Good morning is what I say
when I reach my office at night.
All my friends and colleagues
look cool and bright.
Till 2 o'clock there is
work, gossip and fun.
After 2, the clock stops
and everyone peeps out for sun.
Bright shining faces
now changes to dull.
Changing environment
makes many lull.
My fatigued eyelids
becomes so heavy.
Now computer appears boring to me,
a computer savvy.
My sleep becomes wild
and starts playing game.
All my efforts with my
sleep goes in vain.
sleep wins the game,
I start my journey from hell to heaven
But a ghost interrupts my journey
with a shout all of a sudden.
I open my eyes to see my TL
who appears so cruel.
It seems he is going to burn me
with fire and fuel.
I put down my head in shame
and wondered why it happened to me.
I remembered, I used to laugh
at a bird who was wild and free.
I was sure it was
the curse of an owl.
It was result of my deeds
now I cannot cry foul.
After sometime sleep decides to play
with TL the same old game.
The result was no different
it was known and same.
My TL falls asleep while
browsing some computer files.
All around the floor
there were giggles and smiles.
All of a sudden he wakes up
as if he has seen some ugly ghost.
In dream TL's boss must have offered
him cockroach sauce and toast.
TL saw my smiles and his glasses
couldn't hide his murderous glares.
He looked at me as if I was a cactus
and made me sit upstairs
I was very careful because
very close TL's boss used to sit
He was a man who never smiled
and was very strict.
A young girl sitting beside me
had frog like bulging eyes
She was very quiet,
looking tired, dull and shy.
Poor innocent girl
repeated the same old mistake
Sleep tricked her,
she couldn't keep herself awake
Next moment there were
scoldings and shouts.
Hapless girl stood stunned
hearing boss's spouts.
If Allah Almighty can listen
to prayers of a bird
Prayers of an anguished heart
is sure to be heard.
Cunning sleep walked
knavishly on the floor.
All around the floor was
audible boss's noisy snores.
Entire floor stood up
to look at him with surprise
He woke-up abruptly
looking around with disgraceful eyes.
The shame was too much
for him to ignore or digest.
Hurriedly he took the keys
of his maroon car and left.

Hot Tottie!

The TL’s galfriend has fine curvy thighs in her dark blue jeans

The TL’s galfriend has fine ******* that Red wants to ****

The TL’s galfriend has fine lips to kiss whomever she kisses

The TL’s galfriend has fine proportioned lower lips in her *******

The TL’s galfriend has fine smiles when she sees Brian with his gal

The TL’s galfriend has fine greetings on meeting in and out of work

The TL’s galfriend has fine hips to make TL a daddy four times over

The TL’s galfriend has fine shape to please all people all the time

The TL’s galfriend has fine attributes in every single lovely way

School was always humuorous to a degree in my opinion because of the underlying idea
that the more damaged you were, the cooler you were in the eyes of the rest of the school.
I have heard numerous conversations that began with something along the lines of, "Oh, you
think YOU got it bad, well my dad blah blah and my best friend blah blah and my life is hell."

I decided to get a little personal and share with you guys something I have never actually
told anyone in entirety yet. I am pretty sure the whole story is still only here in my brain.
I will, out of respect for these people, change their names.

It's October 31, 2012. It's about noon, and all of us sixteen to twenty-two year olds are just waking up.
Brianne woke up probably a few hours ago already to tend to her son, Aaron. He is adorable, one
and a half, blond hair, blue eyes. I have been living here for nearly two months. I am supporting her,
Aaron, and myself with food stamps. I get two hundred dollars a month to basically smoke **** and drink
on the government's budget. Trust me, I'm not proud of it either, and if I could I would pay it back.
Since Brianne is a single mother and an adopted child, she has a single-digit monthly rent (I was *******
baffled to hear this) and receives support from her foster parents. Basically, if I want to stay here forever
with absolutely no consequences save to miss out on a life of my own, I can.

Brandon is putting on clown make-up so he can troll the streets as a juggalo. I find this amusing as I always
liked to mess around with ICP fans, but he's a really cool kid so I let it go and I even help him perfect it.
I notice he has a bottle of Stolichnaya in his backpack and it's practically full. That, to me, is temptation.
I ask if he would mind me taking a few drinks here and there from the bottle and he says it's fine, so I proceed
to get a nice one p.m. buzz. It was always my favorite drunk, very light, and airy, almost like you're still asleep.
Something bogs you down, but it doesn't bother you, somehow it makes you lighter.

For the rest of the day, we hook up with a few friends, go out and trick or treat in the pouring rain, get soaked
and wait for two hours under an overpass while Brianne goes and gets her car. From there, we proceed home.

At this point, everyone is over at Breanne's and we're all making dinner and drinking beer and having a good time
(Aaron is with the grandparents tonight). I guess I started getting angry about the recent events (for about a month,
everyone in our group with the exception of Brandon have been slowly losing items...but they're obviously being stolen.
At a point, a few of us did some research and determined the only person who could possibly have stolen
a good deal of these things has to be Brandon) and I decided I was tired of sitting on the news waiting for no one to make
a move after a solid two weeks of being certain that we had our guy. So I called him out... and proceeded
to begin burning bridges slowly and very surely for the next few days. I am pretty sure a fight would have broken out
if Bri hadn't taken me into her room to relax. When I finally do, it turns out I woke up the upstairs neighbor,
her baby, and everyone in the house has left save for my friend Jeff and his girlfriend Marissa. This concludes night one.

I later learned that Brandon was not actually the person who was stealing from us (unless of course
he just happened to not get caught when we found out who had done most of it) and I feel bad for bringing the whole
thing up because I would have liked to stay in touch with him. We got along swimmingly and he actually did have
a lot of interesting things to talk about. Smart, nice, hilarious... Well, maybe he'll turn up one day.

The next morning, I woke up to find the house empty save for Jeff and Marissa in the next room, but where I am,
it simply appears empty. I don't know what happened but I intuit that I have been sleeping all night without
my girlfriend. This upsets me and I begin to weep like a confused child, which is exactly what you do when you're
helpless and too drunk in the brain to figure out how to pull yourself out of a helpless situation (trust me,
I own the handbook). Marissa walks in and begins to explain to me that I had scared her too much and she slept
on the couch and that she had left to go pick up her son. So I realize I need to calm down, but I can feel
Jeff is not happy with me in the slightest, considering he will not come and talk to me (this is extremely painful
because he is probably one of the best friends I have ever had, with a mind that vastly exceeds that of everyone
I have met save one other, and he's a different story). They leave and I decide to stay in the house all day.

This is a very bad idea. I stay home, watch re-runs of a show I have seen billions of times, and considering
that Brandon and I are no longer on good terms, like a complete *******, I drink the rest of his *****.

In walks Bri, it's around 7. She's not happy. She proceeds to tell me that the night before I asked out a friend of mine
and she said yes. And I was a bit shocked because I couldn't remember it at first. Then it all hit me.

A few days before, Aaron called me "dad." Now remember, this is not my child. I am dark, dark, dark, and she had this kid
about two years after we had any past relationship. I am extremely worried in my mind and I realize I am headed toward nothing.
That I am stagnant and can not even afford to go back to school. This scares me, so I drunkenly asked out Tanya.

Tanya...we had been friends for about five years, and I had tried to get with her so many **** times... she was like
one of those girls you see and you're instantly reminded of an anime character. Tall, thin, beautiful hips, perfect
proportions, lovely hair, eyes, voice, and a personality I can liken to a Disney princess/black metal lumberjack.
The kind of girl who has a tough exterior, but inside, she just wants someone to tell her everything is going to be ok.

After about two hours of pleading with Bri to let me stay, I finally send Tanya a message, and we hang out for the next
two days, whence I whisper in her ear that everything is going to be okay and we proceed to have quite passionate ***
for those nights, where I discovered the secret to making a woman ****** with my tongue (tip: if the underside of your
tongue isn't completely torn apart, you're doing something wrong). But alas, I could not stay.

This is the part I dreaded, because I know I have to go back to Jeff's house and ask him if I can stay there for a while.
And I got the answer I expected.

The words he used...

"I'm *******...extremely ******* at you, and disappointed." It was like a father saying it to you. And him and I
have a very interesting friendship built on such an extreme understanding that I knew exactly how badly I had been spiraling.
I began to leave and he gave me a slice of pizza, with that slight smile that told me "just go find yourself, we'll be fine."

I hobbled off into the night drunk, with one piece of pizza and all my food at Bri's, which could have lasted me another few days,
easing the transition into homeless. And it could have prevented a horrible occurance that took place the following afternoon. I
was crying, because I knew I was dying, but I didn't want to ask either of my parents for help, because this was the first time
I was out on my own and I was far too proud to give up and let the world make me its victim. So I walked...

Sixteen ******* miles...

To the next town. Took me all night because I was dodging traffic, easing into trees, avoiding on and off ramps, trying to stay
away from any police that may exist on the road. When I finally arrived in the next town (where I knew I may have one contact)
I decided to sleep until the morning came so I could have the energy to find my next venture.

It was five thirty am. I had 3 hours until sun-up, I had just walked enough to be burning, and there was plenty of whiskey in my veins.
I had left my sleeping bag with Tanya hours earlier, wishing in the park that I had not been so naiive as to think I would be allowed
back in the house. So I pulled out a pile of ***** clothes and put them over me like blankets, in some random corner of the local
park, under some bushes, hidden from cold and sight, with great hope...

Fifteen minutes pass. My eyes shoot open. I am freezing. The sweat has dried and frozen to my body. This is hell.

I grab my things and with the worst effort I can ever remember myself mustering, I drag myself to the toilet.
When I open it, the first thing I check for is cleanliness. It's spotless. I am so relieved. I sit in the corner of the room,
which my knees to my chest, head in my hands, wrapped in a leather jacket I had gotten from Jeff (ha, he really is my
guardian angel, though he would laugh to hear it).

I catch winks, occasionally looking up to check if the sun is rising. When it finally is, I get up, change my clothes (I had
ONE clean set of clothing and it had been rotting with the rest in the backpack) and immediately head to a thrift store where
a family friend is working.

On my way there, I notice in a little parking lot near the store a sight I had never actually come across but I always thought
would be the most amazing luck, and it was timed in such a spot in my life that it was the ultimate miracle...and a curse in
disguise.

In front of my eyes (this miracle appeared in my path as I was walking looking down, so it startled me) was the worst possible thing
for me: A half finished fifth of Smirnoff, and a half smoked pack of Marlboro 100 Reds. I open the pack and sure enough, the celophane
protected every cigarette inside from any water damage. I am ecstatic. This is not only amazing, but highly unlikely.

So I down the bottle in one go and take the rest of the smokes with me.

When I arrive at the thrift shop, it turns out I am there on a day when my potential savior is not working, so I get her number from the clerk
and head over to a payphone and realize... I have no money. So I decide to go on a quest for dropped pocket change.

Before I even leave the parking lot, I see a young man, no older than 23, sitting on a nice red classic-style Corvette and he's
reading William S. Burroughs. So naturally, I decide to strike up a conversation with the young man. Turns out he's the nicest guy
and his name is Jordan. So him and I got together and decided to go out for a game of disc golf (some may not know what this is;
Imagine frisbee but with a golf theme, so you need to get from a tee pad into a basket. Really fun, centering, and extremely popular
with potheads, Californians, beer-drinkers, and hippies) and before we go, he asks if I would like to snag a few beers first.

I tell him a piece of my story and he can tell I am down on my luck and broke so he decides to help me out. He buys us both some beer
and we proceed to disk.

Turns out he's an ex-****** and has been through quite a bit of hell himself, so we find that we're in a good position to help each
other make some better decisions in life. After the game, we go over to a payphone and he gives me money to call my friend.

Buzz (this the only name I am not changing because her name is ******* badass) answers the phone and unfortunately informs me that
though she would take me in any day of the year, she just moved in to a house with one older lady she takes care of, and its a single
bedroom apartment, so there is just no way it can work.

So I go back to his car and tell him the news, and he says he thinks he may be able to put me up for a few days until I can sort
everything out. We go back out to the store and grab ourselves a fifth of *****.

We end up in the park playing music, talking, performing standup for one another, and I begin to realize I am drinking too fast,
so I try to ease back a little. He was playing a version of a Radiohead song I had never heard before

"Everyone this way. Okay, get your hands against the wall. Spread your legs. Don't move."
The doors clanking, some ******* won't shut up in the next cell over.
More slamming of doors, someone rubbing my body all over trying to find my knives, no doubt.
And my AK 47 I conceal, and my ****, and my ... oh ****, I really did have **** on me.

"Move forward. Turn around. Alright, go to bed."

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

"Get up. Come on, slowly... There you go. There's a few more coming in so we got to get you to another cell."

Clank, clank...

"Pick a bed."

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

Something is wrong. This bed is not covered. There is no comfort. It's just a mat. And I have no pillow. This is not a house
of any sort, my bag isnt what I am sleeping on. Something is very wrong here.

I am in jail. Oh of course.

I know the answer before I hear it, but I ask anyway: "What are my charges, ma'am?"

"Drunk in public."

-------------------------------------------------------­------------------------

I'm about thirty miles or so North of inner Seattle. Not a bad place to be. I'm working for a Safeway. It's somewhere around
the first of June. I receive word that Bri has been on ******. And I may have left at a crucial time in her life thinking
only of myself, but I needed to go somewhere I could be productive. Yet my decision left her in a position where she turned
to hard drugs...

I can't help but feel I am to blame. I am listening to the dull, stupid words of my ex boss, Rod, who is telling me
that even though I may feel like I need to help her, there is nothing I can do for her, so I should bury myself in my work
instead. He tells me this in about six hundred different ways before I leave the room after twenty minutes. Well great.
I may have no focus here at work today, but at least I killed almost a half hour of the day just listening to someone
*******.

I am at a loss of what to do here, but I eventually get a hold of her, and after a long time not talking, we come to
somewhat of a closure, and she is beginning to sober up herself. I realize we were both in incredibly hard times, and I still
wish with all my heart there could have been some way I could have helped her raise that boy and stayed and been her
love, and at the same time, still go to college, and progress and get a good job...but I was in a small Northern California
town. There was nothing left, all the old shops were out of business. It was time for me to move on then, and we have
all seen better days for it. She looks incredible these days by the way. She lost an insane amount of weight, and I know
a lot of it had to do with the drugs, but if she truly is sober like she says she is, she'll be getting much better.

A few weeks ago 3 people I used to know and hang out with died in the span of a week. It was a terrible tragedy, and I have been
thinking back on all the names of people I used to love very, very much before they got lost in some way.

There's Lorne Holly, who killed himself after a few weeks of detoxing from crank.

Layla Harmon, who died in a car crash, blunt head trauma, with a drunk driver (I have a tattoo for this, I will never drive drunk).

Heavy Eagle, who killed himself after years of drug problems.

Chaz Lipman, who died in a car crash as well.

Ren Rain, who I am still not sure about...

And of course, Tray Beraldi, who was my closest friend's cousin... I wish I were there to mourne with him...

Last night I got a text from my best friend, who said he couldn't sleep and he barely eats anything anymore, and he feels like his throat
is going to explode, and he cant swallow and his neck is killing him constantly. He has been this way for a year, and he is talking constantly
about getting a gun and blowing his head off. And no one believes him because he constantly talks about it because he is in so much pain.
No doctor can diagnose him so far, he has no idea what's wrong with him, he's been tested all over the place, he has no hope, he's barely
cligning and he doesn't know how much longer he can hold on.

All I really want to say is

Lord? What I have done? I don't pray, I never pray, I don't even know who I would pray to. But WHAT ELSE DO I HAVE TO DO?!

I bring myself across hell and I pull myself from the worst depression I h

Battling TL Leaves B2B
The Fake God finally won the battle
The battling TL got booted out of the B2B account
She asked him how he would feel on it
It’s ok as we’re friends and you’re still here
You reported the Fake God for his six thou wanga
He got another rep to give him and he lost ninety four thou
When suspended that month tho he was finished
The call centre rescinded that and gave him a month rest
He came back as only he can do the job
You reported his lieutenant lap dog for dodgy upsells
The magic number is five users add four to the one you picked
Both are still there like pet dog and food bowl
You mark on the account is noted and in my poems
All the best on your reassignment
And stick with the army training too

i've grown tired of my words
because they sound so much
like me.

Time stopped in the dark street illuminated with sparking electric bulbs, sputtering cold light from their beings onto the shining asphalt upon which my feet pound, blood pounding in my ears, drumming a tempo which I cannot begin to understand. Why am I running, these streets made of oblivion shining slick like the scales of a great beast beyond human recollection, something older than we can ever hope to be. Pounding again, beads of moisture fixing themselves to myself, my face chest hair dripping as my hands like swords pointed pump in semicircles, wicking moisture to be replaced with the tears of the incessant storm raging from the heavens; god knows my light-winged thoughts of vigilante vendetta, I’m racing for blood other than that which lights my eyes with the fire of blazing vengeful purpose – this god sees, he sends the storm to make known his rage through which I fight because this within me is bigger than myself, consuming my mind with one-track riots I am racing to destroy this evil with my humble hands, the power I feel beneath my skin, my body more capable when roused with blind ferocity I become a demon, I have black-winged spirits leaving fire in my wake, each step pounding pounding, separating water from stone, stone cracking fire springing up beneath my footprints occupying empty space left by my electric heels, I transfer the energy brimming within me to the pavement because I cannot possibly contain it all. Hands like blades cutting merciless, cleaving wind and water alike as each stride heavy with effort carries me closer to my destination, I am no longer dependent on the strength of my body i let the boundless energy beneath the seams of this reality consume me, I am theirs to do their bidding. I know this road never ends, but I will never stop running. The rain no longer falls beside me, my force is greater than that of gravity, I drag it in my wake – time has slowed as my steps drum a tattoo on the black pavement, the frequency, the tempo ever-increasing to a frenzied rate I hear angels singing songs of sorrow for what I am about to do, but they understand I must and they are there for me – their chorus reaffirms, encourages invigorates frenzy into a force uncontainable, unstoppable by methods divine or mundane, resolves, time stops I hear nothing but the heartbreaking din of angels their voices drown out the world I am theirs as I reach the edge with little conviction and heavy faith I cast my arms behind me as I slide through the air...all has slowed as my feet leave the ground, my arms divine wings I am intent on my goal I take one final breath and close my eyes as the raindrop I have sought collides with my forehead, the purest note sounds as it breaks upon my brow. Visions and memory of light explode into being, enveloping me in the splendor of all things willing as I, like the rain, spread myself to the whole of existence I vanish, no longer static and constrained but a part of all things.
        I hum to the tune of time, sonorous; I have become part of the peaceful wind kissing all things. Here I am content, I strike chords within the hearts of lovers and romantics winded by their own passions – I have joined the choir and taken up my fabled robes, welcome home.
        Welcome home.

Negatives and Positives
they cancel each other out
We're at zero now
Tied on the scoreboard

Sleep deprived
and hollow on the inside
Bags under my eyes,
I was searching for something

Remember that summer night on the roof?
Smoking *** and singing RnB
That's the only place I wanted to be
cool thanks to that summer breeze

But that summer breeze turned into a winter storm
and it tore me away from our special place
on the timeline

If I could speak
I would spill these lamentations
cloistered sins and secrets
whispered vespers for wretched dreams
Retching sentiment
this malignant manifesto
a macabre mantra
eats my skin from within
transient refuge for temporal treasures
inexorable moments carry life away

tick tick tick
the seconds scurry
flurried ineffectual supplications
demigods of affluence
the cacophony of the machine
I spin within
cogniscient of my myopia
the funneled tunnel vision
drips from the end of a pen
furtive verses on paper
fading ochre moments
somber drops of ash and bone
poetic exorcisms
of wicked things unknown

phrenetic
sensibilities trickle
spilling life
black and withering
is the gain worth sacrifice
crackling fat of dreams
too costly
this shallow palette
self obsessed
eyes gouged out
hands shackled
to the reality
the immortality

trust the dust
the dust becomes me
soul focused on decay
spectre death
devouring this unsparked spirit
If I could speak
truth into your heart
would you
believe.....
in anything more than what you see
I trust the dust and dust will be
the remnant me
TL Boehm
042508

i tried to tangle with your ends because i thought you were different (than me). i didn't know i was fighting a law of physics when i gravitate towards your skin. we're not supposed to be such a ball of threads yet i'm trying to entangle from your effortless force.

*tl;dr: you were a clear lake and i probably was just trying to love myself. loved you instead.

xix. but if i were to die by my own hands (my honest dying note would probably mention my uni life) would he turn a blind eye like he always does or would he erase me as if i was never there? i'll never know because i wont die just because i want to. i'll never know, of course, because i'll live and graduate and i'll be the one who forgets him, not vice versa

the only reason im here is to run away & i failed, so i keep seeking for ways to flee, i keep fighting my own shadow. why would anyone study their soul out just to get into the so called best uni in the country that is far away from their home, i wonder as well. my intention was not to study, i wanted to die. im breathing fine. sometimes i get too excited it's so uncomfortable & when i fall it's a dry and dusty abandoned well, you know that my vision stays in the ground. doesnt the soil look lovely, i wonder as well.

the only reason im here is because i am alive, i dont know why it is so obvious to other people yet it's an epiphany to me. i shouldnt be alive today. i shouldnt have survived 2014, let alone 2015 & 2016. it's almost may and now i start to think how nice it will be to be old and have more space for peace rather than keeping chaos as a pet.

this is embarrassing, sure, but sometimes i think i need to feel embarrassed. do you get what i mean, because i kinda dont. anyway, if this is something i can be proud of, i'll without any doubt brag to my parents and post it all over my social media. ive never liked bragging online, but if it's so good i'll think so hard of why not and still not get any good answer. it's a curse for vain people to get trapped inside a body with low self esteem. (fact)

maybe i made a mistake when i entered this uni. all i could think of was death, i didn't think i would be alive until halfway to graduation. now i dont worry about when i'll be able to die anymore, i just worry about when i'll be able to properly study just like the student i used to be. i just worry if i can graduate on time, i just worry if i can graduate with honor. how naive this kid is, i hope she remembers how she totally ruined her grades last semester. (no i dont mean thats the right pronoun i just go with the flow)

there is no flow, of course. why am i saying these things on a poetry website rather than on my rant blog, i wonder as well. i worry about the future & now all the pictures have me in them. i have many regrets about the past but they are a part of what makes me myself. (certainly not a claim that i have a clear sense of self) as for the present, i dont really like being here. i still feel like it will feel so great to not exist at all. but im breathing in anticipation. is it believable, my looking forward to the future, i wonder as well.

Single minded sister
Solitary soul searching
For my whole
Set my purpose defined
Within my spotlight mind
Could see that when you found me
My perfected sight was blind
Serendipity
Filled the emptiness in me

Wistful litanies
Distractions the futility
Of intimate action
Wife and mother not for me
The daydream others
Ceased to be desired destiny
Surprised to find in your eyes
Serendipity
The reflection of a family

This frantic spinning pace
A circular path I race
From frustration to futility
You took my hand and
Changed my course
With measured steps
you run with me
Serendipity
Without you where would I be

TL Boehm 070408
- For Dave

May be you see my life
Across miles and years
The gentle rolling hills and valleys
Verdant earth that ebbs
And flows
Summer grass cool beneath
Wearied feet
Lazy sunsets slip soft and smoky
Rest for another day
Quiet against my breast
Breath measured
I treasure you
Sheltered in my embrace

Is this your love
Blinded to the rifts
The ragged cliffs
Barren and ravaged
Weathered scars
Torrential rains and landslide chaos
Define me
Canyons so deep
Light never descends
Do you find beauty
In my weathered soul
The rush of ascent
As you fly from this valley
Pinnacle bound
and breathless
Love is rarified air

I am your oasis
In the shifting sands
Drifting dunes and valleys
I shimmer in your love
Your mirage
A vision of shelter
Beautiful
Forever....
TL Boehm
051308

In the solace
Drifting transient
Before the dawn
Quiet light
Scattered sentient thoughts
Dreams lift on gossamer wings
Effervesce on heady winds
Like milkweed fluff on a summer day
From the narrow path
I stray

Lost in thoughts
Consuming
Stones thrown from distant shores
Placid surface
Fractured
This undertow defines my mind
Spinning evidence of chaos
Purpose slips away
From the narrow path
I stray
  
Fogbound vessel
Aimless deadwood
On a restless sea
Storm tossed
Lost and anchorless
Victimized by riptides and eddies
Uncharted course each sunless day
From the narrow path
I stray

TL Boehm 040508

It's all blurred, and
I don't know whom to fight.

Cerulean breeze
on an indigo night
You flung starlight
on my stellar path
The aftermath
of lovin' on my knees
My aim to please
Falls short between wrong and right
Walkin' out my denim days
And flannel nights

Azure eyes
Serpentine disguise
Took fruit from you any way
Coiled yourself around me
In the middle of a powder blue day
Never felt the strike till you were gone
Poisoned by your midnight song
Skin bruised by scales so tight
Walkin' out my denim days
And flannel nights

I am your china girl
Your cornflower field your summer day
And you are my river flowing
My blue moment slipping away.
Walkin' out my flannel nights
Trippin' down my denim days.
TL Boehm

Everywhere I go
There I am
Casting shadowed glances
This periphery of lies
And smiles that grace the face
Gazing out from my mirror
Is it fear or something sinister within
Where does the image end and the girl begin

Everywhere I go
There I am
Cracked lips pursed in condemnation
Glass refracts the dissonance
Of this existence
Etched memories in skin
Furrowed face and furrowed mind
Beauty lost when the world is blind

Everywhere I go
There I am
Familiarity a festering wound
From love to loathing I’ve come undone
From creation to forever
Everywhere I go
I am my destiny
I can’t get away from me
TL Boehm
01/22/08

© 2008 TL Boehm

my passion is broken;
i spend my days and nights
knitting, organizing,
drinking, waiting

writing poetry hasn't ever felt hard
so maybe it's the zoloft, maybe
it's the dull repetition of days
the humdrum chaos of getting older

i want to be kissed, hard
and deep and long,
by someone with strong hands
and unwavering concentration

i am happy and quite sad
and quietly fulfilling my duties.
i'm typing this at my desk
and it feels wrong and bad

my therapist told me the antidote to burnout
is variety rather than rest--
so let the various archbishops of my life be told
that i am so ******* tired

there is a man here, he is broken,
but in his eyes there is passion,
and in between my thighs there is fear,
and i'm absolutely frozen

so tonight i'll drink,
and knit, and write e-mails,
cross my fingers and pray,
that something magical happens

I.
You don't use the word ****.
It's overly strong, you don't deserve validation like that.

II.
You talk about hands a lot.
There is not much else to talk about.

III.
You want to talk about surroundings,
but there are several different scenarios in which it happened,
and
you are not sure if it was multiple times
or a faulty memory.

IV.
You try hard not to talk about names.
You're supposed to know that, want some kind of vengeance or something;
you have two or three good guesses.
Hands feel like hands , faulty memory looks & sounds like
the smoke in the summer time when the wildfires
grow large enough to keep you inside for days on end.

V.
It isn't enough to go on.
You do not call it anything aside from
"I have trauma".
Trauma could mean anything; it is beautifully vague.
Maybe someone hit you (maybe they really did, sometimes
you almost remember it).
Maybe it was worse than that or maybe it was a book you read,
over & over & over & over.

VI.
You are over & over & over & over
and you wish you were over & you wish it was over.
You don't use the word ****. Over & over & over & over,
you don't have it in you to use the word ****.

Self-cut ginger locks that ooze pretension
pontificating so bluntly about "Cinema"
He buys Sociology textbooks at GoodWill,
TL;DR,
but they look good on a dusty shelf
don't they?

Mocking potential reactions to his
apparent ignorance.

A stoner who has never been high,
An existentialist who has never known what it is to die
A stargazer who has never seen the sky,
Highly expectant yet always refuses to try.

Ridicules what he doesn't understand
Taste so bland,
could swear he was conceived by the
FDA in a public school kitchen.