16.**
What a small weight for the most important gas,
that is keeping us alive.
I was 16 when I realized that my mom
had forever been my biggest supporter.
I was 16 and I was still holding my fingers crossed behind my back,
hoping that Santa was real.

I'm the hidden meaning behind good reasons
that have paved the way toward bad choices.
For I have realized, sitting silently in the corner,
that we are all forced to realize our
own self destruction.

Like the building and the wrecking ball,
of which I am often both.

I am your overspoken words and unsaid thoughts.

I am not the beautiful bare trees in the winter,
but instead I am your poisonous dinner.

I am the passion behind tears
and the emotion behind screams.

I am the thoughts that keep you up at night,
and your cold, bare feet.

I resemble a constant string of avoidance and indecisiveness.

I am your dewy eyes and groggy voice at 7:30 in the morning.

I am nothing but a blinking statue.

I am 16 years worth of unanswered questions.

Yet in 16 years will all I be is
another 16 years older?

I am the epitome of drowning without water,
and not to spoil the ending for you,
but I still have 16 years worth of faith,
that everything will be okay.

my heart’s an old motel room
all filthy carpets
and no hot water
no fresh towels
to dry yourself
from tears that won’t roll over
like i do in bed

when the sun kisses the earth
i surrender
to 9 to 5 lovers
that kiss my cold corpse
my eyes at ceiling fans
my body in hands
that don’t belong to You

rolling in sheets
rolling papers
the smoke between my fingers
is it the night mist?
or the cigarette silk worms?
I exhale between make believe
love making

the rain raps at the window
asks me why i’m in hands
hands that don’t belong to You
but i can’t roll over
so i wait for tomorrow
to come back down
and start again

this morning, at 3:17

I was laying on your chest

awake

listening to your heartbeat

and I realized that

it is no longer my favorite song

goodbye

you sound like broken glass
and your hands..
your hands,
are otherworldly creatures
roving over my flesh
like so much unclaimed land.

I smile, I hate you.
punched out cigarettes
lie smoldering in the ashtray
and I thought I could hear
the point of impact
in your hurried sentences.

I'm not worth the trouble,
I never wanted this anyways.
I just wanted to stand
at the edge of where the sea
meets the land and
taste the air in May.

I just wanted to know
what it
*felt like.

How do I know if your sweet brown eyes look at me with fondness or an average friendship?
If only I could find it midst the stacks of mix cd's and oreo brownies made not from request but from simply wanting to.
In there lies the true meaning of what this all is, and what it may all turn out to be.

She stepped through the sand
tall sea grass grazed her pale legs
moonlight illuminated her white face
her blue eyes, the color of
a lake frozen over
her hair, black and dead
the sea called to her
it beckoned with rolling thunder
and jagged electricity
her toes reached the water
the ocean reared excitedly
goosebumps rose on every inch of her skin
raindrops bounced off the water
the water, now up to her knees
climbing higher, eager, by the inch
with every step she took
until it engulfed her entire body
cold, deep and black
it forced its way into her lungs
she smiled and the current
rocked her like a humming mother
until she felt herself fade away
until she was gone.
the ocean gently laid the body
on the beach
her dead eyes stared into
the starry night
the gentle smile forever played
on her pale lips