your legs clinging to mine,
Wrapped around me as if I was your favorite tree branch.
Silly sloth

Valentine's Day 2018,
We got matching keychains for our soon to be new home.
That night we shared a bottle of prosecco,
as we watched Mulan for the 3rd time that week.
Screaming out the lyrics when the Acapella part of Be a Man came on.

Since your mom’s birthday was Friday
I had sent a card from both of us,
The day before there was no us.

The day before there was no us,
was bliss.

The morning before you sent me a picture of you,
Wrapped in a scarf I had made you for christmas 3 years ago.
With a text that said:
Still love it, and you! See ya tomorrow!



10 minutes before, I was the love of your life.
And you were mine.
Until you broke the silence, saying,


                            I’m happier when I’m not with you
And now,
My body has been stripped of it’s skin.
Someone poured rubbing alcohol
All
Over
It.
                            I’m happier when I’m not with you
Without you
                            
                            I’m happier when I’m not with you
The sky is still blue

                            I’m happier when I’m not with you
But I am not me.

In a field of concrete bunkers,

The left from the middle is guarded by a charred garden gnome

With a necklace of battery powered light up flamingos

And Cheerios

The hat of the gnome sits by an open hatch

The rim of which wears

Teal chains and hula fringe and

Cyborg rhino keychains

The ladder is cut from a sheet of metal

That had a ******* poster on it

And a mural of a man screaming

White and black lines

With a meeting seaweed mustache

And empty picnic baskets

Line the hallway lighted with fireflies and Christmas spirits

I drop a smoke down the hatch and wait for it to bloom

Glittered walls
Guitar rising
Have you started running yet?
Keep going
Never slowing down
Sore eyes
You want nothing more than sleep
Than this one power
Because days have been wasted
With this sickness
The sickness that stopped you
From ever slowing down

Glittered keychains
Piano plays
You memorise any lines
It's another chore
Like noting down the times of
All the best events
Keep going
When sleep becomes the enemy
When sleep becomes this void
This void that you wish you could turn to
But it's a bottomless pit you'll never fill
Fall into the darkness
No
Get up
Heavy breathing
You've always prided yourself
On thinking
You'd be able to pick yourself back up
Thinking sure as hell no-one would help
Well maybe that was true once
But it's not anymore
So you don't have to be scared of falling
Anymore,
not anymore
Falling's half the fun
It's the only way to feel alive
It's the only way to keep you down here
When nothing in the world feels real anymore
You've got the world
You've got the voids between them

And you can sleep without being scared
Of not waking up tomorrow

I prefer sunrise
I prefer running to walking
where running is allowed
I prefer walking to driving
where walking is reasonable
I prefer daydreams
I prefer dogs
I prefer black coffee
I prefer bagels
I prefer not having breakfast at all
I prefer believing humans
are fascinating creatures
I prefer belief in the unknown
I prefer not knowing
I prefer learning
I prefer reading
I prefer books with tea
I prefer food as a passage to
knowing someone's heart
I prefer knowing people deeply
I prefer to think of people complexly
I prefer paintings
I prefer watercolors
I prefer presents made by hand
I prefer the idea that curiosity
helped the cat
I prefer keychains
I prefer watching idiosyncratic
things that make you unique
I prefer that the universe
is vast
I prefer believing in minute
beauty
I prefer finding joy in the day-to-day
care we take of one another
I prefer the unthinkable can be thought

Legends say that silver tigers
only eat true things
like birds
blown from glass,
expired cups of applesauce,
drug deals
between teenagers,
dead wood, ultimatums,
anger, burnt letters, and
friendship keychains
wrapped in red tape
to fight time
for 14 years.

They're a real pain to
keep in the apartment
too--even when kept
in a kennel in the closet
by the yearbooks and
the piles of
dead snakes--

for when silver tigers
hunger, they
will
hunt you down:
you
and the world.

A cup of tea and daisy keychains
Mark your presence in my peripheral
Oh, dirt,
Why did you take them from me?
Don’t you have enough to bury
Today, I prayed to God to let me die
And I was cursed with the knowledge that I will keep living
I’m not someone that will be missed for very long
So the pain I bear wont be moved to many
Why are you gone
And why was I ever here?

Burning through
Archaic sentiment
.....But burning
And an appreciation
An appropriate passion
For what is not gold
But the tint of Calx
rusted root
Or the rust of a tin can
Planted in soil
For generations
And the dangerous space
That leads the Copperhead
Ahead of Chevron tiled slither
A scent of foreboding fortune mixed with feces and intent
But comes to some
The smell of cucumbers
To some plain foul
As flared and frightened nostrils
Take it in
And exhale no art
Poetry
Music
Stroke
Of mimic
The raw colors of the world
The value of salt
As it adds to the human condition
Or reflects
Truly the grimy
And honest
Often *******
Often Jesus Christ
Cornerstone, of humanity
The weary and brutal
Sidewalks
Filled with ******* seekers
Rattling keychains
That hang from pockets
Spilling Velcro unicorns
In colorful plastic

Burning through ..
and these things around me
Spill
A pilgrimage of sorts
To the Buk
And his awareness :
....Need to find art ...
To seek it in the ally’s
Or the eye of the convict
Where some might see
Only concrete and grey