Death doesn't like his job,
anymore than some of us like ours,
and when he calls forth the gentle flowers,
to answer for their lives,
he hides his tears.
To the man who said my relationship didn't countTo the man who said...
“Relationships that last less than six months don't really count”
So my “relationship”,
only five months long,
The one that made me so...
But left me scarred and
It doesn't count even as I...
can't watch “Pirates of the Caribbean”
Because I remember the touch of her skin
when we finally got together
during the movie.
And it still doesn't count
even though we touched
and shared our existence,
it's not long enough
by your standards?
My first kiss,
so close to my heart and memories...
do those not count either?
they happened in that relationship.
Only five months.
Five months is one month too short
WoundsWords used to drip from my tongue like,
blood from the seeping wounds,
staunched only by time and never by the gauze,
people tried to cover me with.
Now, the wound has healed over,
and I sit in silence.
KudzuLife is sticky,
blood, semen, sweat, all of it,
clings to skin like vines twisting to encircle,
the necks of those who have it upon them,
and whispers gently into their ear whatever horror they've wrought,
injury, childbirth, surviving,
sticky messes clinging to broken hearts,
like iris vines signaling winter's breath is over,
until the flowers die and the vines are left where they were,
the stickiness still there and still clinging.
Like kudzu it reminds people that somethings should be left where they were
left to rot in the foul gutters where life has left them,
but the will to leave something is hard,
when it clings to you like a babe just born,
and cries so pitifully for food,
for nourishment, sugar, life....
Life clings to us like vines from another life,
and reminds people that it's hard to escape something,
Life's messI read a book the other day,
to remind myself that I could still get lost in the world of fantasy,
with my mind at ease and my body relaxed,
as I recognized that life wasn't easy and sometimes,
I could relax enough the harshness around me might soften.
Do I Dare?How....
Am I even allowed to ask?
Because it feels as if I'm not supposed to.
How do I live with this depression,
when it's caused by the very people,
who call me friend?
The QuietI'm not a loud person.
I laugh and cry and smile,
and I am happy and I am sad.
But I'm not loud.
I hold my emotions close and I deal them out like cards,
only when someone asks and never....
never when I think they aren't ready.
Though I'm a terrible judge.
I'm not loud, not really,
I curl up in a corner every afternoon to do my homework,
and it's loud sometimes,
and I can't stand it.
I love silence.
The stillness that isn't broken
by the roaring noises of sisters,
I've never been loud.
But I learned to be,
I used to be the quietest of my siblings,
so quiet and so observant,
I was so observant that I observed
that people didn't notice me.
They didn't see me or pay attention,
I was a wall flower and I didn't want to be.
I was sick of being pushed aside and
treated like I didn't exist so I became loud.
I learned to be loud.
I learned to be loud,
in life and in love and in saying,
I learned that people don't listen very well,
and they don't have good hearing,
Brace for ImpactIt is not the fall that hurts,
or the dive.
It is when you hit the bottom,
the bottom of the ocean or the dry
hard, brick of land.
Everyone knows this,
in their hearts and minds,
but who prepares us?
Who tells us?
Instead they say,
rather than telling us just...
how to put our bones back.
How to stitch our skin over
the holes that have been created from
splattering against a hard surface,
or how to empty our lungs of the water,
that has filled them this entire time.
There are two kinds of falling as well,
through water and through air,
one slow and sinking and you cannot escape,
no matter how hard you want to.
The other is quick, like a dive,
and at maximum velocity,
it all depends on how high up you were when you fell,
on how hard the landing hurts.
As the fall happens,
some don't realize it.
They only know not to fall and haven't been prepared,
to fall or to dive or to live with what has happened.
They weren't told how to brace for impact,
or how to think.
Things ChangeThings evolve,
they change and look different,
even though they are essentially the same,
and each time they look a little different,
fewer people notice.
It's like we're used to change,
the ever twisting fate that is our bodies,
and as time goes on we see only little things.
If you look ten or fifteen years,
down the road and past the time,
it turns out that you see all the differences.
Like the difference between your baby picture,
and the picture you take at the end of high-school,
when you're not quite an adult but you're not quite anything more...
and college rears its ugly head and things turn different than before.
It's weird looking back even just six months,
because six months is all it took,
to take away my happiness,
and now I'm just a gaunt version of myself,
fatter in some ways but dead in others.
FragmentI lie to say
called memory -
do you still
think of me?
You gave me
when I had
Oh, tell me
when I lie
when I lie
pantomiming conversationblackbirds huddle tails and talons
around a snow-heaped dumpster hangout
haggling the price of tomorrow's meal
in squawks, bobs, and scraps
regurgitating last week's rotting news
and last night's burnt spaghetti
I imagine them human,
tall and proud in ruffled, rumpled suits,
feathers greased sleek in topknots--
beaks painted bright in pantomime
Accepting My BodyMy body is a temple and you cannot enter.
It is made to be worshiped, not used,
So bow like it's an alter.
"Am I free tonight?" No, I'm too expensive to buy.
And while this might sound arrogant,
Think I'm conceited?,
Just know you're not the only one I will deny.
My ego is not huge, in fact, it's just right.
Just big enough for me to see I don't owe you shit,
So take that to your fight.
But if you truly are curious, let me explain:
I'm just accepting me, as I am,
I'm cutting through this ball and chain.
I can finally see myself as I am.
I can finally look in that mirror and go, "Damn!"
I am beautiful in my weird eyes,
That turn from grass to gold to Indian skies.
I am beautiful in my brown hair,
That never fails to flip when I'm trying for flair.
I am beautiful in my white skin,
That darkens in a blush as my lips stretch into a grin.
Speaking of that, I love my lips
They speak soft words of tender love or harsh insults that crack like a whip.
I love my hands, which are ever
Or perhaps they're just hungryMy fish watch helplessly
as the hours tick by
and I fail to get out of bed,
bodies flashing beacons;
air traffic controllers waving frantically,
trying to direct my mind
back to my tired bones.
unquietus"you never rang,"
he quarantinely sang,
simple as a dull breeze
or a fact dismayed.
"at maximum, you thudded
like the pads of your feet
on the concrete as you
"you took my breath,"
she despairingly leapt,
quick like glances
at the tables of lovers.
"how could i
have intoned different,
all my existence set free
by your violence persistent?"
I would expect nothing less, from a mocking world
Where no light is left alone
If there was a name to call it out upon, its sins would not atone.
For out one time, a time ago
I left this world of ours. The one that leaves you in the dust
With fire in your lungs. No glory did I have that hour, but no shame do I have nigh
Swinging from the redwood boughs, countless joy for I
For when, in the last dying of the light, does come a sharp crack of
Illumination, it fills the void inside. Swinging from the dusty tree,
I could at last decide my fate. The fickle thing
That plays with us
Could and will forever hold me nevermore.
Since I have died and blown away,
Upon the breeze that snapped the trees
And countless bones of mine,
I reap whats called a victory in shying amber eyes. “The
Warden of the Wendodawn” is what
They cry today.
I leave them in the frozen field
So far and thrown away.
Not from life, nor light or joy
But from the very things they know
To leave them far behind; those
Cheshire CatYou’re all rouge and smile,
all swagger; you, smooth talker,
enjoy making girls fall for you,
so you can kick them in the teeth.
I was just the challenge,
the girl who wouldn’t swoon.
I should have seen you coming a mile off,
but circumstance, and such…
You feigned the friend, you fiend,
and bit by little bit, drew me in.
Was it all just your little game?
Where rules are subject to change?
Now, you smile with fangs,
a coiled viper, waiting for me
to give that one last thing:
precious cargo you didn’t need,
You push. I bend. But,
my pulse outweighs your greed.
You’re all rouge and smile,
all swagger; you, smooth talker,
enjoy making girls fall to their knees,
so you can kick them in the teeth.
You did not expect, I’d still have mine.
And I stand on my own, just fine.
I feel my heart pumping,
I see my hands moving.
I hear the sounds of silence that fills me with curiosity and wonder,
hoping to learn about this blue planet that I live under.
I look at myself in the mirror,
what I see in myself is clear.
A weak but brave man,
an alienated puppy who sit's on the sand.
Watching other people walking past me,
then turning my head to watch the sea.
while sipping my tea.
Thinking to myself,
I am alive.
Inhaledsweet swell of ocean waves
in front of my boarded up childhood home
reminded me sometimes of the estuaries
a mix of clear and calm with
hint of salt water
creating taffy on my tongue
as i inhaled
exhale of expectations turn
flower into weeds
and saplings into
kindling – igniting
the boarded up home with
a spray of sea salt
the green flames turning
a plot of a memory against
the sweet swell of the sea
into a mirrored image
of blue and green