It’s kinda pointless
The purpose was clear as its intention
But still, it was kinda pointless
It was like when a kid lets go of his balloon.
The string slowly evaporates from his hand
As he covers his brow looking skyward to the horizon
He let go of his first lover because maybe that would make his wishes come true
Or maybe he let it go so a part of him could touch God.

It was kinda pointless.
Our on and off again two month relationship
Every two months or so I would create every insecurity that my poetic lips could fabricate
Twist and turn on my restless nights in one way street fashion
But those other every two months
Were magical
I could write a million poems about your body if only my hands weren’t too busy touching it
I would memorize the way your footsteps walked home incase I ever needed to find you
And every song on the radio was our love song
But for another two months I let you go officially
And I guess that was kinda pointless
*** now I pointlessly think aimlessly for why I did it
Maybe I just didn’t want to see you evaporate from my hands again
Or maybe it’s *** I thought if I let go of my first lover, my wishes would come true
Or maybe it’s because when I’m kissing you, I feel like I could touch God
And that just scared me

But when a kid lets go of a balloon,
He thinks he’s done with it, but he knows he’s never gonna get it back.
But God, damm it, I want it back.
I want a reason to smile and know I’m smiling for a reason
I want something to hold my wrist, to go on adventures with
Making love with you was never pointless, and no, I don’t regret it.
In fact, it was flawless.
And I’d be skipping for days, waiting to do it again
But the feeling was lost. We let it evaporate from our hands.
We let our emotions escalade and we lost it.
Sacrificed it to a summer’s day
Watched it float into one of God’s crevices
Letting go you, was like letting go of a balloon.
I’m forced to watch it drift away but I never, ever, really saw it pop.

When you let go of a balloon, it kisses the sky.
So I kissed you good-bye in hopes you will reach new heights.

Forget he's human
just like you
because he loves a man
just like you don't want him to

Forget that she's human
just like you
she likes women
instead of you

Does it break you heart?
when someone falls
out of your expectations
there must be something wrong

He may not have grown up
wanting to be the man
your faith wanted him to become
so where goes the love

Men don't cry
just **** it up
and move on with life

She may not have grown up
being very lady like
so you've had enough
of her relating to the guys

Women aren't strong
you need a man
to hold you up in life

Where are all the people

Oh never mind him
he's just mentally impaired
you can make fun of him
he's too stupid to care

But really
he hurts like the rest of us
needing the acceptance

Where are all the people
with the unconditional love

Why can't these robots see
life is more beautiful
with color

Love should be free
so should our choices
how hard is it to imagine
will it ever be?

Hide your feelings
you might be a woman inside
even though you are a man
you should hate yourself
because everyone else will

What will the children become
when the future is already laid out for them

Who wants to grow up
and have no imagination?

So why be silent
when we can spread love
like a virus
spreads an epidemic

Wake up and stop hating
hate is for those with fear

Forget what you don't know
and accept it for what it is
it's going to be there anyway

I’m cradling what’s left of the word “casual”
Because it sounds like “pretending”.
Maybe we should have said “casualty”
Because we both know the answers,
Or "causality"
As some ridiculous joke.

No, we can’t fall, we can’t fall.
When I giggled,
“Don’t get stuck on me,”
What I said was,
“I’m already stuck,
But we all have to move...
Right?"

Heard words on the radio driving home
That echoed like “coincidence”
I learned the words and echoed back
With no regard for context.

Crawling couch to bed,
Passing faces in the covers,
Say ‘hello’ my sometimes lover,
Say ‘goodbye’ and run away.
We can dance with one another,
Hold the truth until the day
When the sheets turn into clutter
And the miles casually splay.

The see-through pink camisole that I gracefully wore
Now lies disgracefully upon the ground,
Ralph Lauren on the floor.
Find my way between his knees
And teach what I have learned.
I could teach him many things
But I'd rather just receive what I have earned.
This secret must be hard to keep?
The whole house now knows his name.
And when this ***** get too deep
The whole house can hear my pain.
Nails dug deep into his back;
Deep enough to break the skin.
Lips inching towards his body;
Teeth sinking in.
Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma'am.
****** gotta fly.
Send him back to his white girl-
First,
Give me a kiss goodbye.

what i said:
"you sound rough this morning."


what i meant:
"your voice is lavender and honey and tea time and supernovas colliding with gentle breezes and if i could wake up to it, just once, cocooned in a tangle of your arms and couch cushions and that blanket you keep in the back of your car, i swear by the stars in my eyes no one on this godforsaken planet would be out of earshot of my singing

i hope that tonight when i dream of you--it is no longer a matter of uncertainty, but anticipation--you speak like you've just overslept your alarm and frantically motored yourself to where i am, like is the case today.

i wish you had chosen me but if i could only listen to you speak to me, about anything--rivers or math homework or football or belonging or music or even your girlfriend--i promise i would listen with the beating urgency of a swimmer in a frozen stream, i would savor each word from your lips, like they were the spring and i was the underground daisy waiting for your kiss.

and in precisely three days i will have an essay to compose about a beautiful topic that would consume me thoroughly were it not for the memory of your groggy morning voice, so full of raspy complacency i can't breathe but instead of fulfilling my obligations i will be hashing out halfway comprehensible poetry about you and crying about how i cannot recreate the sound of your voice with any combination of hollowly clicking keys.

you are so beautiful that i could spend the remainder of my life with a five-subject notebook, scrawling 'your eyes. your smile. your hands. your voice' over and over endlessly and die feeling as though i had lived a thousand years of quiet adventure.

you are so much and too much for me and i have no idea why you see as much in me as you do but i will not question it, for fear that if i were to come too close to you, to run my fingers along the marvel of your face you would shrivel and unfurl into nonexistence, like the leaf in the fire."


and also:
"why can't your voice always sound like this?"

and finally:
"******* you're attractive"

Although I hate how wrong this ridiculous sense of common we have for everything is,
Sometimes I just wish we were these two ignorant people
That think the world is wrong but we can't change it
And work hard just to buy a bigger TV

Sometimes I just wish we could live a mediocre life together
And never mind to all the things that happens around
Since our favorite show is reprising saturday night

I wish we could fight every day to decide who's going to supermarket
And what color should be our new car
And fight over and over again about if we should buy a dog or not
And stay up late playing scrabble with our boring married friends

Sometimes I just wish we were these two empty consumerist people
That complain about everything and fight everyday about nothing
But are so so happy
*Together.

"Why one writes is a question I can never answer easily, having so often asked it of myself. I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me – the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art.
...
"We also write to heighten our own awareness of life. We write to lure and enchant and console others. We write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth. We write to expand our world when we feel strangled, or constricted, or lonely … When I don’t write, feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing."
('The New Woman', 1974)