If your clients all rescheduled, clap your hands ~clap~clap~
If your clients all rescheduled, clap your hands ~clap~clap~
If your clients all rescheduled, and you never feel quite settled, if your clients all rescheduled, clap your hands. ~clap~clap~

Life is a tiny black x on the calendar,
Wedged between play dates and rescheduled doctors appointments.
2:00 floods into 4:00, until the entire day lies crumpled at the foot of the bed,
Lifeless except for the coffee stain memories of yesterday.
Nothing happens here.
Self questions self, and we all sit criss cross apple sauce on the linoleum floor;
Is this what it means to be alive?
Red and blue parachute above our tiny shoulders,
Mixing with green, yellow, and orange wedges
The same as pizza or convenience store cheesecake.
Outside, noisy blurs of grey and black whir by
Full of passengers too preoccupied with routine to venture
Into the far off world of innocence
That softly plagues everything detached enough to feel it.
Covered in paintings of a reality that's missing all of it's fingers.
Nothing lives here- beyond the faint ripple
Of three o'clock snack time:
Rosy cheeks and small, stubby fingers concealed by apple sauce,
The preservative of youth, it slowly takes on the texture
Of dad's lung cancer-
Dying pigeons rest nostalgically upon city rooftops,
As strangers stop to admire their stagnant beauty,
Crying out acclaim for the regal presence of those
Who can bear to sit still amidst the chaos of an hour:
Cigarette and polyester feathered Madonnas of the modern world-
Installation art at its finest.
Face paint and spaghetti hair
Are only tangible until replaced with something a little closer to
Reality. The American dream sinks to the bottom of a hollow mason jar, as preservatives soak the bones
Of every tiny heart, alive enough to give out at the faintest malfunction.
Dilapidated, our heavy feet tread over spare Lego pieces,
The tiny rectangles push up against our translucent flesh-
Leaving abstract indentations of a city that never was.
Images of the earth projected upon tiny marble surfaces,
Fallen from a cardboard box that was once on isle five,
Impress upon the weary feet
Of strangers, running to throw up beneath the red, green, and yellow windows
Of a Target grocery store.
Nothing grows here, yet we eagerly pluck our wilted produce
From the clammy hands of a metal machine
Programmed one, two, three
To dilute our logic with an even mist of something
Almost like water, but with more promise.
Until, we can easily swallow the bitter pill that
Holds the secrets of the world.

The city of love was shuddered today
A proposal was rescheduled and a sweet gesture silenced
By a scattering of devils who advocate terror & violence
The Mona Lisa wept and the Metro bawled
‘Où est le courage?’
Il n’y avait pas courage
The cowardly men who fought guns against pens
Let them know after all their wrong
The Eiffel tower still remains tall and strong
For it is the liberal views that brought Paris such beauty and wonder
Freedom of speech will rage through the lightning and the thunder

Heaven got so plenty moods
At dawn she's like a sleepy maid
Just awoke, and rescheduled, still,
As she rise from her midnight bed
Dusk is her blushing face
As she sees all the love
Midday she shines bright
As she dances over the sky above
Full moon she sits up there
Her fair skin shining silver light
As she tries to fall asleep
In her gown of deep blue night
Rain can be thrice
In sadness, she sometimes weeps
In joy, she squirts water, playful laughing
Or she brings the water's salvation she keeps
When angry, her wrath masses in clouds
And cataclysms, that storm the land
Fog is a try to cover the world's darkness
As she cups it with a caring hand
Blood moon shows her scars and wounds
That had cut her deeper than any blade
Blizzards rage in her despair
When she cries out with words unsaid
In eclipse, she tries to hide her face
Shame letting her cheeks glow
For even she is not all perfect
Not always she can cover in innocent, white snow
Every girl has, sometimes,her terrible twos
And few enough are of such purity
Heaven is not perfect
But she's made of simple beauty

You didn’t ground me, I’m just hitting a “social speed bump”
The room we share together isn’t messy, it just has “restrictive passage”
You weren’t late coming into my life, you just had a “rescheduled arrival time”
When I lean down to kiss you it isn’t because I’m tall, I’m simply “vertically enhanced”
You aren’t shy, you’re just “conversationally selective”
As much as I say you nag me, you don’t.  You’re just “verbally repetitive”
Yeah I need directions because I don’t get lost, I just “investigate alternate directions”
Yeah I’m falling for you, I think to be politically correct it’s “I love you"

They rescheduled the tater tot party for Saturday
I was tired on Saturday
And I had already eaten hash browns
And they had no ketchup
So I had to decline

You have to pick and choose these days
You can't overcommit
Or you'll burn yourself out

Feb 6, 2014, 11:37 PM
i miss you and i dont know where you are or if you'll even get these i just really hope youre safe and that you know i love you

Feb 6, 2014, 11:39 PM
and i dont know i dont have anyone to talk to so i'll just write to you i hope you dont mind

Feb 6, 2014, 11:42 PM
the formal got rescheduled to next friday (valentines day, blech) and he texted my aunt and she was like "thats okay, that just means you'll have to take her out tomorrow" and i literally laid down on the floor

Feb 6, 2014, 11:45 PM
i miss you

Feb 7, 2014, 1:33 AM
why do people not care about things or other people i dont understand
i dont know
why do people ask questions if theyre not interested in the answer

Feb 7, 2014, 1:34 AM
i hope your night was okay, i really hope you're alright
i love you man, goodnight

Feb 7, 2014, 2:53 PM
so chris told rhea that the only reason he started dating her was so that he could make gabby jealous or something wow

Feb 7, 2014, 10:40 PM
we got chris in trouble i feel so bad and apparently his mom is an alcoholic and like god, i dont even know i just wanna pat him on the head you know

Feb 8, 2014, 3:21 AM
**** i really miss you i hope you come back soon

Feb 8, 2014, 3:34 AM
i think i dont believe in love anymore
like in the way that i can see other people loving something or being in love with someone and that's perfectly okay and i can LOVE people and things but not well enough and i cant be IN love with anyone and i just i dont know anymore i cant tell if im the headfuck or if everyone else is

Feb 8, 2014 3:44 AM
but i love you

Feb 8, 2014 3:44 AM
whether it's me or you or both of us that's a headfuck and even if i dont really know how to be a good friend to you

Feb 8, 2014, 3:46 AM
i love you

Feb 8, 2014, 3:47 AM
always

Feb 8, 2014, 3:48 AM*
i hope one day you're happy

sometimes I think,
sitting in the sad girl seat.
sometimes staring into clouds
into pebbled, light-footed blush
upon the abundant tortured sands -
there whistles hope through hair
and love past whorled ear.
Fate be not proud for thou art wicked expectation.
sometimes I think that thinking is too much.
**** me it will. like the buzzing of filmy insect wings
as if the pressure of that spectral pregnant light -
were the candlestick in the dining room
with Madame Sosostris.  and april is the cruelest month
and depraved may and june and july. and august is just too hot
and september is lonely.
the snake gray seat and the sad girl eyes.
when the pine trees pass
in hundreds in thousands,
along miles and years
and sometimes thinking stops
and sometimes circles back
and I feel small and young.
There was a time,
when legs akimbo and arms
snaked soft, shelled tight, and snailed with hunger
were satisfied and glory held tight
all the multiples of content.
I was old with the heroism of
a mine-filled maze and melting wings.
the temptress, the knave, and the ******
I drew parallels with watery finger paint,
and words fell as if monsoon season
were rescheduled for february -
the cruelest month.
and I rode toward the land of adults,  
the promised land for the moderately free,
triumphant in the high girl seat.
and sometimes I think
that truth is sad
like the day after Christmas.
is sad like the lost boys and
the glory never satisfied
and the sad girl eyes
mocked for their youth
forever dried to  
the sad girl seat.

the sun does not set
automatic

trees of autumn do not
wither away its feathers
immediate

nor do the formation of
old souled clouds, or
the birth of flowers or
even death, even death
nature rots, and molds,
and decay, and spoils,

it all fades.

the childhood of lovers
consumed with these
slow deaths, through-
out the seasons, years
teach a simple moral

when the phone calls
become shorter, when
the meetings are more
meaningless, when the
plans are rescheduled,
they can blame the stars
for never just leaving,
always a subtle wave, or
a whisper goodnight, then
fading into someone else's
window or balcony, (they
have heard this story
before)

you called me and I called
back, you said "we don't
talk much" I agreed, I had
to go and I hung up before
you could've even say bye,

and that's kind of how its been for a while.

I think we underestimate how overwhelming it is,
Unknowingly hiding under absurdism and comedy,
Climbing clockwork cliffs for some inner peace,
Trying to find clarity in the muddled nows of tragedy.

Deep breaths for another duplicate of tonight,
Making sense of waking moments as we see some light.
Asking oneself, "Are these feelings right?,"
Given varied consciousness of the same plight?

Slowly we try to make space for some needed nothing,
Catch some air, look at some greens, and just surrender.
The fleck that challenged the universe started learning,
Be reminded that no one narrative is greater nor lesser.

Tonight is a happening of an ever-changing now,
Live it, ride it, rule it in ways you know how.
Give in to reasoned and reckoned submission,
Walk towards the collision of the warranted delusion.

Today I am so nervous,
I have my first job interview,
That I already rescheduled three times,
I have an honors graduation ceremony,
and my mother will be putting my robe on,
Infront of my peers,
I have a practice before that,
That lasts two hours,
Then I run to my interview,
Then run home to change,
Then be at the ceremony at 6:30
It's a busy day,
and to think,
That tommarow,
I graduate....
maybe tommarow I'll read this poem
and laugh,
I didn't need to be so worried
after all.