He pointed at the curve where my mass should be.
The skinny line wherein the whole of my being should fit--
based on what a man in a lab coat said once.
He dashed a tiny spec above it, where I was.
Out of line.
Not fitting in.
Against the rules.
I counted the tiny squares that separated me from my belonging...
… one... two... three...
Three squares from worthiness.
Three squares wrong.
Three squares from deserving love.
Three squares from good enough.
I stared at that dot a man drew for me and discovered brokenness.
I was five.

youre in a too-small bed in pediatrics
all sticky plasters and twitching toes
stuffed full of wires, pink to the bone
hollow and soft, impossibly close

youre a skinned hare, still running
eyes drippy with moon milk so fresh
teeth carved from wax and every orifice
a wound; every love, from the flesh

so now the sun rises on a sea of all-pale
im holding your hand, waiting to flower
you let down your hair--i know its gone thin
but dear deer, ill still try your tower

we're wasting away in symmetrical styles
one from the heart; another from the head
ill leave it to you to figure which is literal
ill leave it to you to see my blood be bled
(its too much for me, now: all i can consider
are the slow and subtle pains of sharing your bed.)

Patience became elusive,
The ending became conclusive.
Comedic flair held in the glow of a ****
Narcotic remedies picked up in a rut

Pediatrics pause as the womb grows thin
Bubble bursts at the point of a pin.
Hollow transparency left in the delivery room
Building up a two foot tomb

Gums rubbed sore
Caked ***** on the floor
Left to sleep outside in the snow
Basking in her pin pricked paradise and lonesome woe

I like to gamble
I play blackjack on my phone sometimes
It’s easy that’s why I like it
Not many rules but still a game of chance
But I’m 15
So it’s sort of illegal for me to gamble
only by 3 years
But when I was ***** I was 13
So the age of consent 3 years away
All the same
I like to gamble
Sometimes I’ll stay home from school
With no rhyme or reason
Just depression of the season
But I won’t text any of my friends
for the first few classes of the day
That way I can see their responses
And see if they wonder if I’m ok
My mom doesn’t ask question
Just a tear or two
And new hairdo
Doesn’t seem to grab her attention
I like to gamble
One time I dyed my hair red to black ombré
And came home with a belly button ring
It took her a week to notice the new color
And she still hasn’t noticed the metal
She hasn’t noticed the scars either
I like to gamble
Sometimes I’ll steal alcohol from the liquor cabinets of my home
And I’ll sneak out my window and into my friend's car
I like to gamble
Standing on the edge of a tall building
The wind blowing through my hair
And down my spine making me shiver
Wondering what would happen if I were to just move an inch
Wishing I would just move an inch
I like to gamble
But I’m not very good at it cards, money it’s all the same
Alcohol, death it’s just a game
Maybe if I quit it won’t save
And I could start a whole new level
Get rid of the pain
Because I like to gamble
with life and death
Because it’s worth as much as the money on my phone
Coins that you’ll never hear clang
It’s just a game
I like to gamble
Sometimes I won’t take my medicine
Just to see how much it changes
The feelings it exchanges
For depression
I don’t like taking it to friends houses
Because they can see me swallow my happiness
It’s not something I’m proud of
I like to gamble
One time I had a thought about poking a hole in a ******
That my boyfriend and I were about to use
Just to see if next month I would bleed
Just to see if a month from that day I would walk up to him
And say
Congratulations
A new pediatrics patient
I like to gamble
But I’ve played all my cards
I stare at the dealer
Like I’m staring at the stars
In wonder and awe
Confused and deranged
Isn’t it strange
How a game holds so much sway
But the only thing I don’t like about the game
Is the steep price I have to pay

Today marks fourth anniversary of tragic deaths
an aching breaking heart – mine
remembers four extinguished breaths.

(dashed – not while riding off
in a white horse open sleigh,
but upon learning untimely demise
regarding prosperous family, whose small
plane crashed August 8, 2019.

They lived ~ three doors down from us
farther than one can toss a Buffalo nickelback.)

The victims included;
Jasbir Khurana, 60
(a professor of pathology
and laboratory medicine
at Temple University's
Lewis Katz School of Medicine);
Divya Khurana, 54 (a professor
of pediatrics and neurology
at the Drexel University
College of Medicine,
specializing in pediatrics, sleep) ;
and the couple's youngest daughter
Kiran Khurana 19 years old.

No words can assuage the deep sorrow,
this once upon a time neighbor
(I lived at 1148 Greentree Lane) experienced
disbelief, numbness, shock...
attendant by an irreparable loss of beloved,
and vacillated how to communicate
heartfelt (I cannot ex spleen) sympathy,
where words superfluous,
yet... if for that challenge alone,
an affinity with language

spurred impulse to focus upon
bountiness of joie de vivre
imbibed years gone by,
when every now and
again chance encounters
found yours truly (me)
in delightful company
regarding persons whose presence
imbued benevolence, kindness, warmth...
facilitating emotional philanthropy

influenced long term positive memories
to one experienced being
outcast, ostracized, offensive...
courtesy unfortunate series
of circumstances beyond my control,
which voiced unwelcome tension
sabotaged reaching quality politeness
displeased at unfriendly reactions
reflexively, maliciously, impetuously...
did little or no justice

toward conflict resolution
which altercations nearly,
quickly did segway profoundly
into unpleasant standoffs,
yes bias, bigotry, bitterness
begat bisel meshuga
acutely aware I loathe
uncouth actions regarding myself
and strive to remain
affable, cordial, friendly...,

hence an object lesson,
(albeit ex post facto)
to abide by my inner integrity,
ethos, dogma politesse...,
especially when pitted against
unsavory electric acid kool aid test
tis then urgently vital to remain
steadfast, and figuratively
turn the other cheek
particularly when populace

under severe duress
re: instigated by pathologically
belligerent, ill mannered, rude...
former president whose
set abhorrent precedence,
whereby people of nation follow suit,
yet this nonconformist only hopes
to affect positive within
webbed wide world at large.

"Send in The Clowns"
Linda Ronstadt sang on as mother wept
I was quite young
I become bruised by her drunken and stabbing snake's tongue
I worked long nights as a teen
Avoiding the hell that ruined my youth that forced me into a man's role
I raised my mother like a daughter as my dad worked.
He was blind to her unplanned brutality.
Her life almost ended many times due to drunk stunts
I rushed to the phone as the pediatrics asked questions
over scars and ****** wounds she forced into my arms.
Blows that winded me and were blunt.
Bad boys homes
Escapes from her terror as she took in the poison.
As she waked sober. She was quite a charm.
A loving soul mixed with dealers and her boyfriend pimps
I was fearing the smile of the circus until I immersed into insanity.
Changing schools like underwear
Sitting in therapy. Not uttering a word.
The shrink wasted time, lifting her skirts, and left me empty and broken there.
I was afraid of the tornado of "Mommy Dearest"
as the volcano of tame-less  evil.
The drink rotted her brain and body.
She would break as I was thrown through a window sill.
"Mommy please stop this pain."
Years and years the storms rolled on.
I road the roller coaster to car crashes and ****** fights.
A storm crushed family left in blood stained tears.
I stay strong and helped lift them up.
Their "rock of loyalty"
Their "Honey" in a broken cup.
Her sins felt like my own
Now I held the same drink from which it came.
Insanity in ***** and wasted years.
Now the pain's voices I've endured
They can sing and close me up.
But strength and a true heart can never be tamed
Even on through the words of blame.
I can laugh at the vary likeness of the clown I had feared.
Clowns stay happy without meaning.
I am the one you see walking tall, still.
See him write, sing, and create.
For true wisdom and beauty are not bought or given.
They are not even just a beauty that is enjoyed skin deep.
This strength prevented me from drowning in fears waters
which were ,then, way too deep.

Often, I find myself thinking about all the people who I no longer speak to. I’m constantly lost in thought over every person who I will never see again.
I think about the best friend I had in preschool, the school nurse who made me a better person. I think about the two old women who were always waiting at the bus stop in front of my house. It’s not as if they died but it has been years since we’ve seen each other and I don’t know if we will ever meet again.

Sometimes I’ll watch T.V. and an old show will be on; a show that’s been off the air for years now. I like to watch the last season of those shows. It will occasionally take the audience back to a character that hasn’t been seen since the first season. Maybe it’ll even mention what they’ve been up to, who they are now.

When I was a kid, I used to think of my life in seasons. I used to keep an eye out for old friends. I used to find joy in running into a former algebra teacher. Or my brother’s childhood best friend. It felt like things were tying themselves up into a neat, little bow.

But I’m starting to think life doesn’t work that way.

I’m always looking for these people who I will probably never see again. I’ve gone on long walks, purely concentrated on remembering the last name of my favorite bus driver. I’m thinking about everyonet all day long.
I think about all the places I’ve been without realizing that I have been there for the last time. The pediatrics department of my doctors office. The Treasure Island hotel in Las Vegas that I have not stayed at since I was 7.

I think about all the moments in my life, big or small. that shaped the person I am today without even realizing they were those moments.

I’ve always had a bad perception of time. I’ve never been able to sit down somewhere and tell the difference between an hour passing by compared to five minutes.

But that perception is not limited to numbers on a clock. It is not just a matter of figuring out the time. It is a matter of staying in the right time.

I’m 22 but I was just eleven years old yesterday. I was walking home from school. It was 4 O’clock on a cloudy Friday. When I walked in the door, my brother was watching Family Guy and started to tell me about his day. Now that same brother has a wife and two children and lives eight hours away from me.

I’m 22 years old. I’m single, no children. The other day I was driving down the street and my mind jumped ahead to a day in the future where this car will no longer be around. The engine will be dead, the parts will be scrapped, and I’ll have two kids and a wife. I’ll be driving down the street with car seats in the backseat of my minivan. And I’ll see a Toyota Camry parked on a street somewhere.

I’ll think that today, right now, was such a long time ago.

Sometimes I look at my parents and I think about them in their twenties. I see them as the same age that I am. I wonder if we would have been friends.

I once picked up my niece while she was napping and carried her to bed. I laid her down, took her shoes off, and pulled a blanket up over her. I tried to picture her as a sixteen year old. I tried to picture this little person, who comes up and asks to open playdough, will still want to talk to me.
My nephew is only two. He’s a verbal late bloomer. I think about the times he will someday come home from school and tell me about his day. Or maybe he will be just as quiet as he is now.

I think I might be a time traveler. I’m always all over the place.

The other day I pulled off the freeway and onto the side of the road. I broke down into gasping sobs because my uncle had died. He passed away when I was 16. I think that was the first time I realized he was never coming home again.I think that was the first time I ever cried for him.  

Time is tricky. People say I have an old soul but maybe I just have old eyes. Maybe that’s why I’m stressing out on a mortgage bill that’s due on a house that I’m not even close to owning yet.
The other day, I had felt this deep sadness all day long. People kept asking me what was wrong but I thought it would have been silly to say that once, when I was 6 years old, my mother bought me a balloon at a park and it floated away and I’m still upset over it.

People aren’t like seasons. One day they’re here, the next they’re gone.
People aren’t like anything else around.
When it’s been sunny for awhile, I always know it will rain again, eventually. When I plant a tree, I know it’ll either grow. Or it’ll die. I won’t just look outside one day at a tree that has run away from home.
I don’t know if I’ll see certain people again.
I don’t know what has happened or what might happened.

Time has always been a tricky thing for me.

I try to make constants in my life.

Little anchors that let me know that this life is still my life.
Like when you see a silver car in a parking lot with a bunch of other silver cars, and you can still somehow recognize which one is your car.

I like to drink coffee. I always have.

It’s one of my constants. I drank coffee throughout my childhood and I drink coffee now.
I probably always will.
On the mornings when I shockingly have nothing to do, I like to make myself a big *** of coffee. It doesn’t matter if I’m at home or not. I’ve made coffee in hotel rooms, I’ve made coffee in ex lovers apartments. Even if it is not very good coffee.

My 8 year old hands hold onto the coffee mug, letting it’s warmth seep through my entire body. I’ll sit down, close to a window somewhere.
My 22 year old eyes taking in all the sites. I have drank coffee on windy fall mornings. I’ve drank coffee in a motel right next to the beach. I like to watch the waves hit the water. I like to watch joggers jog by the house.
I like to drink my coffee and look outside at my grandchildren playing in the backyard.

My one, true constant.

I’ll take a sip from that coffee, from whenever I am. And I’ll start to think about all the people I have seen for the last time.

And all the ones I have met to meet for the first time.

Dead, found guilty of political violence
(author's note - not rhyming violence with silence)
Sixteen feet beneath the topsoil
Rictus stretched atop the rot-foil

Human nature ugly design in punishment finds its reward
Otherwise a stapled piece of paper feels adored
Clunky funking clatter when we scatter to the wind
Die inside, before I stop your heart for which you've sinned

Clock stops. Electrical impulse.
Disturbing levels of pediatrics, thin pulse.
Elven clockwork dances round the center table, grand
Jesters laugh in octaves high as reaper shows its hand.

Violence, violet violence, a color rich and deep
Seems when under influence a secret it must keep
Strings, the pretty strings I pluck, I scratch them with a blade
Oh is that the killing joke, upon me it was played.

I am not a razor blade, a razor blade I'm not
Oh, but Mr. CEO thinks he's the one on top.
Die ASAP **** you're poem isn't go
Play along for long enough, and welcome to the show.

I am made of serpent flesh, my coils wrap tightly round.
This, you see, a snake den, is where me and kin are found.
Would I bite you? Yes, it's in my nature to do so.
Sink into the water, and be taken by the flow.

River grand and river wide, teach me how to turn the tide,
News and nuance unbeknownst, wither flowers in the growth
Death becomes the ego and the mind plays ***** tricks
Even in the end, it seems I'll never get my fix.

I'm a ******* pistol, or a rifle - I'm a gun.
See if you can figure out my idea of fun.
*******, *******, *******, die, you rude, pathetic ****
Wither in your carcass, it's the only place you fit.

Ay-Kay Forty-Seven says, "your sacrifice was bold"
Yea, that's fucken rich bro, but the story WE were told
Says you froze to death when winter's flurries took your life
****! Oh well, who's keeping score? This story isn't nice.