And maybe in time,
Even I'll believe the lie.
So let's sweep it aside
And lock it deep inside,
And, let them belie-
Ve the pretended 'alright.'
ReflectingSo, when did we become strangers,
did you forget my face?
Do you know-
of course you don't, but do you know-
that I miss you,
I remember the fun times,
stupidity of our days together,
I still think of you
and the family;
and even that silly little crush
did you forget?
do you hide it away like a forgotten
because, on the inside,
you're too ashamed to admit,
you're not who you wanted
ObligationsWhat are these trinkets to me?
Obligations held to
Obligations tied in the mire
of a past quickly fading,
Why should I subject myself
To your tedious obligations,
To your restrictions,
in weighted shackles?
So I say,
What are these obligations to me,
Except things to be misplaced,
And gather the Dust of Bitterness?
I say they're ties,
and that I'm going to cut them away.
Why should I submit myself to
when you rejected my Love?
Cotton candy skiesAnd you know the pain:
You see it
can feel it,
Written over every orifice of the world,
Let it eat away at your soul as you watch
Your vapidly sentient
Capacity for action
Eroding away with every cell
This virus infects.
So you run,
Turn to apathy
And sit looking at the
Cotton candy clouds
A midst a burning backdrop,
And you hide this pain,
Like it doesn't exist--
Not in you
nor the world
nor in the minds of people
that you can see living it every
You run to the emptiness of pleciboed
Living on the internet,
Indulging in fantasy and pretend,
Living as if
still a child in Wonderland,
Forgetting you need to breathe air.
Yes you sit before a burning
Backdrop, a prelude to the end
of cotton candy skies,
And repress the existence
of this reality in-leu of
of the semblance of
Can I [part 1]Can I love you?
Can we take it back
in the dead of night-
To the way you'd
Can we take it back-
back to the iridescence that shown
in our eyes as we
lay back in the dark,
Can I love you?
Can I listen again,
To that mellifluous tone
That escapes your lips when you speak?
Can we rewind to when
I meant something to you-
when you weren't just pretending,
when I wasn't
just there for your personal
Can I love the way you used me-
-how the morning light was like
the lock to a treasure chest,
and the treasure it contained
Like just one more instrument
To be finley played-
the smiles we had glanced
across the table at dinner,
speaking our language,
our hushed tones igniting
quirked eyebrows from the others
and our own hard-silenced snickers.
Can I love you,
in this dark feeling,
lying here drowning in the quick-sand
while I try to fall asleep,
Can I love you,
when the scorched sun br
This autogenous iniquity-
the cacophony of sin
It bites and
Your antiquated conduct
shall find no place
In this world,
No rest inside these bounds.
Go on then,
Cry your heart to pieces-
and lacerate your soul.
Soft, to the degree of
Incising upon that inner you,
That softness with which
Your mortal soul now burns,
Dirtied with that softness,
Tender-hearted pain of empathy,
soft and hush
As it reverberates through your
As you feel your failings
each claiming a piece of you
with more rapidity than
Let the tears come-
so soft so soft-
and burn an antiquated brand,
deep into your soul.
As the empathetic scars
Breed lace into your heart.
For whatever has been done-
no man controls the past so let it
Now let it lie,
Be it burning with the
Assignment TwoA suitable grad-gift.
Wrapped in expected 'congrats!' tissue
paper, extended in love from the hands of a friend.
But, it isn't just a picture frame-
Special, because the hand-spun-silk, woven-cotton-soft
In brilliant crimson holds the pictures
You, and me, your smile so ambiguous,
Like the Cheshire's grin.
assignment oneLove is a hurricane,
inside your irises.
An acrid storm,
Exploding within your eyes.
Love is soft
even. Malliable when in
a sculptor's hands,
Such as your own.
So like the shifting water:
Frozen to solid,
Melted to liquid,
Or released as vapor.
Love is an idea,
Transparency that transgresses
The BeachThe beach is cold and stings
As dainty little feet walk across the sands,
That time has been unable to mar.
The sun is just a glow over the
Mist hangs in the air, footprints are left in the sand.
Nothing has changed.
The world could be thrown into darkness,
Buildings could crumble, people could die,
Or a job could be lost,
Or a house need repainting. It could be
A family argument, and tension among friends.
It could be the shadow in the doorway, a knife in it's hand,
Haunting your dreams again.
But the sands on the beach would still be unmarred by the
Cruel hands of time.
His love in you would be a butterfly of hope,
As the world was ending. His embrace
Would be a comfort in the midst of the dead.
The lost job will roll off his shoulders,
As he cracks a joke to make you laugh, because,
He lives for your laugh.
And he'd make a game, of the trivial task of house
Work, so that even though you both hated it,
It would be time you'd be together.
The family argument he would
The Adjustment BeauroI doubt you'll ever understand,
Just how worthless,
You make me feel.
You leave me with,
After each segment ends.
Maybe it's your nature,
Maybe the 'Adjustment
Beauro' just decided
We shouldn't be a we,
But you'll never understand
One way or another.
So I guess
I'll let you rip me apart.
I'm not good for anything else.
UnawareWhen you are two and five and ten
you are unaware ––
of the cactus in the windowsill,
how, fragile, each quill bends
and breaks and falls apart.––
Twelve years later, on a Tuesday,
you dream about a boy
who bumps his head
on an iron slate and you wake
in a cold sweat.
You are twelve when you are
always bumping shoulders.
Twenty-two years of Thursday.
There is nothing at all.
And you wonder (and
you wonder why)
each time you wake.
The cactus in the window bleeds
with you when you bump it.
No one ever mentioned
frightened things bite.
So you have always been unaware.
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
Not My Kind of Fairy TaleDon't give me the Knight
Whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the Knight,
Whose armor is dull and broken.
Whose horse is weary,
Whose heart is heavy.
Give me the Knight who looks at the dragon with pity,
For that dragon has done nothing,
And is just as imprisoned as the princess he guards.
Don't give me a princess who only wishes to be saved,
By that Knight whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the princess who wishes to escape yes,
But wants to free the dragon,
Who does not wish to marry her savior--
Nay, give me the princess who wants to explore,
Who wants to live and to learn.
For the years of imprisonment only made her yearn,
Not for the Knight whose armor shines bright,
But to see the world and live in the light.
Do not give me the evil dragon,
Whose soul purpose is to give that bright Knight something to fight.
No, give me the dragon who is weary,
Who longs for the freedom of the sky,
Whose leg is burdened with chains,
And whose heart aches for the princess he must guard,
SaturdayWe slept on the floor when you drank.
– Like worried puppies
too small to reach the bed,
and sat with our backs to the wall
by the bathroom while you showered,
we hid car keys,
Peering over ledges,
I watched your listless eyes
wander to windows
thinking of your mother and marriage,
toes curled around the coffee table corner,
and we begged you to sleep.
Zach cleaned the sinks,
the rugs and the ashtrays,
capped the bottles and placed them
high on the shelves.
You woke to cartoons,
a headache, a fresh
pack of cigarettes. –
We never talked on Sunday mornings.
you can't have it allBut you can have eating wild grapes and their skin like beetle wings
cocooned in bruises. You can have swings that go so high you kick
a hole in the clouds. You can have chickens following you through the front door
and the cat’s gift to say, Look, I am taking care of you.
You can have happiness, but tempered as
your first taste of wine when you hid your puckering face
because you were eight years old and dangerous.
You can have a touch you blush for, ferret hands dancing,
small and terrifying and knowledgable.
You can have an aspiration of “us” held on one stool leg, darting breaths but
never admitting to dreams, to a stew of practicality.
You can talk to her, sometimes,
and even mean something.
You can have the book you stole after she stumbled,
and “that” word sank into your hands. You can’t cure cancer,
but you can have two sets of spoons in the same sink
although she’s only touched the one you lent her,
the one you didn’t expe
each one of us carries cemeteries beneath our skinyou are not the only one
to walk like there are
who looks both ways
before crossing the road
"knew a girl who";
you are alive
and you will experience
hurt, and you will
be so thankful
for every painful breath you take
because it's better than when
everything goes quiet
and all you feel is exhaustion.
there is more than just
one cold snap
before you enter
the winter of your life.
there are spells
of sadness and rage,
hate and denial
of all that you know
and all that you deserve;
and you are not the only one
to fight for everyday you are here,
alive and breathing
and striving to thrive
on such an unforgiving planet,
in such a world
that births emotional deserts
in its people;
you are not the only one
SurrenderI remember the colors
that night on the porch
when the fireflies claimed
the air around us -
the bright blue
blazing between your fingers
as you said
breathing was a trick
of the night.
I raised your hand
to touch my face,
feeling the pink trail
of the morning
yet to come
humming on your palm
and the deep pulse
of orchid staining my mouth
in soft surrender.
A Somber NightA Somber Night 1/1/07
The times we spent together weigh
heavily on my mind.
Red was your flowing dress
on our second date.
Yellow, the tulips I gave
you on our six month anniversary.
Our life before the incident is a blur.
Green was the grass we laid in
as we gazed at the brilliant stars all night.
What are you thinking now?
Are you thinking at all?
We were as one, our bodies intertwined.
Remember how we would interpret
the shining ones as our imaginations wandered?
I stayed up all night when you got sick.
When I view the stars now...
I die a little inside.
Black is the color I wear.
Blue is the feeling I am fighting.
You were the one I wanted to
drink coffee with every morning.
You left without explanation.
You left too soon.
Orange shined down on your tousled
hair at dawn - the waves remind of pain.
Yellow is the sunrise we can't share anymore.
I envision your last breath.
Anger engulfs my eyes with
The Silver stars never lie,
their light continues to shine,