And the day crashed down

Like a wave

Pulling away the certainty of newness

As soon as it had pressed its lips to mine.

And casting back all the things I thought I would never see again.

When you let stones go, they float and sink and get tugged away, free.

And loves too. But then they come back to you, when you want only the new.

Please let me be with you.

And forget the past

Like waves that become something

Like they've never been before.

I wish i could erase you

from my history

and forget what it felt like when you touched me

and the rain on our skin when we biked past those pumping throbbing anxious houses...

the riots in the streets forgotten..

I would forget the wisp of smoke. the dotted line that connected at the mouth. the how to guide for first encounters

the holding on. the dancing.

the patience. the listening.

I would forget it all.

scrub it away.

delete the history

Because you did

Is anyone Happy anymore?

Did they teach us how in the class rooms?

where we learned to be cruel

and pick at the open sores

and find the chinks in the armor...

Where we learned about love

and how it makes you weak

and we learned about Joy

and where it comes from.

Dominance and Praise, and adults who tell us we are

special.

And don't forget. to waste your time

filling all the gaps in your mind.

and schedule in success. But not too much.

and collect wealth until your mansion stands tall

and casts shadows on the green grass

and wonder if you missed the class

on how to be happiest

You can say anything.

talk about the trees. and the butterflies and how love feels

or some ****

But to be a good poet

you have to practice, think about what sounds better

learn the long words

or the advancement of gramar

bend the rules after you've learned them.

and take pride in the fact that I AM A POET

print business cards or some ****

buy a leather jacket and always carry a writing book.

tell lovers pretty things that weave you in mystery

but

to be a GREAT POET

just write the truth

and tear the world apart

Why do my poems

come true

after I write them..

When did it become the law

that you had to live the stories

that you wrote.

I wish I wrote fantasy

and not tragedy

When I bloom

my skin is sweet

my eyes are brilliant

my words are music

and my lips are honey.

and when i cry
i bleed

and i'm alone.

the birds find roost

in a different tree

and the bees find nectar

far from me

we are earthlings

and toxic words drench our bodies

and clog up our rivers and arteries

with sugary fakeness and farcities

and smoggy neglect

and hate we elect

leaders that fail and fail

our kids who cut their arms

and smoke pretty rings of smoke to the sky

that hasn't had stars

in a long time.