when I walked in my stomach was screaming nerves,
my heart felt fluttery from my first of many iced black coffees.
I fixed my eyes fixed on the black hightops I stared at everyday during first period,
the peeling rubber toes pointing straight at me.

I looked up, meeting eyes with the spitting image of Kurt Cobain
who smirked at me curiously, then lifted a finger, and turned into the kitchen.
I busied myself untying my boots, even though they had zippers,
promising myself I wouldn’t loose my balance.

The high tops returned, followed by weathered leather moccasins,
who murmured through his teeth “hmmm, designing with materials girl” .
I grinned through my eyes, attempting not to make myself intimate with the floor so soon,
expertly faking breathy laugh to cover up how utterly freaked the unfamiliar title made me.

High tops grabbed my waist and twirled me into the kitchen,
offering a cigarette before disappearing through the screen door and leaving me
in a room filled with music that ran through my head like a brush
combing out the tangles from driving with my sunroof down.

I was surrounded by people with purple hair and overflowing hearts
who floated around the room singing and talking and dancing
while I wondered how I should fill the shoes of my new title
and what kind of shoes I should even be filling.

out of the corner of my eye, I saw high tops march back ;
he didn’t seem to float but parade, his ponytail not quite matching his muscle shirt arms.
He waltzed right up to moccasins and kissed him proper on the mouth
hands holding his jaw, eyes closed, and balanced on his toes.

Satisfied, he stormed back out through the screen
pulling a pack of blacks and a white lighter from his back pocket
(he would soon tell me he didn’t believe in luck,
even though it was in his pocket when he was arrested over a houseplant).

Moccasins just smiled, eyes rolling up into his brown hair
and with his hands out palms ceilingward in a silent offer, he locked his eyes on mine
Before I had a chance to overanalyze,
he decided for me.

Maintaing eye contact, we danced to the 22 year old boys screaming through the boom box
while I tried to integrate myself into the scene,
tried to float so effortlessly too,
like the cigarette smoke oozing in from the patio

he pulled me into a hug that resented gravity
effortlessly lifting all six feet of me off the ground,
pressing my cheek against the cutoff edge of his tie dye tank top,
my blonde hair tugging between his chest and mine

So with fuzzy lemonade on my lips
and bass players hands on my hips
I figured out I didn't need shoes
if i never touched the ground.

First impression, first date.

You come late, a major sin in your own lexicon,
tango dancing redesigns your hair to curls atwitter,
despite remedial ministrations in taxi,
you text apologies profuse en route,
but you have been outed, and
I am charmingly amused

A warm December eve,
a local Italian eatery,
table by the window,
red wine floes melt your defenses,
allowances made, you're intrigued,
enjoying  our dinner of
charming amusements

But really you like my understated swagger.
I like that you like my understated swagger.

Walk home armed, arm in arm,
your paintings I must come see,
Immediately (!),
You offered this as  desert, instead  of biscotti,
a tour of your new apartment, sleek/simple,
messaging that this is me,
if you ever want to be invited to stay

Inspection over, my smile is a knowing
that this first foray deserves a concessionary accolade,
So in a mode so gallant at the front door,
Adieu you are bid, and devilishly clever,
I merely shake you hand,
leaving you delighted by this gallant, modern,
charming amusement

Looking at my watch, three and half hours
have passed.

Maintaing that in your ways set,
Early on, I challenge your rigidity,
Turning your hair from curly,
Into spun straight Rapunzel gold liquidity,
By asking politely, humbly, on bended knee,
You give in happily,
Charmed, amused at my ferocious insistence

Looking at my watch,
I too, am delighted, charmed, amused, to discover,
It seems my watch is running slow,
For it is now three and a half years later

to whom this may concern,
daddy and fake mommy like to pick on me a lot
you're in track, you should be losing weight, not maintaing it
maybe you should wear make up, that face is unbearable

they say that I'm inconsiderate and ungrateful of everything I have
but really I don't have anything
I have myself, but even I am lost in my mind

I view myself as inferior, as if I am the black sheep in the herd of pure white ones
everyday I wake up feeling like I'm the spitting image of death, and sometimes I wish I was
sometimes I look in my mirror
& I see your eyes staring back at me
one of the only things you ever gave me, besides your last name.

to whom it may concern,
is anyone even concerned?

a.c.

UMD
Many out there
Lost souls at sea
To outside eyes
They look normal
No obvious needs
They manage to hide
All the unknowns
Deep inside they know
They are never really alright
Voices in their head
Like they have two minds
False conclusions fed
The difference between
Real, reality and self-made
All blend together to benefit
The justification needed
To love, hate and survive
Not much else exists between
Comfort found in perfection
Life is not perfect, explain
How does this go unnoticed
Mixed baggage all piled up
Years of suppression
Years of depression
Years of wanting to let-go
Suicide known, but refused
Never really been an option
Weeks of normalcy achieved
Days of relapsing and grief
Turning points amidst it all
Promises of good change
Made but never kept
Difficulty maintaing friends
Emotions on and off
Like a light switch
On the straight and narrow
Then back in the ditch
Confident in self and strong
Insecure and weak next up
Proud of self-growth
Disgusted with oneself
UMD: covers it all
Unknown Mental Disease
To each their own
Hidden beneath the flesh
Within the rib-cage
A healthy beating heart
Within the skull
A damaged brain
A shattered mind
A habitat to a disease
Still unknowm
UMD

It's not like there was anything I could do.
Crying at their feet and begging for mercy would've left me more wounded then the days and months that had passed.
It's not like she would ever change.
She threw her life away to the countless days sitting in the bathroom with alcohol electrifying her veins,
turning her into the mother that I never used to know.
It's not like he actually tried anymore or understood.
He had me running in a pool of water expecting me to keep my head above the surface because he was too fed up to help me.
It's not like they even noticed.
That I was still a kid.
That as soon as my siblings beside me grew older and wiser,
I was expected to do just the same.
To maintain their level of intelligence and work.
It's not like it mattered that I was 14 when they got tired of raising me.
Of teaching me the ropes.
It's not like I was tired of holding up the weight on my shoulders,
maintaing my first job at 15.
It's not like I was fed up with their constant bickering and nagging at each other.
It's not like I didn't notice that he started looking at other women because she wasn't good enough.
Its not like she was good at hiding her misery behind those eyes that looked shattered and fragmented like pieces of a broken heart.
It's not like she wasn't a mother anymore.
It's like he wasn't a father anymore.
It's not like that at all.

.

           The Indelible Army.


Within the moated margins on this island
parchment, where scribes from the past

propagated an ancient art, in ink, the blood
of all creativity, they transfused their genius.

While maintaing an unstoppable march
ad infinitum, attempts to alter, erase and

erode the truths of their painful history
has failed, due to the fossils of fact.

Those rank and file columns of
paleographic characters the freedom

of expression which will in time, hold
those who aggressed them, accountable.