when i type i'm afraid that allmywordsruntogetherandthatyou
will never
know
what i'm trying to tell you
that you'll never understand the words
flying off the merry-go-round in my head
i feel as if i'm flying off the handlebars of my bike
and i'm in that moment of ecstacy where
i suddenly realize i will hit the ground
hard
but until then i have this moment of freedom in the air
my biggest fear has always been that i will be misunderstood
that is why i take semester after semester
course after course
lecture after lecture
writing page after page of tiny spiny words
to make sure i learn every single way i can express myself
in case i forget one
because i do
and it terrifies me

So there was this girl. And I met her my freshman year in German class, fourth hour. Her name was Sophia and I thought she was weird and creepy because she stared and didn't talk and tried to play footsie with me and me being the still-self-loathing queer that I am was desperately terrified that anyone would know I was bi. So I gave her mean looks, didn't look at her eyes, turned from her, ignored her. The list goes on. And then she basically disappears for the next two years. And last year, my senior year, I had her in my first semester second hour German class. And she was different. I thought hey. "Maybe she's cooler now, she's kinda a bit cute maybe I'll get to know???? Her ??? Maybe ???? And so we kinda talked a lil lil bit, but not really talking till xc skiing started, in November. I don't know I what it was, but I thought "hey. She's cute AND smart" so I made up a little brouhaha till I was suddenly driving with her to practice. Every day. And I learned she was kind, smart, funny, hilarious, BEAUTIFUL, kept me on my toes... The list goes on. As I spent more and more time with her, more and more time following her like a lost puppy, i feel deeper and deeper into love. She never texted a lot, so I started to text my thoughts to her with no expectation of a text back. I knew she appreciated them even if she didn't reply. And when she did reply, BLAM! A lightning bolt would slam into my stomach each time I saw her name in my notifications screen. I treasured those texts back, and stated writing poems about her, to her, inspired by her, inspired by HER, seeing her blonde hair every time I looked at the sun, her blue eyes in every lake and clear day and for-get-me-not and her big nose in my mind's peripheral vision and her cute small firm **** and the way she walked, straight up, so solid and set-forth and DEtermined, ******* (though she would never swear) to get to where she was going. I couldn't get her out of my head. Her just, state of being. I'd never met a creature so quietly, yet so determinedly set on who they were and how they were. The way she always knew what to say. I swear to god I thought this girl was an angel. When I looked at her, I wanted to trail my fingers over every inch of her, memorizing it, imprinting it on my bones, that intimate knowledge of you to visible eons from now. I would've climbed through hell for her, to just get five minutes of her, a nod a smile a GEN-YOU-INE laugh *******. I thought about how our bodies would fit together, the ghosting of lips over parts only The Holy Ones know. The way we'd sit together, soft and silent, barely touching but very at peace, and I was planning a title for a book of my poetry entitled "A Series of Notes to the Love of my Life (And a Cherishment of Nature)". I mean I thought this girl, this one in the world-universe, was my everything my holy savior my holy love my holy angel. I just thought that feeling, this feeling that was so intense, was because that was RIGHT. AND must BE. So I fell deeper and deeper, snatching knowledge bits of her that I could, leaving sweet notes and compliments, all over and to who ever for her. I asked her to prom. Through a letter I gave her, with a kayak-Paddler necklace in it. I'd never been brave enough to think about doing that before, ADMITTING my feelings for the girl. I was so smooth and charming and kind (cause I thought she might kinda maybe be gay or at least gay ish way and thought if she was and liked me too she might wanna be going "as friends" or something) and she said yes. I was so happy. It made my whole day better. Forever. I thought about slow dancing with her, imagined pictures floating about in my daydreams, taking up all time and space. And we went. Except she invited her best friend along too who she stayed glued to all night and never danced with me and barely looked at me And I felt like a third wheel to THEM, and so we got home and I was sad and tired and didn't want to do anything but we went on a night kayak and and I told her she was the most beautiful girl there by far and I had so much fun with her and on and on and I was just. So sweet to her how could she not know I like her ****. And she just said. "Oh you're so sweet." And she might've said something else, something idk, but I was just so bitterly in love but wanting her all the same and loathing her with how and by and why I wanted her attention. And I continued falling, ignoring the bitter bad parts of our relationship in favor of the new small things I'd learn about her. And for her birthday, July something, I was gonna give a small box id make in woodworking with a beautifully planned out and executed *** from ceramics with a nice letter telling her how amazing I thought she was and how I might tell her how i feel. And I made them, falling worse and worse daily. So in love. And I awkwardly increased the looks, the poems, the sighs and dreams and wishes. And school ended, we graduated, with pictures and a letter to her from me about how cool she was and a promise of a Better letter with her bday gift. I kept sending her my thoughts, asking her to hangout, (we never did) and telling her I missed her. Well I finished her gift and packed it. The letter, and all. By this time I had tried to get over her. I thought I was (except for the bits that stick with you You Know) and we'd just be friends but-I'm-cool-with-More. Forever. I thought this friend was a Real Deal. Once in. A lifetime. So I gave her the gift, then she didn't open if(or maybe she did and wanted to pretend she didn't open) cause she had a 30-day trip. No phones. I sent her some of my thoughts, not all you know. Didn't wanna overload her texts when she gets back. And I waited, and waited. And it had been thirty days! I Waited for some notification that she saw it, that she opened something. I texted her. Her read receipts? On. She saw it. No reply. I waited and texted and waited and texted. Each message more sour than the last. Eventually I all hope. I said to her I was disappointed in her (I had come out to her as bi in my letter, something I wasn't sure she supported.) so I'm devastated now. I thought she'd be in my life forever, how could an angel like that not stay????? But she's gone. I might never know what she really thought and why she didn't reply. It makes me lose so much faith and hope and love in humanity when someone like that leaves your life. It cracked my soul and I honestly think I might never be able to trust anYONE completely. Ever. Because of a girl like her. She broke my heart and never even knew she had it. Or maybe she did. I guess I might never know. It makes me so sad. She absolutely crushed me, quietly and subtly. I do think I'm ruined for life. Even if only slightly. I might slowly be losing my sanity. I just want to talk to you. Please. What did I do? God I loved you. I still might. Please just stitch my soul back together, even just a little bit.

Me: I am a weird guy.
You: Well, who isn't weird?
Me: True enough, but I am a bit more weird.
You: Alright, go on, tell me your story.
Me: I met with a life-threatening road accident.
You: So what, several do, even I did.
Me: I was in a 23-day comatose state.
You: That's interesting, what had happened?
Me: I was hit by this idiot on the highway.
You: Who was at mistake - you or him?
Me: Both, I was over-speeding and he turned without any indication.
You: What was your approximate speed that day?
Me: Around 90, it's a highway, you can't expect me to drag my bike below that speed.
You: Alright, but in the end your life went off the track.
Me: My fourth semester exams were going to be held 10 days later, I was made to shift my college due to circumstances.
You: That means you're at loss in the end, what happened to the other biker?
Me: A good man took me to the hospital and noted the other bike's registration number.
You: You are still at loss.
Me: Yes and no. I have accepted that the accident had happened.
You: What happened with your studies?
Me: I started life again at the new college sans any older friends but I have performed what they term 'miraculous' as I cleared 10 examinations at a go instead of the regular 5 examinations to end a semester.
You: Very good, but be careful now on. (Admiring me inside)

Wearing long sleeves to cover bruised arms
And deleting text messages before bed every night
so my mom wouldn’t see what he was saying
Boys are mean to you if they like you
Boys are really mean to you if they love you
For him, love and hate were two horns on the same bull,
And a lot of the time, he would get the two sides confused
I spent a lot of time Anxiously waiting for his arrival home from school
Tapping pencils on my desk during class
Hoping the clock would just stop moving
I lost many things that semester
My friends, my sanity, 20lbs
I was a book people judged by the cover
Things seemed to be fine
I was fine
I was fine
Never letting anyone else all the way in
It’s hard to ask for help when you don’t know if you need it
It’s harder when you need help, but your scared to ask for it
People accused me of making things worse than they really were,
No one believed me when he drove to my house in the middle of the night
and threatened me until I finally got in his car.
He screamed profanities in my face
And when I went to open the door at a red light, he grabbed my arm
Burning fingerprints into my skin
A lot can change in 4 years
I’ve learned in my lifetime that hurt people are usually the ones
who hurt other people
Hurt people are also the ones that can help people.
Love and hate are two horns on the same bull.
But somewhere along the line
Hate turned into forgiveness
And love grew stronger
And I grew stronger
I realized someone who loves you, will love every part of you. They won't add scars to your body, or heaviness to your heart.

I’m toey this morning, we’re getting a test back. I was all right or all wrong. I’m early, the first one here. I’m hoping the TA will early-bird and return my test before anyone else gets here. That way, when I run and jump out the 3rd story window, no one else will be traumatized.

I’m trying to have-sac but I’m keyed-up and quivering like a ******. My chair seems all hard angles. I didn’t sleep much. My mind is replaying the test in a loop, resisting the unreliable seduction of hope. I've decided my score depends on one variable in question 3.

This semester I feel like one of those Cirque du sloeil acrobats that spin ten plates on a pole while riding a motorcycle. I realize I’m biting my fingernails and the parental voices that live in my mind spring to life. I shut them down with a shake of my head, they’ll have their say later.

Oh, great, another student’s here, Clint, I think. He’s a stengo from someplace tropical. I’ve never talked to him 1-on-1 but we were in a lab group once, where we had to synthesize a coordination complex and characterize it. He’s smart, polite, and forever chipper. He settles into his seat and slouches like he hasn’t a care in the world. I don’t like him this morning.

If he’s wrong, he’s going to have to throw himself down the stairs, I’ve got dibs on the window.

I cried at the breakfast table this morning
my father carefully explained,
"wives must be submissive to their husbands"
"housecleaning is the domain of the woman"
"God created woman because man asked for a partner"

This past semester I wrote two papers

One, a fire and brimstone sermon
          I quoted Anais Nin
          sending the creators of sexist commercials to eternal suffering
          "**** them!" I said. "May they burn in hell."
          For the women they portrayed were doormats
          Misconceptions
          Monsters

The other, the role of women in the 1920s,
           No longer confined to the kitchen
           they dropped ballots with their new freedom
           they wore short dresses and short tresses
           fingers wrapped around cigs
           they quoted Wilde instead of Alcott
           they danced until their feet hurt
       
I read of Anais Nin's "new woman,"
her partnership, not submission to man,

I craved a room of my own, neigh demanded it
For sheep stayed in the kitchen,
The Woolf had a study.

I read poetry
Sexton,
Plath,
I wept for their starved, depressed selves
caged, suffocating inside the clasped hands of a man.
Loved like rib-cage jails.

Adrienne Rich made me angry,
her daughter-in-law
forever trying to fit into a box
she was always too big for, spilling
at the edges, her shaved
legs like "white mammoth tusks"

I was finally
happy with my womanhood.

******, ******, *****, *******
they are mine.
******* free to move unrestrained,
jiggling under my shirt.
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
they are mine.

mine.

I am not ashamed of what I am
because there is no shame.

I am woman,
I am girl,
I am lady.
I am a creature
with a voice
a mind.

a creature who endured much abuse,
continue to endure.

I am woman

and I don't have to be wife or mother
unless I want to be.
I was not created for man;
I was created for the same reason he was,
to serve the same great purpose on this tiny blue dot.

I am not rib.

I am ******, ******, *****, *******
******* free, unrestrained,
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,

I am a per.
I am a wo.
I am a hu.

Man and son need to back down,
collaborate not dominate,
speak not command,

for when less are forced into silence,
the maddening scream
hidden inside skin and bones and muscle-meat
becomes song.

this world of car horns and tire screeches
crying and wailing from raw throats
angry protests of indignation

could use a little music.

it is 1975 Saigon has fallen to North Vietnamese flower children resistance Watergate have all come and gone economy still in recession unemployment at 8.5 they sit on floor listen to Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” then Patti Smith’s “Horses” Bayli rolls joint lights it passes to Odysseus he speaks “you know i ******* hate working for Dad what do you think i should do?” Bayli suggests “you love San Francisco why not move there? you’d fit right in with West Coast hippies.” he answers “what would i do in San Francisco? i don’t know anyone besides i don’t want to hang out with hippies i’ve got bigger plans” “you’re an artist Odys you’ll figure it out” he asks “would you come with me?” Bayli whispers “Yeah for sure once you’ve settled in” Odysseus tries to imagine becoming Bay Area painter thinks to listen to Bayli’s prompting remembers all the drugs craziness in Haight Ashbury Berkley that compelled him to return back east to school Mom and Dad would never support such a move he feels insecure about his abilities to survive as artist in business world easier to further his education with benefit of family’s sanction Bayli runs fingers through her hair Odysseus watches thinks how beautiful she is roar of jet engine passes he looks out window late afternoon shadows cut sharply he comments “Bayli it’s October already leaves are changing days getting shorter if i apply for January semester at Art Institute what will you do?” she answers “hang out with you? i don’t know do we have to talk about this right now?” he says “it’s going to get cold soon did you bring enough clothes?” she answers “no i need to buy some” he asks “will your parents help you?” she hesitates explains “i don’t know my father might be transferred to new assignment in D.C. my folks have their own worries i can’t burden them right now Odys you know i’ve been looking for a job something is bound to turn up soon” he stands paces her hands rub knees as she gazes up at him he says “Bayli i’m confused i wish we were older and knew what to do maybe we both need some time to consider things a little space to get perspective to be certain what we’re doing i’m getting pressure from my parents i can’t think clearly” one side of Bayli’s face makes strange grimace “Odys what do you want? Are you waiting for a sign from God? who are you searching for? is it me?” he answers “yes i love you you are only one for me” she asks “well then what are you saying? Odys what’s happening to us? i sense your thoughts drifting where were you last night in bed?” his voice grows stressed “i don’t know we were happy in Hartford Chicago is different tougher money security play more important roles maybe my doubting hasn’t anything to do with us maybe it’s environment around us character and weight of this city my parents figuring out how to pull this off” Bayli’s voice rises “did you ever consider maybe returning to Chicago and me coming here is mistake? if anything maybe we should have stayed on East Coast and faced challenges in New York City coming to Chicago is like a test a big ******* test! Let’s go back to Hartford” suddenly memory flashes through his thoughts remembers first time he brought Bayli to Toby Mantis’s loft on lower east side Toby stretches canvases for Warhol other times when Odysseus showed up with female art students Toby routinely pawed them Toby eyed Bayli and asked “Who’s she?” Odysseus quickly turned to protect but Bayli spoke up “i’m with Odys!” Toby still grabbed but Bayli pushed him away her devotion thrills Odysseus on numerous occasions she assures him “i’m happy just to be with you” he looks at Bayli holding breath as he speaks “no we can’t go back to the past there’s no opportunity in Hartford Chicago is home it’s what i know do you remember when we were partying on Rauschenberg’s roof? remember how all those New York artists sized us up like we were fresh meat? you looked so defenseless in white turtleneck i don’t trust Toby and all those people” Bayli cuts in “Toby Mantis is a drunken idiot!” Odysseus continues “maybe my thinking is all messed up there’s something else Bayli what if the more fame you achieve the more complicit you become with sin? what if reaching top means being used and abused by everyone? what if it requires betrayal deception whatever else it takes? once you sell your soul you can’t buy it back i don’t know if i’m ready to get that serious leap into heap maybe my talent isn’t as good as theirs i need time to develop grow returning to Chicago just makes more sense am i embarrassing myself? maybe you should run from me go find someone stronger i feel like i’m not good enough for you i hear what i’m saying and feel ashamed” tears well in Bayli’s eyes as she questions “Odys what are you saying?” he answers “i don’t know i don’t know what we should do i know i love you Bayli i apologize for upsetting you let’s talk tomorrow” he reaches holds her in his arms needle keeps skipping at end of Patti Smith record

planets and stars align at precisely certain times sometimes planets and stars meant to join pass by each other instead the universe balances within delicate loop a lot of forces influences are at work any hesitation or minuscule deviation in rotation can make all the difference in the world

his stomach knots eyes wet maybe he senses he will never again have chance like Bayli maybe not in morning he suggests she should find her own place for a while Bayli’s eyelids close heavily quietly complies he feels deep sadness sensing crucial innocence perishing cannot justify himself believes her moving is only temporary reasons if Bayli is truly the one then they will figure it out upsets him to see her go does not want to lose her does not comprehend how devastating his decision concerning Bayli will be in a way his life ends here Odysseus is never same Bayli moves into tiny studio apartment off Broadway and Surf gets waitressing job at fashionable restaurant on Halsted Street Odysseus wishes Bayli refused to leave she could have put up more fight if only she insisted “i'm not going i want to spend my life with you” why did she give up so easy? Bayli is not self-assured assertive like Mom and sister Penelope it is wrong of Odysseus to blame Bayli no one to blame but himself he should have stood up against Mom Bayli is right he is waiting for sign from God but God keeps silent glimpses his own cowardice near-north side of Chicago is small-town familiar in 1975 he hears rumor about tall strong **** who forces Bayli he goes to see her in tiny apartment does not mention what he heard Odysseus asks “are you all right?” sitting with legs crossed on floor Bayli speaks remote dispirited answers “yes i guess” their conversation is brief after he departs feels sorrow guilt is there a way back to Bayli? she seems so separate defeated far away some months later he hears she is engaged to marry shady guy who lives several doors south from restaurant where she waitresses Odysseus is stunned dumbfounded he did not realize how eager Bayli was to get married after Odysseus lets Bayli go he reasons Mom got her way not that Mom openly rejected Bayli rather she subtly snubbed showed no support he needs family’s approval Mom birthed him  he believes he owes her he recognizes losing Bayli is entirely his own fault vaguely ponders might never marry until Mom is out of picture what girl can stand up to Mom’s scrutiny demands? maybe Mom wants Odysseus all to herself? perhaps she fears girlfriend or wife will come between them? maybe his whole life is struggle to be free of Mom

Where do thugs go?
Who do they run to? 
Where do they call home? 
Not a house that they go to, but a place where they feel belonged 
How do they cope with the scarcity of love? 

Thugs, not the kind that most women think they are attracted to; therefore, not the imposers
Not the kind who landed at the bottom of the hill, sliding from the top only to scrape off their rot 
Not the ones who were born with all the right people in their corners, but boxed them off while trying to fight to be someone that they are not 

Thugs, the ones who momma loves? Because he appreciates her worthiness, her works 
She's the only real love he ever had since birth 
Thugs; who can't really go places because trouble doubles 
It multiplies whenever he is with his guys 
Because they all know how it feel not to live under a roof 
Neither one of them have anything to lose 
His dudes are equal to himself cubed 
They rely on one another like proofs 
And they are radical from the roots 
Living in a negative atmosphere trying to multiply it by itself 
So that they can make it to where the grass is greener and the sun does shine 
The other side of the number line 
Where the gunfire and homicides are divided
And the dope is reduced 
All their lives they have been thinking that they are enduring the truth 
That they "cannot amount to nothing and cannot be put to use"

They are neck deep in the streets 
And the authorities is at their throats like a crew 
But nothing around them is cotton 
So when their fingers symbolizes a "V" they are only representing the place where they have to be 
And they are not weak, but sometimes they wishes that they can take off a week 

Black cats can't chase yarn
Mexicans don't have a specific day for casual dressing 
Asians don't get any waivers 
Cubans can't take less hours for a semester of schooling 
Haitians don't get vacations 

The **** life is given 
Difficult to make it
As it is to escape it 
It's hard to deal 
When all they know is reeling in deals 
To people who are saltier than Dill's 
While at the same time trying to act real... Kosher
Without a companion to share meals... How do they find closure?
Too busy being tyrannical 
Never learned how to be grammatical 
So **** just got "worser"
Interviewee for a job 
Or being suave to a child's mom
Besides their eyes,
Their oration is just exposure 
Not knowing their duration to exist on this surface 
Thugs need love 
It's hard to tell through his mean-mug 
But he's hurting

dedicated to the one that got away

hey there butterfly, five months ago you were still in college. you were nervous because it was your final semester and you were stressed out because of the workload. you met someone, butterfly. god, he was so pretty and magnificent.. saccharine as honey he was, extremely understanding and just so easy to converse with. so you indulged in him more and spent time with him. spent nights together after long evenings of work, embracing one another’s company in various ways. there was a spark that neither of you could deny and so the genesis of your relationship began. you belonged; with him, the comfort of him, and just in the space of happiness provided to you. you belonged there. you deserved it.

hey there butterfly, he introduced you to his friends and called you his. could you feel it? your heart beating when the word mine came out of his lips.. the smile not once leaving your face for the rest of the night as you all hung out. you competed in several tournaments, and each tournament he was rooting for you every time. he was extremely proud of you in anything you worked hard for and never once forgot to let you know. you deserved this, a man by your side that could appreciate you in many aspects.

hey there butterfly, you did it! you graduated. you graduated and he was able to see you walk across the stage. could you feel it? the warm feeling in your chest knowing that he watched you accomplish something so life changing? that support was something you’ll never forget, isn’t that right? having someone so amazing by your side willing to be here for you through anything has made you glow, butterfly. you’re beautiful and you deserved this.

hey there butterfly, are your wings broken? that was quite a fall you took there. could you feel it? the rope not budging as you pulled and pulled to give him the support you knew he deserved? you comforted him during his hard times and you gave it your all.. but in the end it wasn’t enough and you can’t make someone stay if they have no desire to do so. i know he’s gone now and something in you hopes he comes home but you know it’ll be okay eventually though, right? no matter the obstacle whether big or small, you must never falter. if it’s meant to be then it will be. you are beautiful and you are so strong.. you deserve the universe. you’ve been taking care of everyone but now it’s time to take care of yourself. you’ve gotten yourself hurt again, butterfly. you will be okay one day. it hurts now but know that there is nothing you can’t handle. you are so special, butterfly.. you don’t deserve any of this pain but it will get better. i love you, butterfly..

How to conquer the world when you are manic and preserve it when you are depressed.

I had a close friend send me a text a few weeks ago
Reminding me how to breathe and that I had to get out of bed,
I thought if she could have read my mood from the west coast
As I rotted in cotton comforters in the east, I must have been pretty obvious
Maybe it’s because we have been friends for ten years or because
I plaster every up and down online to vague audiences, I cast out my emotions
Like frayed fishing line, trying to catch even a glimpse of someone who relates.
But when this friend texted me she said something that might help balance out
The high-highs with the unbearable lows is writing how I feel when I am both.
I did my best to put the feeling of flying at 100mph upside down with wings made of silken sheets into words but the minute I did they turned into wings of concrete and I lost my focus again. And so I went to answer my friend and I said ‘here is how to conquer the world when you are manic”

I am caffeine therapy,
I am engulfed in energy
I am yellow, I am green
I am everything all at once,
I feel everything all at once.
I’m gonna save the world,
All of it.
Today.
try and stop me.
I woke up at 4am to watch
the sun swallow the indigo horizon
One last time before I go out and save the world,
Waking up early always gives me so much more time
To save the world, and I want to save the world.
I am yellow, I am green. I am everything at once.
I wash down amphetamines with coffee and I am
Narrow energy. I am traveling a perfectly paved road
Home to a messy room but that is okay because I’m
Going to save the world today.
I am a math equation stuck inside the text book
From the semester I dropped out;
I am heat energy dancing inside shattered beakers,
I am potential energy ready to become kinetic,
I am energetic and today, I have the heart to save the world.
I started by reenrolling in school because you need a degree
To save bees. That line might have been a joke but I did sign back
Up to finish my degree and this time I won’t ever feel low again,
How could I when there is so much to be happy about?
I am laughing so loud my neighbors are asking questions
And my friends think I am doing better and I tell them I am.
I feel it in my skin that I am better and recovery feels like
Holding hands at sixteen and iced tea in the summer,
And this is easy!
I am yellow, I am green. I feel everything all at once.
I am floating between causes and altruism is an ideal
Slithering its way through my veins, and today I am going to save the world.
After signing back up for classes I spread out my day like magazine clippings
I might never put onto a dream board because I will most likely forget about them
And my dreams make better notes in my iphone where I can see them
As I obsessively check my contacts to see who I can talk to today.
I am yellow, I am green. It is noon and I am flying.
Here is how else I will save the world.
I will clean my room and I will go to the gym
And work off three weeks of sweets with three hours on the treadmill,
I forgot how good it feels to run and I know that this is the last time I will ever give up.
I run on a track that loops back in on itself because I know that if I were to run outside,
I would get lost because I am everything all at once and there is just so much to look at.
I am yellow, I am green. And today I am going to be a wildlife photographer,
And an artist, and when people ask me what I want to be I tell them
I am going to work for the United Nations and that I am going to save the world,
And they believe me and it’s almost funny for a minute until I realize
I have yet to start saving the world. I woke up at 4 to save the world and I was sure today was the day, I felt it in my heart like poprocks the very first time or your first real kiss, I felt it and it was real and I lost track of that feeling and now I am scared that I might never save the world,
What is happening?
I am yellow, I am green. I am potential energy locked inside a pendulum
Hanging from a chemical tree that only grows each time it loses a leaf,
I am staggered progress dressed up like empathy,
I am yellow, I am green.
I am fleeting energy
The kind you watch spark a few times
On telephone lines turning pink behind July sunsets
And its gone before your friends can see it too.
I am yellow, I am green
I forgot to shower every day this week but
I am too tired to get out of bed,
What is happening?
I was supposed to save the world today
I’m so sorry.
I am drinking as much caffeine as I can without
Making my heart feel like it will push its way
Through my bones and out of my chest
Though being able to feel in my chest again
Might not be so bad. I am stuffing smoke  inside my chest to fill it up
I am doing my best to keep feeling inside the skin I wear when I can feel it
Going numb
I wish
You could inject caffeine right into your veins,,
I reread texts from last night where transitioning
Felt like fist fighting recovery, her having one up on me,
I am crimson, I am silver, I am fleeting energy.
I’m so sorry. I thought I said that before
And I might have but I forgot, today I feel cloudy
And I stumbled through steel wool tall grass to make it
Out of bed today and the weight of every single mistake
I have ever made feels like it is going to break my spine
Right in half, I don’t know if I will make it through today.
I wish someone would save me today.
I am crimson, I am grey. I need someone to save my world today .

It was 3 PM on a Tuesday
in the summer, just before
my first semester of college.
I went out on a whim and
bought a cheetah print lava
lamp for forty six dollars
at some stand in the mall,
despite you persistently
advising me not to
waste money on
"insignificant ****"

The next day it rained
from 7 AM until 5 PM
and I forced you to lie
in bed with me all day,
with the curtains drawn
& the lights out.
I wanted us to observe
the weird, red
shapes forming
inside my new cheetah
print lava lamp...
Something about it
captivated me.
I never had one as a kid,
And you just sat there
holding my hand for
fifty eight minutes before
I whispered, "did you see
how pretty that one was?"

You laughed gently
and shifted your eyes
toward my dresser,
at which point
I realized
that was the very first time
you looked away from me
since we had laid down
And
with that thought,
the butterflies
woke so chaotically,
I thought I'd never
catch my breath

Ngizwe kuvuka usinga kwathi angibhale
ngesizulu
Bathi ayibe isazekeka uma isinkulu...
Ngicinge amagama alula okuloba lendaba, le
ndoda yathi izongilobola, angazangake ukuthi
kanti nangomlomo sekuyalotsholwa...
Aybo phela mina le ndoda yangthembisa!
Igama uNomathemba odabuka eMzumbe..
Hhay limnandi iTheku ..ungezwa ngabantu
bethi.. phela mina lana ngidla ama fish and
chips ..anginichomeli phela mina
bengizijwayelele umdumbulu namadumbe..
ekhaya eMzumbe..
Aybo phela mina lendoda yangthembisa..
Sengazitholela uThemba.. Loluthando lunginika
ithemba! UNtuli wam' ! Ugodide ! Ofake izinyo
legolide.. Ngyamthanda uMphemba wam' !
Phela yena ulithemba lam' !
Ngimenze uNkulunkulu, ngamnika lonke uqobo
lwam'
Wangenza ibhange lakhe, wangnika yonke imali
yakhe..
Uthe angeke angiphule inhliziyo, akasoze adlala
ngemizwa yam'
Ngamtshena ukuthi angisiwo ulayini wokuhola
iqolo angeke ngimmoshele isikhathi sakhe..
Ihhe angikazikhohlwa izethembiso zakhe..
Ethi uzongenza umkakhe.. :/
Aybo phela mina lendoda yangthembisa!
Amagama angbiza ngawo amnandi, ethi
ngimuhle ngathi ngigeza ngedanoni
Ekhuluma ngama bhanoyi, ama private jet,
phela lana sasi planner umshado wethu and my
wedding dress..
Ngazigcina ngifunda eNyuvesi yaka Zulu..
Angsayaz ngisho I timetable yama class..
Phela mina shangane lakaMakwakwa sengzobe
umfazi womzulu..
...Ngaphuma ekhaya ngiyofuna ulwazi
olunzulu.. Zulu khuzani niyabuka elikaMthaniya
elihle lifa phambi kwenu ..bheka njalo ekhaya
banamathemba ngam'..
Ngakhetha ukwanelisa uThemba ngakhohlwa
ngezidingo zam'.. Ngazikhohlwa izifiso zabazali
bam'..
ERes ngahlala inyanga eyodwa ..phela mina
senghlala ehotela... Lol angisiye umculi kodwa
ungangbiza nge 'Hotel queen' ..
....................... -- ........... -
- ..........................................
Langa limbe ngavuka ngaphuthaza
..ngaphuthaza embhedeni.. UThemba
akekho..ngivuke ngiye e
bathroom..akekho..ngimshayele ucingo..his
number doesn't exist.. Ngimelwe
yingqondo..ngicinge khabetheni lezingubo
izimpahla zakhe azikho :| .. Ngimemezise
okohlanya 'Themba ! Themba ! ' Pho ke
izindonga ezine zingigqolozele, zingabuye
zenzenjani?
Ithemba lam' lingishiyile ngizokwezenjani?
Aybo phela mina lendoda yangthembisa!
Iphelile I semester yokqala, kwamele
ngiphindele ekhaya.. Ngizwile ngomngan' ethi
aphumile ama result.. Awami
ngizowathathaph' ..
ND>>eMzumbe
-- -- -_- 'Nomathemba'ukube bayaz
ngemikhuba yam' ngabe abangijabuleli kanjena
.. Uphasile koda, yebo mama ngamalengiso..
:/ ..
Aybo phela mina le ndoda yangthembisa!
Ay ingibelesele le flue,
Umkhuhlane onje angiwazi..
Sengkhwehlela negazi..
....Ngyonda..kodwa isisu sami si.. Hhay
ngisuthi.. Ya ngisuthi.. Cha bakwethu ngisuthi..
Yekani isisu sam' ngisuthi.. Yebo ma ngondiswa
izifundo ngifunda kanzima.. Cha asisikhulu isisu
sam' ng gqoke I jacket enkulu..
..Ziyahamba izinsuku ngagula kakhulu ..
Dokotela, umkhuhlane wam' awupheli ..
Ukhulelwe.. 5 weeks ..aybo! Mina angeke..
'Angikaqedi, unegciwane.. Ingabe uyamazi
umuntu okuwuye oku ..Themba!! Ubani?
Nomathemba, Nomathemba vuka!
Saphuma isisu.. Ngafa mina.. Lashabalala
ikusasa lam' .. Aphela amathemba abazali bam'
ababenawo ngam' .. Kwaphela ngam' Themba
waze wadlala ngam' ..
Izethembiso zakho ..
Owangithembisa zona
Mphemba wam' wangthembisa..

I had a seventh grader tell me, when I was in 5th grade, that things go downhill after 5th grade - that life doesn’t get better, it just gets more complicated. I’ve had years to mull that over and I have to say that in some ways his testimony was on beat.

As we start the second half of sophomore fall semester, I think I’ve reached stability and I’m accustomed to this year’s schedule and workload. I haven’t surveyed whether I’m faster or slower in this (see below), but now I know all the tricks - where to eat, which paths to take and what to carry. I have a firm rhythm that’s consistent and insistent.
“I’m finally on my schedule.” I commented to Sunny yesterday morning as we collided in our dash to get our shoes on.
She looked at me in confusion “You know we’re on week 8 out of 15, Ya?”
I was shocked, “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” I admitted as we stepped out.

It’s midnight and we’re going (Peter, Lisa, Sophie and I) to “My ****” tonight (the dorm basement snack-bar). I took two seconds to splash my face with water and twist-back my hair. “How do I look?” I asked Peter.
“You’re attractive.. enough,” he said, “..I mean you fall within a bell curve.”
“You're almost 40,” I say, in the face of his non-complement.
“I’m 26,” Peter said, “You know it, and I have proof. You DO have some good points though,” he granted, while trying to drape his great, hairy, gorilla-like arm on me, “there’s your sparkling conversation and nice underwear.”
“I donated those to goodwill,” I lied, while giving him a half-gentle stiff-arm.
“You remind me of my parents,” Sophie says.

The tea (the best tea is scandalous). Lisa’s friend Baker dashed back to her room between classes yesterday. She’d forgotten the big paper she had to turn-in. It was a mad dash and passing a roommate’s open door, she realized that the girl was lowkey *******. Lisa, delighted to be an interlocutor in the matter, due to Baker’s overplus embarrassment, Lisa's trying to suggest next steps in a post-shock protocol.

Today you are going to pick up your only winter jacket from Hers. On the train you are shaking. You pick up a large bottle of Zinfandel at the liquor store down her street and spend $10 that you don’t really have. You walk up to her street. Four boys and an older woman (mother, landlord?) crowd a portion of the sidewalk. You brush past on the gravel, almost slipping. A form that strongly resembles hers is in the driveway; your heart threatens to leave your chest. This walk is eerily familiar to you. Music is crowding your thoughts and you slip out of your headphones, unsteadily approaching the porch. You sit. She is moving her car so her roommate can go out. You don’t know what to do.

She says “what’s up” like you’ve seen her do to people she doesn’t know very well but wants to flirt with and her eyes betray no warm recognition like they used to. She asks if you should come in?  

I just picked up liquor, I can share it with you if you want to have a drink, you say. There’s no way that your nerves are going to steady themselves on their own.

I don’t know, we’ll see. Cross the threshold. Door closes behind you. You are trapped now. You knew this would happen. You want to go upstairs, up to her room, climb the familiar steps and strip naked, settle in your niche in the bed like you’ve always done...

Bookcase isn’t where it used to be. Curtains are different, or new. Couch is ratty as ever. You remember the nights you used to spend making food in her kitchen, nursing her stomachaches on the couch watching ****** TV and laughing in each other’s eyes during the commercials. Breaking each other’s molds and melting away from the rest of the world.

Did she fix the window from where that guy tried to break in last semester?
No. The curtains are just new.
Oh, nice.
Drink?
Definitely.

You’re handed a pumpkin-flavored hard cider and this relaxes you a little, because you’ve always felt cooler than you actually are when you’ve got a bottle to gesticulate with while you’re talking to someone. It’s really just a mask for social anxiety, a cute 8oz bottle of conversation lubricant. Apply as needed. Consult a doctor for intense pain lasting more than four hours.

You two try and talk. She asks why. You can’t speak. After a few minutes of holding up, you fold, crumple.

Hoarse, tense. Your throat is burning and she isn’t doing anything as your knuckles around your knees wrench up your jeans and turn white telling her about how Heather died and how Chickee is in the hospital and just had a seizure from the meds they were using to keep her from dying of pneumonia and now she’s lost whatever precious vestiges of memory were left and remembers nothing at all and you’ve been fighting daily to keep your mind from running away from you, doing this all on top of work and courses is stringing you out so thin can’t she see that you just wanted you to have time to take care of yourself holy **** -

I know you hate me now I know and I’m never going to escape the hurt I caused you because it feels to you that I just left but I didn’t ever want to leave it just had to happen

We see relationships from two different vantage points
((Did she **** her neighbor))
Why are you on a dating site

It’s a tool you’re using to force yourself back into social interactions but it's also a necessary evil. There aren’t too many queer women to find anywhere but the internet anyway, they’re all in hiding during the day in a batcave or something -

Why did you leave me
You never thought it’d get like this
Coward

Leaving after you tell her to ******* because she asks you to, walking out with my things onto the porch and a cigarette in your mouth desperate to inhale something that’s toxic as if the carcinogens will take effect right there and you’ll drop dead of all kinds of diseases in the middle of her walkway

She comes outside with letter keep this read it you’re not going to like it but it’s all I’ve got for you and it’s what I’ve wanted to say
You don’t want it, you say, you don’t need this cancer sitting on your desk and silently invading your life
******* take it
You stand in the street reading the letter and it’s all about how she thinks you’re some heinous ******* who just left her and took the easy way out when things got difficult.

Maybe you did, you’re a nihilist, you don’t think there’s a point to anything and you do like things when they’re easy for you, it hurts less that way- but doesn’t everybody?

People who say they’re saints are lying to themselves.

It's not about interest, it's how you place
Your classes are weapons in an arms race
Your friends are taking two APs, so you take three
Soon we're mired in college work when high school is all we see

Counselors don't help, they only edge us on
Telling us we need advanced levels, or all college spots are gone
In Fairfax County, we score so high on tests
We ignore our thirty three percent depression and say we're the best

Because here all that matters is the grade on your transcript
You're a factory product, another computer chip
So if you're friend takes five college courses, take seven
After a semester, beg mercy and give up on heaven

Junior high hallways of
Girls kissing, without meaning
It
Like boys getting the erections they
Did not hide
From those wishing to see them shy,
But not away.

Sisters were a specialty with
Incestual immunity-
A senior class with nine sets of twins and
Two-hundred, watching them share chapstick.

Girls at liberal arts school,
Painting our ******* like we were wearing the same dress
To the weekend's party
And could dance ourselves clean
Without touching a thing.

In Spring, the Bennington bookstore special-ordered
THE KISS posters
Stuck on girls' ceilings that semester like
Plastic stars
Glowing in the dark above their beds-
Alone, watching white-pantied girlfriends
Lick lips above their heads.

We moved mattresses,
Made floors into king-size beds, and mocked manliness
Our boyfriends' weariness when they visited.

Holding roommates and classmates naked by the *******,
We found by spooning each other
How deeply we fell asleep.
To wake up, stretching in the sunlight of open curtains
No one would tell us to shut.

Quickly, we were moving to Boston with our boyfriends and making
Pairs of plans,
Then abandoning each at our own pace,
Like we'd talked about at night before we'd have to have that pain.

Years later, I followed my lover to meet his parents,
Who took us to dinner, and after,
My head on his childhood pillow,
Looked up at two girls kiss.

I forget to brush my teeth sometimes.
I haven't done a sit up in years.
I'm in debt.
It's a wonder to me how I graduated high school.
I have introduced my girlfriend as "my *****."
I've experimented with drugs.
I've cut myself.
I don't floss. Ever.
I smoke too much.
I don't do sports.
My family Is destroyed.
I sleep on a futon.
I've made a lot of racist jokes.
I've been someone's bully.
I'm not too fond of myself.

I'm thankful that all my cavities are filled.
I do push ups every now and then.
I have a job.
I made the dean's list last semester.
I want real companionship.
I stopped smoking ****.
I don't cut anymore, but write instead.
I still don't floss. I never will.
I'm trying to quit smoking.
I don't really care for sports.
I am bereft beyond belief.
I sleep on a futon.
I'm not racist towards anyone.
I take a stand against bullies.
I'm not too fond of myself,
but I've come a long way.

Do you want to be with me?

It's about fashion, fabric and one of the most fantastic days in a couple's life.

For the fifth year, the MTSU Department of Human Sciences and Oaklands Mansion are partners in presenting "Wedding Dresses through the Decades." The exhibit is slated for Sunday, Jan. 10, through Sunday, March 6, at the mansion, 900 N. Maney Ave. in Murfreesboro.

"We are building a tradition that links generations," said Deborah Belcher, chair of the human sciences department. "The historic details and family stories are exquisite, heartwarming and engaging."

A broad diversity of styles in the exhibit represents the changing tastes and mores of American society.

"The Textiles, Merchandising and Design program at MTSU maintains a 750-plus piece collection of historic garments, and we'll have four of our wedding gowns on display," said Teresa King, a professor in the human sciences department.

Those four gowns are from the years 1860, 1891, 1900 and 1912. Overall, the display includes wedding dresses from 1947 through today, including the 2008 gown of WSMV-TV anchor/reporter Demetria Kalodimos, an original design by Rosie Woodruff of Textile Fabrics in Nashville.

"The TXMD program also offers a course entitled 'History of Fashion,' which introduces students to the study of garments and accessories throughout history," said King. "Students will have the opportunity to visit the Oaklands wedding gown exhibit and see history unfold as told from a bridal history perspective."

In addition, King said students from the "Fashion Illustration" course have visited previous exhibits and sketched original renditions of wedding gowns from various periods.

"Both experiences allow students to apply the knowledge gained from these TXMD courses," King said.

In addition, items from the MTSU collection will be on display in windows in the Learning Resources Center and the Ellington Human Sciences Building on campus beginning in mid-January after students return for the spring 2016 semester.

These garments will include two dresses from the 1970s and a man's suit and a woman's suit from the 1940s.

read more:http://www.marieaustralia.com

www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses

One I trust
Apart from the rest
Held in esteem
Never uncomfortable

There is a type
I should have recognized
Acting like the elite
Oddly separated

Starts with help
Coming to you
As you expect
You knew I would

Quiet, that's me
Shy
Dependent on praise
Lifts up my day

Take it slow
Tickles your brain
Knowing to fast
Will show your hand

Praises daily
Addicting to me
Depending more
Using less of me

Influence is drastic
Friends try to intervene
Blow them off
Keep listening

Day after day
Time after time
I fall
You catch

Pace quicknes
Growing need
The opening arrives
Move in, breath held

Hair rises on nape of neck
Ignore it you croon
Immersed in your world now
Friends alienated

Classes missed
None notice
Weeks gone
Mail piles up

Semester ends
No sign I exist
Missing person
Name on a poster

Tears fall down cheeks
Eyes dull
Just what thrills you
Conquests, dolls

Poster fades
Rips and disappears
Trapped even now
So gullible

Tiring of the look
I cringe
Wondering at the days
Darkness blissful

Fresh posters hung
Face full of life
Whispers abundant
Body found, remember her

If only they had reported
Even now they are the key
He is a predator
The worst kind

My killer was my mentor
Friend to the School
The rich task master
Jollies in blood

A new poster
Hangs beside mine
Another is missing
Soon another body they will find

Teach your young early
Keep them vigilant
Make them depend on themselves
This kills his type


Written by Niyah Love
All rights reserved

Right when
us glee clubbers
were about to go
on tour,
to someplace
like New York
or England
or someplace,
but I forget where,
I quit,
and the conductor
was furious about it,
and stopped me
on the stairs,
and told me
that I would never sing
in another choral group
again,
but the next semester,
I was singing away
in choral union.

In the beginning of the college class semester we all were asked to read and inter operate:) a poem and at the end of the semester we were asked to re-inter operate:) it and see how all of our thoughts and feelings were changed after taking a class on Death and Dying. The poem is called “The Angel of Death is Always with me” by Morton Marcus. My thoughts did not change and I took over the class with my interpretation because everyone else said it is something like a reaper knocking at your door ready to take you away.

THE ANGEL OF DEATH IS ALWAYS WITH ME

The Angel of Death is always with me
the hard wild flowers of his teeth,
his body like cigar smoke
swaying through a small town jail.

He is the wind that scrapes through our months,
the train wheels grinding over our syllables.
He is the footstep continually pacing through our
chests,
the small wound in the soul,
the meteor puncturing the atmosphere.
And sometimes he is merely a quiet between the start
of an act
and its completion,
a silence so loud
it shakes you like a tree.

It is only then you look up from the wars,
from the kisses,
from the signing of business agreements;
It is only then you observe the dimensions
housed in the air of each day,
each moment;
only then you hear the old caressing the cold rims of
their sleep,
hear the middle-aged women in love with their pillows
weeping into the gray expanse of each dawn,
where young men, dozing in alleys,
envision their loneliness to be a beautiful girl
and do not know they are part of a young girl's dream,
as she does not know that she is a dream in the sleep
of middle-aged women and old men,
and that all are contained in a gray wind
that scrapes through our months.

But soon we forget that the dead sleep in buried
cities,
that our hearts contain them in ripe vaults.
We forget that beautiful women dry into parchment
and ball players collapse into ash;
that geography wrinkles and smoothes
like the expressions on a face,
and that not even children
can pick the white fruit from the night sky.

And how could we laugh while looking at the face
that falls apart like wet tobacco?
How could we wake each morning
to hear the muffled gong beating inside us,
our mouths full of shadows,
our rooms filled with a black dust?

Still,
it is humiliating to be born a bottle:
to be filled with air, emptied, filled again;
to be filled with water, emptied, filled again;
and, finally, to be filled with earth.

And yet I am glad that The Angel of Death is always
with me:
his footsteps quicken my own,
his silence makes me speak,
his wind freshens the weather of my day.
And it is because of him
I no longer think
that with each beat
my heart
is a planet drowning from within
but an ocean filling for the first time.

And This is What I Told the Class….

Adolf ****** and the **** SS come to mind after reading the clue riddled poem, “The Angel of Death is Always with me”. Hiding between the lines I find there are many reference points to the holocaust and feelings of how it might have felt from a prisoner’s point of view.

If my assumptions are valid with this interpretation as far as the relationship of “death to Life” is concerned, one would think that after witnessing all the atrocities that one saw in those concentration camps, one would almost welcome death as soon as possible as a way to escape from their living nightmare and be welcomed back into being a part of the earth so they no longer have to whisper softly, “We are the dead” and pray that they become a victim of an accident of birth.

I normally don’t comment on other people’s works in poetry for the simple fact that I try to jump into their shoes and try to understand just what it is the message they are diligently trying to convey to the reader, and in the doing of so, I feel that I might misunderstand just what it is they are trying to tell the world and in the doing of so I would then not be able to make the ranks of a poet with originality.
(SirCARSr. 4-7-14)

he sits at a desk in the library.
it’s nearly midnight and you watch him
take his notes and drink his water.
you’re a desk away from him
and you know that it’s much too late
to be making conversation
but he looks up
ruffles his own hair
and smiles at you something weary
something tired
something beautiful enough to
make you smile back
more genuinely than you honestly should.
he’s a stranger but it’s fine.

it’s dead silent in here
just you and the books
and the millions of things you could say
wrapped up in them
and while you’re trying to think of something
he curls his lips around the words
“finals, huh?”

you laugh and say
“yeah man.”

you want to maybe elaborate
tell him that this psychology exam
might actually be the death of you
tell him that you’ve been studying for
four hours straight and you think your eyes
might actually fall out of your head.

he laughs back and nods
“how many exams you got left?”

you groan
“just one. you?”

“two.”

“good luck with that”

he laughs and you want to say something
to make him do it again

he feels special
you know?
like.
you just know sometimes
but the air doesn’t feel like magic
it feels like you’re in a library
at midnight the night before a final exam
that you don’t know a **** thing about
but the guy a desk away from you
is still looking at you.
he’s still.
looking at you.

and you hadn’t noticed but
you’re still looking at him too.

he says
“i’ve been here since like six.
do you wanna get a coffee?”

just a little smile around the words
“yeah, sure.”

and you put away your psychology notes
and your laptop and your book
even though you’ll need to study for
at least three more hours to understand
a single thing it’s fine.
he packs up his things and the two of you
walk to the elevator.
he lets you press the button

you ask
“what were you studying?”

he says
“bio. you?”

“psych.”

“ouch.”

“yeah”
you laugh
and he laughs
and the elevator laughs
as it dings and opens its doors
even the environment has begun to
take part in your merriness.

you step inside
he hits the button for the first floor
and he says
“i took psych last semester.
which one are you in?”

you say
“one-ten.”

he says
“yeah that one’s rough. barely
passed it.”

“tell me about it”
you joke

and then the elevator dings again
and the doors open again
and the two of you fumble to step out
like you go first no you go first
and it’s all very cute

and you get to the starbucks on the first floor
get in line and take note of
how many people are still here
frantically cramming information into their
tired
tired
brains.

time skip
you two have your coffee.
you sit at a little table that
just barely became vacant
and you sip.
you got something hot and
he got something cold
and you thought it was cute because
it’s december and here he is with a frappe.

you chit and you chat
and think maybe this could be that
romance for the ages
that the movies talk about.

his laugh is like a jingle bell
happy holidays to you both
it seems.

he smiles at you again and you
sip your coffee
and before you know it
it's dangerously approaching 2 a.m.
but you can’t bring yourself to
check the time anymore

you laugh until you’re not strangers anymore
and he says
“this is such a great study break”

you say
“i’m so glad you asked to get coffee”

he smiles and says
“me too.”

and it’s all downhill from there

(or is it uphill?
you never can remember).

I woke up late this morning, my phone was dead. I guess I never plugged it in, I found it buried under my pillow (erah!). I barely had time for anything, just managing to cover the basics as the “Whoop” sound signaled my first virtual classroom opening. A pop-up announced that the class would be recorded and available later. “Yessss!” I thought, as I put in my airpods.

My room is surprisingly full of houseplants. There’s a ponytail palm, an anthurium and philodendrons sending down tendrils of heart-shaped leaves from shelves and tables. I drew open my curtains and the room bloomed, morning sunny. It was 22° but my windows are almost always cracked open to let in some real air.

I’m dressed in an unstylish, black school hoodie, short pajama pants, long socks and fluffy, pink slippers for my virtual class. My still-wet hair looked attractively mop-like. I began brushing it out while arranging the colored gel-pens and highlighters I use to take notes.

Was I ever starving, but I could only imagine breakfast. Ever notice how the sun looks like a giant egg-yolk? At least my Keurig was on the job - burping, whirring and dripping like a malfunctioning steam engine as it rendered lifesaving French Vanilla coffee that smelled like caffeinated heaven.

As the professor started talking about the syllabus, outlining the types of problems we’ll be working on this semester and reminding us of things we learned in our intro to econ class, a teaching assistant, in another window, asked us to press the roll-call icon and reminded us we had a paper due (this is why we read our syllabus, people). Then the assistant's window became a countdown timer showing what remained of the ten minutes we’d been given to upload the first-day’s homework.

Twenty minutes into the class, I was combed out and ponytailed, coffeed-up and positively vibrating with pleasure - I LOVE this stuff - strategies, actions, outcomes and payoffs. Student life is unnatural, stressful and myopic - but it can be thrilling too.

There was a knock on my door frame (the door to my room is almost always open), and one of my roommates, Sunny, was there. “Morning, Princess Anesthesia,” she said, teasing me about over-sleeping.

I pointed to my pink-M1-iMac screen, to indicate I was in class and she tossed me a bag. I knew, at once, that it was breakfast from the cafeteria. “I love you,” I mouthed, before turning back to the screen.

Spring Semester has begun.

is that the people who
don’t know where
their lives are going
are the only ones worth
being around and that
i should take my poetry
the same way i take my
coffee: strong and cheap
and wherever i can,
however it comes.
what i learned this semester
is that if you don’t get lost
it doesn’t count as an
adventure and if she
doesn’t gasp over the
skyline she isn’t worth
your bus money.
what i learned this semester
is how to find the best stories
where no one else looks;
in the people who sleep
under street lamps and
push their lives around
in shopping carts
and that once their words
hit, everything around you
turns to either promise
or poison.
what i learned this semester,
more than any formula or
literary device,
is that there’s a life here
waiting for me. i will remember
what reality feels like.

When last I lay with you my Love-
lay with you in your narrow bed
in your room, off campus, near the mall.
in your last semester of Pre- Med.

That day I’d helped you move your things
And after our feast of pie and beer
You were loathe to let me go
In your narrow bed you held me near.

Your hair was then a fiery red
Your milk white ******* had known no sun
I kept eye contact as I inclined
to worship Venus ever young..

I held you in your narrow bed
hardness in softness intertwined
about a thousand kisses worth
yes, the name you called was mine.

Sweating in a chilly room
Your landlord didn’t give much heat
I held you then for the last time
Both knowing and not knowing that.

You moved away, we grew apart
I met the girl who’d be my wife
You had your practice in L.A.
We both got along with life.


Thirty winters passed me by
I heard that you were back in town
I hurried out to visit you.
To see your face for one last time.


Your brother met me at the door-
The one who used to be a priest
He led me to the open casket
Where your body lay at peace

Streaks of grey were in your hair
The strain of cancer marred you face
But though the battle had been lost
Were you not now in a better place?

Laid out in a pale blue dress
A rosary wrapped around your hands
if they were warm and capable-
Could they make me feel young again?

I left you, Ellen, one last time
Feeling overcome by tears
I clutched my coat against the cold
That reached for me across the years.

It's that time of year again,
the time we all know is coming,
and start thinking about the weather changes,
to frosty mornings and amber trees.

After a day of feasting,
avoiding questions from nosy relatives,
the nipping wind sends a chilling reminder,
that the time is almost here.

It's the night before,
everyone's eaten and
we rush off to bed,
but some can't sleep,
and stay up late into the night,
trying to find a hint of what's coming.

Then the next day comes,
where everyone wakes up,
and rushes down.

They shovel down their breakfast,
and check their bags to make sure they have everything,
then it's time for the surprise.

The surprise everyone has been waiting for,
everyone anxiously waiting,
with an eerie silence that hangs like a dense fog,
only broken by the sounds of paper being flipped around.

Some go through it quickly,
while others take their time.
When they finish,
there are shouts of joy and happiness.

And once it's all over,
everyone sleeps and relaxes.

The time has past,
until the end of the next semester.

It was early in my first semester teaching in a Chinese high school,
(also my first semester teaching, ever). As a new and inexperienced
teacher I was feeling kind of useless. The fact that the ‘foreign
teacher English classes’ aren’t taken too seriously at my school
didn’t help. Sitting alone in this foreign land, I was often left
wondering, ‘why am I here? What am I doing? What do I have to offer?’

I was giving my first test of the semester to one of my classes. There
was a girl in the class, sitting near the front by the window, and I
saw that she wasn’t doing any work on her test. Sometimes students
have a hard time with these tests, but I thought she was one of the
smarter students in the class. She looked really upset, but I didn’t
know what to do. I didn’t even know her name yet.

Once I collected all the tests back and started marking them, I
realized that not only did she not write anything on the test, she
didn’t even write her name. Not knowing the answers to the questions
is one thing, but not even writing her name, that was another thing
all together.

The next day, I asked her to stay after class and talk to me. I asked
why she didn’t write the test and she began to explain how she had
thought about killing herself the night before the test. She wanted to
take some medicine so that she would never wake up. But when she
thought about her mother and how upset she would be, she decided
against it.

We continued to talk for a while about her life, her goals, her
dreams. How she was often sad and depressed, how she missed being home
in her village, how she had no friends at school and really didn’t
like school. But she knew she must study hard in order to get a good
job and take care of her family. I did my best to encourage her, and
mostly just to listen.

After about an hour, she said, “Thank you. You are the first person
that has talked to me.”

I almost started crying when she said that. After being at school for
6 months no one – student or teacher, had really talked to her? Sure
her teachers had noticed a drop in her grades on the latest exam
scores. But no one had bothered to talk to her, ask her if there was a
problem.

Over the next few months Sarah and I wrote letters back and forth. She
described her home to me, and was always happy when she got a holiday
so she could go home for a few days for a visit.

Meeting Sarah confirmed to me that I was in the right place at the
right time. God really does know what He’s doing. If in the year or
two of teaching in China the only thing I accomplished was putting a
smile on one girl’s face, then it was all worthwhile.

I can get over the face in the mirror.
In fact I kind of like it, bunched and
furrowed in thoughts, wet webs of contempt.

I wonder if I'd be a good father.
It doesn't take much to show up.

How am I going to tell my step-dad
my grades ******* blow this semester?
These are the
important questions.

How will I tell this futuristic child
St. Nicholas died in the 4th century CE?
Is telling him/her a bad thing, or
is there somehow more fun in that?

I've caught myself treating twitter profiles
like messiahs, without the martyr.
Those two lines sound very self-serving
because I don't write sarcasm well.
I've found coherence to be tedious
and boring and that's barely it.

Most sad poems are also
beautiful because they are pure,
untainted and untouchable, some
golden pendant forged of
***** not given.

If I have a son.
If he has my face, my mind.
He will be sad. He will not know why.
He will be an artist. But he will not just create. He has to learn.

You cannot make a thing without first
taking a thing away.

These golden sunglasses
Appeared on my doorstep
The last day of
The spring semester,
Sitting in a plastic pumpkin.

They weren’t mine
But when they break
I get them fixed
And when they don’t sit straight
I keep them
Because they remind me
Of how finals were over
And I slept through so many goodbyes.

The night before
We lay in your room
Sounds flowing through us like
Waves in the ocean,
Then moved to the grass outside
Watching more shooting stars than I could count.
The wood by the dorms was dark
And we ventured in in fits and starts,
The shadows of authority figures
Dancing around us.
The gazebo was silent.
And we journeyed across campus,
A pilgrimage through abandoned constructions
To see the church alight in the dark,
But the power was out and it was nothing.

I woke up in the afternoon
And knew that spring wouldn’t be back
For us.

The sunglasses weren’t mine
But someone left them at my door
And I keep them.