The sky fills up with ash as if its an over flowing dam
patiently waiting...
Ready to rupture at any given point
We repaved the cracks and set out the fires
“its to late.”
Walls that were once unbreakable now stand thin
fires burn at our feet as the flood crumbles us from above
The unbreakable walls that held back all the bad are now in shambles

There's a room somewhere,
locked fast behind an unassuming door
looming grey-brown at the end of a
misshapen corridor.

Inside, the relics of a time lost in time
to time.

A mitt, engraved with the counterfeit signature
of a ballplayer whose name once rang a bell,
smelling of adolescent sweat,
still dusted with sandlot crumbs,
a reminder of those ground *****
that sped by too fast to field,
those fly ***** just out of reach,
suspended in a June twilight
lost to time.

Ribbons and awards and certificates,
signed by leaders of puny regimes
paved and repaved over,
proof of a world before this,
an era of (now) perceived achievement,
legitimized, glorified by Old English type
printed on recyclable stock paper.

Ticket stubs from blockbuster flops,
receipts of a linear plotline:
Drama, comedy, a budding romance -
Temporarily amusing on such a spacious screen
but ultimately unfulfilling;
the plot peters towards the end.

Lost in time the boy cries out
with no one left to answer but the man
who, as quietly as he entered it,
exits the room,
as always, leaving the door just ajar,
enough to muffle the shrieks of a little boy
chasing an invisible horizon.

Love.  Some say that it is the sole reason to be alive.  Some say that love makes waking up in the morning just a little easier.  However, I find that hard to believe, nothing can make this torture any better.  I rolled to the edge of my bed and flopped onto the ground.  Hi, my name is Jack, Jack Jefferson.  You may be asking yourself, why is this guy such a ******?  Well first of all, this isn’t the nineteen hundreds, what’s with “******”?  Secondly, I am not being a ******, I just don’t see a point in going after something that never lasts and only leaves a nasty **** filled scar.
My life is pretty average I would say.  I was born in the most suburban place on the planet, no siblings and parents are divorced.  I’m not athletic or exceptionally smart.  I’m not artistic or deep in any way.  To top that long list of amazing attributes, I am viewed as weird and not normal because I don’t see all the fuss is about love.
I crawled to my bathroom and propped myself up on the shower door.  I disrobed and turned on the water.  I turned it to the hottest temperature at let the steaming water pierce my skin.  I stayed under the warm comfort of the water until I couldn’t remember what my skin looked like when it wasn’t wrinkled.  I got dressed and decided that I don’t need my breakfast.  I walked outside my one story house that was falling apart in every way imaginable, the paint was pealing, the driveway desperately needed to be repaved, and my mailbox was lying on the ground, it has been knocked over so many times that there would have to be a miracle for it to stand back up.  I just caught my bus and I was on to the prison for teenagers, John Tyler High School.
I went to my first few classes and just got bored so I hung out by my locker.  I sat at the base of the locker and plugged into my phone to listen to my music.  I probably would have stayed in my dazed state until some girl kicked my foot.  I looked up at her, figured that she would go away and then I continued to listen to my music.  She was being a pain though; she kicked me again and motioned for me to take off my headphones.  I sighed as I complied and she just stared at me.
“Can I help you?” I asked her trying to get her to understand that I wasn’t in the mood to talk.
“Yeah, you are kind of in front of my locker,” she answered as she pointed to the locker behind me.  I looked up and examined it.
“This isn’t your locker,” I informed her.
“I think it is, one twenty-six,” she said showing me a slip of paper with her locker information.
“Listen you must be new here, this isn’t your locker, it isn’t anyone’s locker, this busted up thing won’t even lock,” I told her trying to get back to my music.
“Well, yeah, I am new here, I’m Rachael Robinson,” she stretched out her hand as if she wanted a handshake, what are we, forty?  I grabbed her hand and shook it reluctantly.  “So what’s your name?” she asked in that kind of tone that implies that I forgot something.  I hate that, maybe I don’t want you to know my name!
“Jack,” I said trying to give her as little information about myself as possible.
“Jack what?” she now made her way next to me and sat next to me.  I felt incredible uncomfortable with her so close so I got up as fast as I could.
“listen, one twenty-six, your nice in all but I don’t wanna talk, here I’ll let you go to your locker and then we can both be on our way,” I said fed up with the fact that she wasn’t getting any of my hints.  She looked at with me with what looked like disappointment as she slid up and put her combination into the locker.  I put back on my headphones and began to try to forget all about her.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her organize her books in specific ways.  She then tried shutting the door.  It ended up bouncing right open and she looked to me for help.  I just shut my eyes and hoped that she got the hint.  Judging by the fact that she shut the locker as much as she could and walked away without a word.  My mind started going and I instantly felt guilty, I she was new here and she probably just wanted a friend.  I turned up my music and told myself that she was better off not being associated with me.
The rest of the day went by slow and the thought of that girl was still in my head, especially the fact that I couldn’t remember her name.  I decided to just file that as something strange in my head that makes me not forget certain people, like the old guy with the goatee at Wal-Mart, or the little girl scout outside of my bank, no matter who they are I can’t seem to forget them but one thing always stays the same, I never see them again for the rest of my life it seems like.
There was one thing I didn’t factor into this, her locker was one twenty-six, and mine is one twenty-three, so I’ll probably be forced to see her every day for at least the rest of the school year.  Well does it really matter, I mean she must have gotten the message by now.
The next day I didn’t even bother going to any of my classes, I just wondered the halls making sure to avoid any teachers.  When the bell rang for lunch I went to my locker to see if I could scrape up enough money for lunch.  When I reached the hallway that my locker was in, I peered around the corner and I saw someone sitting at my locker.  It took me a couple seconds but I soon realized that it was that girl!
“You know I can see you, right?”  She said before I was able to turn around, walk away, and forget about lunch.
I decided that it was no use hiding anymore so I slowly started walking to her, “Um, listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but can you stop stalking me?”  I asked her trying to be as polite as I can.
“I’m not stalking you, idiot.  I’m eating my lunch at my locker,” she exclaimed.
“Why?” I asked, “You do know that there is a lunch room, with real seats and even a table, I know its new, not a lot of schools have them but I guess we are pretty lucky.”
“Ha ha,” she said sarcastically, “I know about the lunch room, I… I just prefer eating alone.”
“Okay, can I get to my locker?” I asked trying to subtlety motion for her to slide over.  She slid her stuff over and both of us avoided eye contact.  The time it took me to open my locker and push around some books were the longest fifteen seconds of my life.  The worst part is, I didn’t even get any money.  I awkwardly walked away and I didn’t look back.  I felt bad that she was eating alone, don’t get me wrong, but think about it, if I sat with her what kind of message would that send?  I am trying to separate myself from her, not become best friends.
The day went on until my least favorite time of all, time to go home.  Any chance I get I will leave school but even school is better than my home.  I took the bus home, hoping that each speed bump was the bus breaking down.  The bus ended up at my stop in one piece and I reluctantly stepped off.  I checked my mailbox before going into my house.  The mailman is nice enough to still put the mail in the mailbox even though it is on the ground.  I’ve learned to ignore all of the late notices and only focus on the final notice ones.  Turns out they all were final notices this time around so that’s something to look forward to.  I walked inside and plopped on my couch.  I live with my mother for two main reasons.  The first is because of my father’s anger issues is something I just can’t handle anymore.  The second is because I have no idea where he actually is.  After my parents split he left the house, the town, the state, and possibly even the country.  I knew I had the house to myself because it was a weekday, and on those days, my mother works her two part time jobs.  On the weekend she tries to pick up any more shifts that she can.  I’m probably just gonna drop out of school so I can help Mom with the money.  I mean what kind of son I would be if I let my mother literally work herself to death.  She thinks I can’t see it by it is clear what the lack of sleep and the endless stress is doing to her.
I popped some left over pizza into the microwave, sat on my couch, and waited for them to hear that ding.  While I was sitting, I started fighting to stay awake.  Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore and I gave in.  It was one of the worst dreams I’ve had in my entire life.  It started with me riding my bike to the elementary school to see if I can find some lost tennis ***** to try to sell.  Once I got there, it was eerily quiet.  I set down my bike and began to get to work.  As I was walking to the tennis court, something in the distance caught my eye.  I ended up walking passed the court’s entrance because my curiosity got the best of me.  As I was investigating the shimmer of light in the distance, my surroundings began to change.  I was no longer at the elementary school; I was now walking down the hall towards my locker.  I knew where this was leading but for some reason I couldn’t stop moving towards my locker.  Sure enough, she was there, but she was waiting for me, like me seeing her isn’t a coincidence.  She didn’t speak, all she did is smile at me and her body started swaying.  I felt myself start smiling too, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t force myself to stop.  This was no longer my dream.  I was watching two people see each other and I wasn’t either one of them.  My pizza being done awaked me.  I know that that doesn’t mean what I think I know what it means, ya know?  I do not like that girl in any way.  One Twenty-Six can jump off of aa bridge for all I care.  I ended up just throwing out the pizza because I lost my appetite and I just went to bed for the night.  While I was lying in bed I tried desperately to not fall asleep.  One nightmare was enough for one night.
I ending up losing the fight against sleep once again and I was out like a light.  Luckily I didn’t dream that time so when I woke up I was actually a little happy.  I went to school immediately saw her at her locker.  She had a set of tools on the ground next to her and she was doing something to her locker.  I tried walking passed her and to not make any eye contact and I guess it- was a little too obvious that I was trying to ignore her because she immediately stopped what she was doing.
“Look, I know you don’t like me, I don’t know what I did but I know that you for some reason hate me.  So please let’s just accept it because you are making this very uncomfortable,” she said waving a hammer at me.  I was blown away.  This girl is accusing me of making in ‘uncomfortable.’
“I’m the one who’s doing it? Ha, that’s funny.  You’re the one who keeps trying to talk to me when I clearly want to be alone,” I retaliated.
“I talk to you because I know firsthand, sometimes you want to be alone but you hate to be lonely,” She said now dropping the hammer and walking towards me.
“You think you know me, don’t you?” I asked now putting my finger on her chest, “You have no idea who I am or anything about me, so get that through your thick skull One Twenty-Six,” I said with a push.
“And I bet you think you know me, you think I’m some girl who just picks up some piece of trash and tries to become friends with it and make its life better,” she said putting her hand to her chest.  I would never admit it but she was right, I thought she was going to make me her little project.  It was clear that I was losing this fight and so I had to turn the tables to let me win and quick.
“That’s the thing, I don’t know you, and I don’t want to know you.  How would that benefit me to know some new girl?” I said off the cuff.  I felt proud of myself for thinking on my feet but then I noticed what my words had done.  I could see tears forming in her eyes but it was clear that she was using all of her strength to hold them back.  My mind immediately went to the idea that this was part of her plan, to make me feel bad so she could get the rewards of winning.  I stared at her blankly until she turned around without a word and just picked up her hammer again.
“So, uh, what are you doing?” I asked and I immediately regretted the words I chose, I was never good at small talk.
“Trying to fix my locker, you were right, it doesn’t lock,” she had the voice of someone who was about to break down crying.  That just breaks my heart, and on top of that I knew that it was my fault.
“Can’t you, like, call the school or something and ask them to fix it?” I asked putting my hands in my pocket and putting my head down.
I could tell that she already started to put our little conversation behind us, “I already did, and there is not enough money in the budget, so they said that until they get afford s replacement I would have to deal with the problem, so I’m dealing with it.”
“Well do you need a hand, like have you ever done something like this before?” I asked hoping that if I help it’ll excuse me from the guilt.
“Not from you, and no, I have not, but what else am I supposed to do?” she asked.  I feel like even though she asked in a sarcastic tone she was still wanting my help.  I started racking my head for something I could say that would help and then I got an awful idea.
“Hey, uh… since our lockers are so close together, it probably won’t affect you to much if we shared mine, I mean we can share my locker if that’s a solution your…okay with,” my voice trailed off in the end because I really wanted her to say no and I could be in the clear because I made an effort, but I wasn’t going to fight her to do this.
“Sure,” she said, I couldn’t believe how fast she answered.  Was she planning for me to ask, then again she probably was trying to think of all of her choices.  But who does that, I mean I’m not saying she was, but I would have thought that she didn’t want to sound desperate.
“Okay, umm when did you want to move your stuff?” I asked a little taken back of this entire evening.
“Well I got a lot of stuff, why don’t you give me your combo, cause I can do it while you’re in class,” she answered.
“C’mon, you know I don’t go to class,” I reminded her.
“Well why don’t you?” she asked as I took out a piece of paper and wrote down my locker combination.
“Well let’s just say that once I turn sixteen in a couple months, you can have that locker for yourself,” I told her, making sure I avoided eye contact.  You know how that subject is with some people, they take it so personally like you’re making them drop out too.
“You do know that you have to get parent consent at sixteen, it’s not until you are eighteen that you are able to leave without anyone’s permission,” she informed me, as if I hadn’t already looked into it.
“It’s called forging my Mom’s signature,” I told her.
“Wouldn’t your parents make you go?” she asked, so innocently I couldn’t be mad at her ignorance.
“First off, you mean parent, my father skipped town before I could remember.  And secondly, my Mom needs my help, once I leave I can get a job and we will be able to pay the bills,” I explained.
“Okay,” she said.  That’s all she said.  Why would that be all she said? ‘Okay,’ really?  That’s all you have to say.  I’ve been lectured day in and day out on how I’m not running my life, but all she says is ‘Okay.’
“Is that it?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, what else would there be?” she a

There used to be a time when I heard the call of lonely trains

I would pull over

the car, would put it in park, and cry until my scarf was soaked.
Later at home I would wring it out it the sink,
rinse and cleanse my hands as if it were holy
water, the only things missing were rose petals.

The holiness in staying whole is something learned

I did not teach myself to dread the sound of a train

testing the tracks beneath.
I did not teach myself
that, somedays, there are better things to do than breathe.

I did, however, learn that knives aren't supposed to be
your friends-
they aren't good for sleepovers and they definitely do not belong
on either side of a conversation.

I did, however, learn that closing your eyes in the bathtub
and sinking to the bottom doesn't make me a deep sea diver,
even if I do enjoy the way salt stings my skin.

Those who have held meditation longer than it takes to skip a stone know that it is so much harder to stay, than to go.
Grounding yourself to the bottom in boulder fashion and feeling each bubble of air wriggle itself from your lungs
says more about endurance than any length run.
 
My English teacher once asked us what it meant to feel,
what the connection was to language.

He asked if there could be language without feeling,

the girl sitting next to me got up,
smiled a Cruella de Vil smile and said one doesn't exist without the other.

I got up in front of the other kids,

spread my arms into wings, and closed my eyes,

the train tracks on my arms left a silence that would have shocked the Mariana Trench.

I said, "Language cannot always do feeling justice,
some things you cannot say."

Later that day, I got up on my chair at lunch and yelled
"I am a victim of ****** assault,

it was not my fault,
I was not asking for it,

your ******* patriarchy won't tell me it was"

got back down, finished my sandwich,

only to look out to a calm sea of students
who hadn't heard a single syllable
over the sound of their own mouths.

I went home and asked my mother how she left my father,
"he did not love me the way I needed,

the way I needed to be loved,"
she said,
her blue eyes looked at me,
"he couldn't love that sometimes I needed silence."

Six hours later I lay awake in my bed, asking myself why
I couldn't get the courage to tell the highways
in my wrist to leave me,

open roads are too tempting to be explored.

That night I cried so hard I swear I could have
hollowed a boat from my own chest and paddled
that newly formed creek to your corner of Idaho.

Few things stopped the panic button from going off
like the sound of your voice finding its way to my room,
announcing over loud speaker
that my arms are enough map to explore.

I spent the Thanksgiving of 2011 sitting at a table
in the hospital cafeteria with plastic forks and plastic knives,
with three of the furthest things from friends,
wishing I had never decided to live.

The only thing I learned was to carry
my hurt on the insides of my palms and always
face them towards the ground-
****** palms are the easiest side effect of deciding to live.

You will find a panic button collector,

someone who knows how to soothe the sirens,
someone who knows how to keep bruise-free shins
and navigate in hollow of your dark.

Maybe they'll know to snip the blue wire and dismantle
your ticking, suitcased heart.

So when you see me stripping off my jacket
on a winter afternoon, it's only because that's an organic reassurance

I thought had forgotten my skin and arm hair

This is for you to know that someday

the sound of your pulse will not mean that you have failed
it will mean that you have overcome

the most grotesque,
sleep-depriving

monster in your sunshine yellow closet.
Someday you'll learn that the burning
furnace that radiates from your own heart

is heat enough to outlast any period of exile
or disagreement with the sun.

The red and blue of your blood will seem more like a blessing
than a burden
The creation of blood,
the intimate workings of oxygen
supplying life, of blood cells permeating cell barriers,

is no small feat.

There is biological beauty in lungs breathing,

in red blood knowing fire engine red to crimson velvet,

to that circadian clock that ignites
your thoughts in the middle of the night.

Tattoo the hope that you will no longer feel the need to open
your perfect skin onto your blades,
the feeling of pop rocks shocking your veins
isn't reason enough, there are other ways
to see your strong beating pulse

Because your breath, your repaved wrists,

your vigilant beating heart are so
so worth it.
Sew that fact into a crown made of velvet,
wear it everywhere you go,

show it to everyone you meet.

In this world I suspect everything
has its importance
I live in a southern town
an area well sown with secrets
Full of gold stars and hard badges
Full of litter on the backroads
where pickups back up and push
old things downhill
I live in my skin like a nice woman
I dab my lips in the humidity
From sea to shining sea
I watch from the shelter of a chickadee
All the roads are repaved but I sense
dirt roads reddened underneath
I am careful of my culture
lush and drunken with magnolia
softly cold and beautiful in Winter
I sit on a wooden bridge and swing
my legs in slow motion
The waters below dazzle tricks of light
I dream of finding another cautious soul
Naturally friendly I wave at God
in his better world

The frustrating pocket sweater lies
next to a glowing, sharp calculator and the vacuum
smells up the whole place with purple air.
The knot on the table is promising,
the curling band-aid twists over a sheepskin pencil pouch
and dreams continuously of health-care, and affordability.
A series (or a set) of remote controls telling the canned beans to drink from the yellow mug, that's the lucky one.
Cat-tails whimper, and an old man hugs the edge of the moon,
making sure the fork in the road is repaved.

Flossing, a girl looks up into the eyes of the lawyer and asks him,
"Have you ever seen me before?"
A running start the clock gets before it jams into the car,
with the other undesirables.
Counting their blessings, the smaller plants assemble before the dawn of the helicopter, to plead with their feather-dusting friends.

Keep up the good work, a construction worker yelled across a desert,
to a tree. A huge tree with sparkling fruit and splinters waiting to be annoying.

Like a boomerang I stray
Only to come back here against my will
With the walls painted and cracked
Soon we will brush over the artifacts
Just like the streets that have been repaved
The once spotless driveways
Overgrown with moss
Gardens once tended to
Now infested with weeds

But I suppose
that weeds must
live and grow
just as flowers must.

with enormous expectations
like those of being a noted artist
from the suburban sidewalks of
the ***** streets of Michigan

ended up in the Air Force
the hair cut was the worst
had my hair down to my ***
exited with it barely over my ears

I wanted to get educated find
Something, I didn't know what,
in society and attended college
one semester

I would dedicate myself fully
the next party too hard,
so it took me
eight years

to get a Bachelor's degree
by then had two kids
a wife and an extended family
of her mom grandma, sister

aunts papas all of us in a house together
when I got a paying job finally
she didn't want to leave all the
unhired help the unpaid diaper changers

and she stayed there
I moved on and it tore my ***** into
small pebbly stones all shrunken up
all alone in a big house

bent my nights up with a tab
at the bar and loose women and
giggly ******
sometimes  thinking most times not

I gave up then found a new she
and when I did the ex came crawling back and
I admit I used her
revenge *** is some of the best

I got ****** bereft of feelings for a long time
had a callous heart I found a few
years laters again
on the side of a small town

called Clayhatchee.
where the streets are
repaved and the dogs
run free

along side me old
all keeping pace with my
strides of going nowhere
ever again
dreamily

To Unity Bears Pain
Souls of Hot and cold
Conflicting with tornados
debris of corruption and suffering cleared away to clearways
Rocky roads repaved with stronger ideals
Ingredients of such concrete and pure and selfless logic
Which shall endure the wear of traffic of individuality
Overall times.
The strings controlling the society
as puppetmasters of corrupt leaders have now been cut.
Out with the old and in with the new.
Sometimes is out with the new and in with the old.
Lifting the burdens off one another's backs through charitable support
can be painful at its start
however, it becomes light and sweet
Like aged wine in future times
Growing as flowers in the same garden of Human Existence
Equal and Cheerful as a World without divisions
Of separate gardens that cost more from souls funds than building just the one
portion of land
instead of becoming the separated and hateful separated few.
Intelligence comes from knowledge and the strength to be open to learn new ways and tools
In which to fix life
As it has been decaying from these conflicts and selfish empowerments
That has wrecked the society as a machine.
Newer times
Newer Leaders
Kindly and selflessly added new parts to make the systems work
The life support of many
Instead of a quick breath of the few
It takes the release from the shackles of fearing things we don't understand
or learn how to understand
and the stubbornness to expose ourselves to diverse viewpoints
lifestyles
that bring flavor to this bland and poisonous world
Now, we have a gift...
The fresh new start of fresh opportunities
fresh and newer logical ways in which to flourish and
invent a more advanced future
for our society, as human beings, and as a world.

i wake up in a panic
body sweating , palms dripping
teeth clenching
heart somehow both tight and racing
you are back
an unwelcome ghost
in a home that is my body
and what i am to do now
when all that is left
is a broken sidewalk
cracked
and repaved with my mistakes