Sometimes there's a pain in your stomach
And you can't tell whether you ate too much
Or you're just missing her.
How could you have forgotten
For most of the day
That she was gone
Only to remember now.

There are moments when the world moves fast;
My heart beats out of my chest.
My brain runs, skips, jumps, will not quit,
And I can’t tell if I want out of it.
All things are here, all things are now.
I seem supremely aware without knowing how
To the sight of the trees
The sound of the leaves
The touch of inspiration
The taste of creation
I must have been complete before
But now I am something more.
Going forth with such power
Now is my hour!
But what torture if it lasts that long,
Because this clarity of which I am so fond
Can be so draining.
Even causing pain when
Leaving me again,
I become whole
But feel anything but full.

There are moments when the world spins slow;
My eyes droop, as if to lead my head,
And the most involving things
Seem distant instead.
I’m here, but I’m not
For part of me is removed.
Where it is, in time or in space,
I can’t begin to tell you.
Perhaps part of me leaves
To some intangible land.
My spirit learns what it needs,
Then returns to its host, the man.
Or perhaps, the mind can’t help but take a rest
Not afforded by dream or reverie.
So it escapes the world and its mess
To a nothingness far more clean.
Or, it could be for no reason at all
That I seem to lose half of my soul.
All I gain from it
Is appreciation of when I am whole.

Two steps forwards, one step back,
Keep fighting your next self-attack.
And it’s not that I want you back,
Just want you in my life, to be exact.
I want you to know: I got your back.
If you want, we can leave it at that.

She said the words.
*******, why?
Until that point we were
Doing just fine.
But she said those three words,
With a look in her eye
That showed me that
This was no lie.

Now we aren’t fine.
She crossed a line
I didn’t even know was there.
There was no sign stating “Beware,”
So how could I judge her forgoing there.
I guess for me,
It’s just so rare
That I feel that I actually care
Enough to share
Those three words,
That I just heard.

Now, I’ll admit I’m scared.
What if I don’t agree
And not just for the time being.
What if it’s just not in me?
I know that’s her fear.
That I’ll never repeat it back
That she’ll never get to hear
These words, for there is something I lack,
Some emptiness inside,
Some surplus of pride,
Some instinct to run and hide.

Maybe she’ll run first
To avoid the worst
So my heart has no chance
To break hers.

I hope that she won’t
I hope she hopes
There’s love enough for us both
In her
At least until I’m ready
To take my turn
Until I learn
To love in return.

I hope she won’t hide
Because I don’t know how hard I’ll seek
But I know that those three words
Were good for me.

Why?
Not because I’m that great of a guy.
But because as far as girls go,
She’s one of a kind.

Do I even like you?
What a ******* question.
But for some reason,
It seems relevant
To me on this occasion.
I can’t think of a thing you’ve done
Other than to run.
Seems the odds of whether
You’ll disappoint
Are worse than if I
Were to flip a coin.

So do I even like you?
It’s not rhetorical
When I ask the question,
I want the answer in full.
I can’t decide to whom I ask.
Except that I’d like the answer
Fast enough to make a difference,
Now that I wonder “Why?”
I let myself get this far in the rhyme.

He stands with a weight in his hands,
Trying to show me he’s a man.
Asks if I work out,
I reply “Not much.”
Says he can tell I do sometimes,
Tells me he does too.
He wants to get really big,
Bigger than me, obviously,
More like some of the people he’s seen on TV.
He has a crooked tooth,
And a face that shows he’s still well within his youth.
And just began to see men who do
What he wants to do.
Men who lift weights
Because they don’t work all day,
Slaving away,
Building muscle because they have to be strong
To make a living wage.
But his goal seems somewhat unstable
Like he’s not sure if he’s able
To look like these new heroes.
Partly, he’s right.
He doesn’t look all too imposing
Built more for agility than might.
But in this new world, there is so much
One can be.
It seems unrealistic
To think realistically.
So he lifts the weight
And I’m sure he’ll grow strong as an ox.
He’s spent to long elsewhere
To not know what he’s got,
Here, among dumbbells and a bench,
Where men and women worry
About not being skinny enough.
Because, in the end, for most,
It’s not so tough to fill their stomachs up.
To complain about being too stuffed.
And to look to a television screen
And see the actors muscular and lean.
And think,
“That could be me.”
Our dreams are about better clothes and more money
And very rarely nightmarish memories
Of running and screaming.
Of fleeing our home countries
Barely understanding the reasons
To live somewhere else where people have the freedom
To be pigs,
To get big,
To be anything,
Or at least to stand,
Looking at the man on TV,
Lifting a weight,
And imagine how grand
It would be to be that way.


I sit at a desk.
This girl seems more on task than all the rest.
They filter through Facebook feeds,
And play online computer games,
Amazing, teenagers seem to all have the same needs.
But not her, with curly short hair.
She’s not there to simply stare
At a computer screen and pretend she doesn’t care
About her future.
She’s playing catch up
And the game is rigged against her.
And the problems on her paper
Are harder than I can ever remember math being.
So she and I sit at the desk and frown.
Computer games and status updates all around.
And a roar of laughter,
Yet the most deafening sound
Is the silence
Of not knowing what that equation meant.
So we skip that problem,
Try our hand at some others
To see if two minds can solve them.
It seems like a teenager
Should never have to do this complex math
But until she gets her grade up,
It’s all that lies in her path.
I realize, sitting there,
That I never had to work this hard.
She only understands
Every other word I say
Well enough to know how to make
Square roots and fractions
Do some unknown action
So that’s why it’s taking
So long.
She has to learn how to survive,
Live life,
Get by
In a world that is not her own.
And at the same time, somehow also grow
Into a young lady who knows
Complex arithmetic.
I wish I could just lift her up
Give her just a bit of the privilege
I grew up with.
A grandmother who taught me subtraction
When I could barely walk.
In a country where my parents talked
In the same language I heard
On the streets.
At the store.
In my school.
I want nothing more than to make it easier
For her to just be her.
Because she puts in more effort
Than I ever considered.
My success has never felt so undeserved.
But that’s what you realize among the underserved.
This isn’t fair,
For the girl with the short hair
Frowning next to me in her chair.


We both like to sit on the side of the room
And watch other people.
It’s just one of those things that you do
As you get older.
But, then again, that doesn’t explain her.
Because compared to me,
She’s at least a few years younger.
Still, we sit and we watch.
Me: because I don’t belong.
Her: because she does.
You see, I watch them sing and dance
Some of the older kids try their hand
At a bit of romance.
For me, it’s almost like a study.
It’s opening my eyes to a different way to be.
For her, long frizzy hair under a loose hat,
Of course, it’s just life.
It’s being in a strange place,
But finding somewhere
Where you belong.
People who know your dances and your songs.
Who don’t correct your words
In the fourth language you’ve learned,
Just because you got the tense wrong.
She watches because she sees
More than fun and games.
She sees her home.
She sees herself.
To join in would be
To become too much a part of it
To realize she’s a part of it.
To dance would be to quit being the dancer.
Sing, and she would not be the singer.
So we both sit at the side of the room.
Watching
Laughing
Knowing
That something more is happening here.
Something that, to a passerby,
Would never be clear.
There is brilliance in how freely they move,
Knowing that once they leave the room
There will be a part of them they lose.
They will return to their homes,
Sometimes alone,
To take care of a family of brothers and sisters
Mostly on their own.
Tomorrow, they will return to that scary place
Where they’re judged, not just for their race
But for being unique.
For being extraordinary.
Some may be ostracized,
Because difference in origin is not tolerated
In many high schoolers’ eyes.
But not here.
That’s not what we see.
Here, they are free.
And I know that it means something different to her
Than to me,
But it’s the reason we’ll always sit
On the side of the room
On our own,
Watching,
Smiling,
Knowing
That this place has truly become their home.

When dinosaurs walked the land,
Africa and the Americas
Fit together like it was planned.
And, still, to this day,
It seems like you can tell,
They were built for each other,
They fit so well.

I think that’s a bit like you and me,
Though I’m not sure if there’s destiny.
Cause our fingers entwine,
And I hold your body next to mine,
It seems to me like we were perfectly aligned.
Like some tectonic force
Separated us long ago.
Only to unite, here,
For reasons we’ll never know.

But now I wonder,
Seeing how lonesome the lands seem
To be separated by such an impassible sea:
Whether we’ve already crossed ours,
Or whether an Atlantic Ocean
Still lies in the future
For you and me.

I never realized how warm my fingers were
Until they were pressed to my skull.
Never realized how they seem harder,
In some way, than even metal.
And believe me,
Right now, I would know.
I know I won’t feel the heat;
Not really. It’ll be too quick.
But I can feel each knuckle now,
Their sharpness should make me sick.
Because if I take them off my skin,
I know I’ll be doomed,
As long as they’re there,
My ambition is pointed at the roof.
Even if I do, I want them to be last
Of the things that my body feels.
Because, even as they stab into me,
I’ve never felt a peace this real.
The moment of calm, before the storm.
No sun has ever felt so warm.
Maybe that’s where it’s all gone.
My extremities stealing the fire
That began in my heart,
All along.
Maybe I’ll stay here forever,
Never moving my hand.
Never following through
With this most recent plan.
And maybe that will be enough.
My fingers are so warm,
Pressed to my skull.
I won’t take them off
Until they make me feel whole.

No one would come to the funeral for Earth
Or for Sol or the whole Milky Way,
So insignificant in the grand scheme.
It's easy to think that our worth
Is really not much to say.

I feel so small
Because I don't really matter.
It's the undeniable truth,
That we are all
Only loose collections of matter.

And we are but part of part
Of part of part of part
Of the universe as a whole.
And if we died right now,
There'd be no one else to know.

Or if they did, someone somewhere,
With galactic cable or pay-per-view,
Our series finale would not impress.
They'd watch Earth fade without a care.
The credits would leave out the extras,
Me and You.

Trying to rip a paper down the middle,
Because I only need a half sheet.
And as I'm ripping it,
It does one of those little microtears by the hole punch,
Where it tears away from the line that I'm trying to rip it at.
You know, the thing where you're like,
"Paper can't you just follow directions?"
Picture it?
Okay.

It tore on either side of the hole punch.
And for a moment,
I reflected on how incredible that was.
How beautiful the forces that move things are.
You see, in trying to tear the paper along my little pre-folded line,
I put pressure on both sides of the paper.
Near the hole, that pressure became too much.
In an instant, one side of the hole punch began to tear a little,
And allowed for some of that pressure to be dissipated.
But it wasn't enough in that instant, so the other side tore.

By the time that both sides split,
The pressure was no longer too much
And it didn't tear any further.
Though the paper is non-living,
Let alone non-sentient,
It follows the same doctrine that living beings do:
Give a little so that you needn't give a lot.
It tore just enough
To no longer need to tear any further.

Perhaps this is not so brilliant.
Perhaps all things simply tear
Until the force exerted cannot tear them anymore.
Perhaps that is how we work too,
And we only ascribe some sort of meaning
To the fact that we stop tearing.
Perhaps the very nature of being able to tear
Includes within itself the inevitability
Of not tearing anymore.

Disheartening, maybe,
Because it means that we are not the arbitrators of our defense,
That resistance may be futile,
And we need only allow our own microtears
To dissipate the forces which barrage us
To stop their onslaught.
Empowering, maybe,
Because the paper did not give all of itself,
But only enough to allow itself to not be torn any more.
How indestructible may we be,
If we only drop our defenses a little?

And yet, perhaps not,
For it was only each half which succeeded.
We mustn't forget our dear friend the 11" by 8",
Which was torn asunder
Even as his fragments held true.

Some forces are just too strong.

I'm the man women write poems about.
No, not the love poems.
Not the ones with a tear and a smile.
There're no daisies, or roses.
No dances in the moonlight
I'm not the Mr. Right,
And we never have the perfect love.

I'm also not the bad boy
That they knew was wrong.
The smile and the wink
That lead them to what they think
Was the greatest year of their life.
And the worst.
I'm not nearly that exciting,
Or simple.

That just leaves one more
That women rhyme about.
The one that seemed perfect,
The one who they thought
THEY would break.
The one that tricked them.

The one who fixed them,
For a time.
And got them to believe in something,
Again.
But that's just the beginning of the poem,
Prior to en media res.
The rest
Is about how they were SO wrong.

Somewhere I become the villain
Because I held their hand
Then let go.
It's not something I intend.
Just what continually seems
To happen.
I emerge unscathed.
THEY don't emerge.

Or if they do,
It's not the same.
Those poems are about being wrecked
By the guy they thought cared.
The guy they thought would stay.
The guy that came so close
And then just drifted away.

But the tragedy, for me,
Is that I believe
All of those things too.
I DO care.
I AM the right guy.
I guess the best way to fool someone
Is to fool yourself first.

Denied
Pushed-aside
Objectified
The responsibility
For inequity
Lies upon my ancestry
And now comes down to me.
Because we've lived so long
Seeking to prolong
The ways of keeping others down
Because they have a different creed
Or because their skin is brown
And maybe now,
We've settled some scores,
But there are still more
That remain unresolved
And even more left in store.
Because we now judge those who's ideas we deem poor
And those who's love an ancient book abhors.
And we try to hide
And deride
And ostracize
Those who differ from our way of life
To the point
That some are driven to suicide.
It was long ago that someone first hated
And we've evolved,
But that issue is unabated.
And the calls of those hungry for
Change
Have not been satiated.
Because there won't be change until we ourselves make it.
And we can't fake it.
It has to be real.
Something that you cant just hear
But also feel.
Because hatred never wins a war
But only prolongs it with more
Bloodshed
More minds, bodies and souls dead.
And no one left unaffected.
Acceptance is what we need
And less reward for human greed.
Because the truly great are those who feed
The hungry sick and poor,
And change the minds of those who settle for inequality
It can be you or me
Who leads
Others to clarity,
With words or actions which broadcast unity.
And when others listen and understand,
We may create a land
Where people can finally, truly feel free.

Just be you.
That's what they all say to do.
And anytime that you say
That you don't like something
That you find in the mirror,
They say that they don't wanna hear it.
But what if being you is ****?
What if you don't like what you find in your soul,
And you wanna change it?
Be happy with who you are
Is going too far.
Because we should be able to hear
When our gears
Don't tick with time.
And when our words don't rhyme,
We should stop.
And rewrite.
Recreate.
And never settle for the wrong
Until we find what's right.
Be who you are
Discounts the amount of power
We have over ourselves.
Because we are not the same
As when we were first given our name,
And we shouldn't try to be.
You and I should be free
To decide what it means to be you and me,
And not leave it all to destiny.
None of us is perfect,
So it's okay to reject
Those things we find suspect.
And find something a little
More worthy of our respect.

There are moments, after the credits roll,
Lying next to you, keeping away the cold,
That the screen fades to black,
But we both still stare,
And I see you as if for the first time
Through the glare.
You're far more beautiful in the reflection
Than I can remember before.

They teach you wrong,
The way to piece things together.
Just like all things,
It's different when you get here.

"You start from the corners.
And you look at the box.
If you start from the middle,
You're bound to get lost."

En media res,
Is the choice of the author,
And not the character.
I haven't decided which she is,
But I began in the middle with her.

No box and no corners,
And the pieces change as they fall.
Maybe it's not the way they got wrong,
But the need to finish it at all.

I threw a coin off the ledge and when it struck the ground
It was perfect
The sound was all worth it
Because I feel this beat of the Earth
It's like the beat of a drum
A steady pur um pum pum
Like the world is alive
Its playing its music live
And if you only take the time
You'll hear it's beat and it's rhyme

I threw my wallet off the ledge and when it struck the ground
It was perfect
I needed a louder sound
To join in with the planet
Sitting in the audience is something I can't stand
It's so much much better to join in with the band.
And my wallet it kept that steady beat
Louder than the tapping of my feet
After that fall, so much more sweet.

I threw my radio, my backpack, my spare tire
Off the ledge and when they each struck the ground
It was perfect
The song deserved this.
It was so loud with no one around to hear it.
But the steady beat went on.
The Earth in its constant drum
Pur um pum pum,
Pur um pum pum.
Nothing has such beauty as that constant hum.
But it can't be over yet, it can't be done.

I threw myself off the ledge, and when I struck the ground,
I was perfect.

You're scared, I know.
Or at least, you're unsure.
And everyone tells you you should
Be unsteady and insecure.

They say that it'll be hard.
They say it will change you forever.
And that there's no way of avoiding it
No matter how smart or clever.

But the thing about scare tactics
Is they just plain don't work
And the way you handle this thing
Isn't like him or her.

You've got your own struggle
And your own piece of cake.
So to handle it like they did,
Is a solution that's fake.

So maybe you need an extra hour
Of sleep.
Or maybe your test score relates to
How many friends you keep.

Maybe you work best
Under pressure.
Or maybe it's order
That gives you true pleasure.

The advice that I'll give you is just
To be true.
And to do whatever the Hell
Helps you be you.
To ask for help if needed
And sometimes to struggle through.
To learn to know yourself
Through and through.

So maybe Friday nights a party.
Or maybe it's a book.
De-stress with some TV
Or learn how to cook.
And never worry about when someone says
How long that assignment took.
Because for you it may be shorter
Or take a few extra looks.

And don't you worry about what THEY got
On that test.
So long as you're working hard
To do YOUR best.

Don't say "He did it."
Dont think "She seems ahead."
That type of thinking will just
Fester in your head.

Because you've got what it takes
Or you wouldn't be here.
Though we all joke about it,
A few things are clear:

You aren't just lucky.
You did a few things right.
You showed them your stuff,
Put up a **** good fight.

So you've earned your place.
And no one can take it.
And I have no doubts in my mind
That you ALL can make it.

So maybe it will be hard,
And you'll probably change.
But never expect it to be like us
Because nothing is ever quite the same.

And you get to decide what tests you
And what your biggest enemies are.
Because living someone else's life
Won't get you very far.

But we're here for a few things,
Only one is this advice.
The others are the hard days
And the endless nights.

We're here for the heartbreak
And the tears that may fall
Though remember that we're also
Here for the happy phone calls.

We want to help pick you up
When you think that you're beat.
Because once you stand back up,
There's no way you won't succeed.

So maybe these words
Have been little use.
And maybe my generalities
Are a little obtuse.

But keep in mind
That my ears don't speak in rhyme.
And I promise you they at least
Have always got time.

I'm a call or text away
And I'm not the only one.
You've already got a family here,
And you've only just begun.

She walked away
I mean who can blame her
It's not like I gave her any reason to stay here.
We both knew that the night was bound to end.
Really what's the use of trying to pretend
Wait, but I'm not pretending.
Guess you get so used to the same ending.
With the same girl and the same late night,
The same morning gone at first light.
But not now, not this, not the same.
So used to playin that i couldn't tell when I lost the game.
And now it's like I've got some pieces missin'
Must have been that last kiss she gave me.

And now I can't get that dress outta my head,
Same one she was wearing last night when we met.
The one she left in without a word being said,
But a smile and a quick nod instead.
Usually that would be finality
Last scene, show ends, wake up, go back to sleep a different dream.

But I miss the feel of her clothes
Her sweet fragrance lingering in my nose
My feet are cold not entangled in her toes
Guess that's why they say without the thorns there ain't a rose.

Maybe she's not gone too far,
And if I run outside she'll be standing by her car.
And I'll tell her to wait and a few more moments, another day.
Never ever let this chance pass away.

Maybe I'll go back to the bar.
And she'll be sitting there, just the same.
Like some work of art.
The type that's almost better if you stay where you are,
And not try to think the scene needs another part.
But I'd walk up,
And maybe she'd see me as I came.
Maybe she'd have asked the bartender if he knew my name.
How often it was that I ever came.
She'd be looking at the door hoping that it'd be the same.

Maybe I'll go another two years,
Wishing more than anything that I could just see her.
And just when she almost skipped out of my mind,
There'd she be, on the street, passing the time.
Or waiting in some concert line.
Maybe she'd be at a party for a friend of mine.

She would know like me that this was a sign
And that these things don't just happen without some plan in mind.
It's not too often that two hearts beat in time,
That two lights have the same beem to shine.

But she left.
******* who can blame her.
Now I don't even have a last name to find her
All I've got is a memory remainder
Didn't leave anything to remind me of her.
For the most part it's just the same world.
Except the part of me that fell for a strange girl.
I'll walk outside, go back to the bar.
Walk street to street to street no matter how far.
Can't believe I let her cause such a stir,
Thought my armor was far too thick to get hurt.
But she stuck like glue to my mind,
Now I can't imagine this life unless I find,
Her.

Flicker.
Fluorescent lamp
Steals my attention
From this music which has too little hold on me to be worth a mention,
Flicker.
Without it I'd never notice
The light cast in the dim room
Which seems to somehow contribute to darkness,
Like you need some sort of visibility to perceive gloom.

Hollow
The eyes of a painting
Forget the reason I came here.
All there is now is the space an iris should be
A pupil seems more meaningful when surrounded by blue brown or green.
But what do you put inside a hollow eye?
Absence is simply presence waiting to be realized.
Too many choices
Flicker, in such a small size.
The freedom is paralyzing.
More can be held in empty spaces than I ever dreamed to find.
Hollow
Is more than meaningful.
It is possible.
Infinitely wonderful
Wonderfully infinite.
Flicker.

My eyes to
Smoke.
Rising from tea too hot.
You can see it better when you can't taste it.
Wasted,
This smoke, the side effect of the perfect
Cup of tea.
So quickly it flees
From the sea, beneath.
With a beauty that the liquid
Does not hold
When it is cold.
Never drink it,
Don't waste this moment
On the taste,
That can be replaced.
Smoke
Will never again rise the same.
Curl, twist, split,
Cannot be tamed,
Like so many beautiful things,
Which never remain.
Temporary,
They only
Flicker.