false requiems

abstract ideas are vaguely accepted
yet, when tested
all semblance of tolerance
is lost amidst the anger
the "sin" of it all
explained in terns from
an accepting, loving man
morphing into high morality
the refusal to accept anyone's values
yes, bathe in the blood of jesus
and pronounce his tenderness a sin
and in his name
kill the faggots and the heretics
and the witches and whores
burn them all until you don't remember
that behind closed doors
you are just the same.

kelli

in her eyes i can see the word girl glint off her
surfaces, although her mouth tongues boy
as she gives me that smile, knowing and
yet closed with visible longing for cessation
of deception, while father screams in the
living room not to be like 'those faggots.'
she winds the long hair up, watches the mirror parade
the whispers of dyke, and attempts to find a
male to take to prom to hide her dirty little
(girlfriend) secret.

speak*

he reads the sports section
rustling the pages

her fixed gaze is lost on him.
the television is muted, the fan
creaks
as it revolves.

she gathers the words against
her teeth and they
clack
with anticipation
but her breath lets out in a rush and
the words
flee
before she can force them into sounds.

he turns the page and settles in
to read.




*B.A. senior thesis poem

stoned, in ethics class*

a myriad of stars in the diamond heavens
could not light my way well enough to

tap-
dance
through the moral tarpits and
trip-
falls
required of intellectuals
to theorize, and puzzle out
the reasons, altruisms, empathetic sighs

as our fingers are tested in the silt-filled babblings
of philosophers, clear springs water now full
of sediments, dirt and

original
guilt
from the newest opiate religions of the masses.

communion hands full of
spaces and
pauses

in the struggling of the mighty
i.q. of the highest persons scraping out
the theoretical impersonalities of universes
that could have been
if not for our
ability to feel,
and love,

and dream.



*also in my senior thesis. almost completely unedited from when i first wrote it, in ethics class; i only changed the title.

concrete jungle

i do not see what is in front of me.
birds call in the air and
the pages of my book are
ruffled by the chill of autumn air
but i am in another universe,
unseeing eyes staring.

i am imagining
the peace of forest, the harsh
loamy smell of leaves from seasons past,
watching squirrels and rabbits
the scent of pine and earth
and leaves crunching beneath me
when i shift my weight.

[never mind my concrete surroundings
the sounds of traffic
from the nearby highway]

in my world, trees rule the
earth and within their branches,
i am melding into bird calls
and rustling leaves, and the
gentle noise of forest creatures who
scamper and live under roots
and in burrows under logs.

comprehension comes slowly

her eyes met mine
and for the first time,
she really saw me
straight through the layers
and bare into the center

i saw a flicker of comprehension
and that's all i really needed
i just wanted her
to see that pain
acknowledge the reality

it wasn't an admission of fault, or
an apology i was searching for
simply requiem in her eyes.

ideal kind

the way you move,
tracing shapes in the air
that only you can see,
and the lazy way you turn
my head to kiss me
and i love you, i do
when you touch me
with those hands and
whisper in my ear -
love, you do things
to me i'd never do to myself.
masochist that i am, i
have not the heart for these things.

entranced

i'm not entirely sure how long
i watched the screen-saver's
swirling lines and loops and curls

my mind snapped awake and
iwasthinking

i gotta get out of here
i gotta get out of here

the screen-saver continued its
frantic journey

i'm caged here playing my life on
loop like a crazed creature
bumping and pressing against
the glass of my computer screen.

scry

i am still evolving
i press my form onto the cloth
in an attempt to discover
who i am
perhaps i will divine myself
from the debris
of all that the others
have left behind.

better in the dark

what if i don't want
to be a certain thing,
what if my place
is in ambiguity,
and i am not meant
to become a definition?

am i not all of my lives, all
of my failures,
shortcomings, my
myriad mistakes,
am i not
every person i have ever been?

thankfulness

a sickening swirl of stomach
the clenched fists, nails
digging into your flesh, waiting
for the phone call - the yes or no.
sitting, twisting and turning
in your seat, glancing and glaring
at the clock, tapping your leg
impatiently, waiting
for the right time to leave, drive away
to the anxiously awaited appointment
your toe-jittery, teeth-grinding interview
where they hang your future in the balance
and watch you writhe before
handing you what you need - they say,
makes you grateful, that way.

april fifth

where we fail to mark our lives,
they make marks upon us
and your words burn holes me me still.
i cannot shut my mind to still
the echoes of flames.
i don't hope anymore,
concerning you.
i am sick unto death
of wishing you towards me
and away, so tired
of your appearances
just as i believe i
may have forgotten you,
and then here you are
and i scrape myself everywhichway
to cater to you.
i am tired
of the lurch in my throat,
your way of pretending
nothing happened at all,
the flighty, loveyou, hateyou,
mournful look
the secretive smiles
aimed ten degrees to the left
of my face,
of saying hello, then goodbye,
watching you slowly disappear
from my life.
now only dates mark my memory.
i will remember each year -
one year older, one year
further away
from you.

too good at lying to myself

pathetic insipid child,
there is no love,
didn't mommy tell you that?
as she unpacked
the crates from the divorce,
she said
marry rich
not for love
i thought her a fool
(but who is the fool
indeed?
i sit here
with a crumbled life
and she is beginning anew.
no regrets.)

battle

i'm studying the war cultures right now
and i begin to understand the rage
felt by all these ancient men
stirred to march and die for causes
they deemed necessary for bloodshed
i could take up my sword right now
i could lose myself in the death throes
of the people i hack down in blood-rage
and come out on the other side of battle,
filthy and worn, but whole as i could be
having hacked my heart to bits in war-mongering
i could walk on, and try to never feel again.

identity

you know it's on the line
trembling between past present
former and future
you wait
grasping for both sides,
terrified
of letting go
but you know that
forward is the only way,
there is nothing for you
in the past.
begin to throw away
your old life,
tearing a new spot for yourself
in the fabric of the world,
while the past digs its claws
into tender places.

leave everything behind

try not to mind when
they cry when you leave.
it is only a few moments,
their eyes will dry.
do not compulsively
clench your throat,
do not look back
as you drive away.
the road promises new
beginnings, and people
who have not lived
your middle school failures
and small high school triumphs.
you will be anonymous, alone.
do not cry when you realize
you have run away
to a new set of problems.
your status isn't changing,
you are still the same.
they are still the same.
it is all the same.
do not call your old best friends
and watch even the most familiar
melt away into strangeness.
most of all, do not admit
your failings, when home for the holidays -
no, it's good, really -
i'm fine.

patiently

pale green lampbeams shine
from the black fur of face.
short glints and she looks away,
tail twitching, waiting
staring at rough bark.
i hear the cheerful chirping
she is so enamored of,
and i really hope
(although i rather like birds)
that her fur will hide
from glints of sunlight.
twitch,
a tensing of body and limbs.
birds shoot from branches
and she flicks her tail
once, twice,
and curls underneath
the tree's shade, waiting.

worn through with you

why, whisper,
do you long for death so?
surely you know
it will not stop your longings,
fears and heresies. deeply inside
where your heart rots from misuse
in your chest, you can feel
that death is not the escape
you'd love it to be.
no, you will find
yourself again, over and over
you cannot expect the mortal coil
to change you.
death is nothing.
it will not kill your forbidden desires, or
help you run away.
death will bring you back here, over and over;
you cannot escape
from yourself.

mania

hold my throat i can't breathe i can't feel
my arms i can't feel the bleeding again
it's nothing it's nothing
fuck pretending forget i'm useless again let's
start the cycle over again why won't
you Talk To Me why won't you recognize
that all i want is to erase the
feeling of a whore is all i'm good for
i help you forget the ones you really loved
i've been everything but the one you
Would Have Died For how do you think
that makes me feel? how do you think
that makes me feel? Stupid girl you thought he
loved you. you thought She loved you
You Keep Dreaming Fairy Tales nobody
loves you nobody wants you
Stop Pretending you're anything
but a Stupid Playtoy nothing
nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing

hurricane aftermath

leaves on bushes and trees
glint their startling green into the sunlight.
as i walk, my shoes
crunch the dead and dying leaves
blown down by the winds.
it is an early illusion of fall.
if i close my eyes and
forget the heat of a southern september,
the sounds my feet make
bring me home
to a place where, in fall,
foliage turns bright autumn colors
and you can find leaf piles
under trees
the sounds small children make
running to jump into a pile
of the beautiful fiery colors

she died

not from violence, but
silently
each time her girlfriend
forgot to call
every glare from her mother
when her girl
walked in the door
and she knew she
wasn't wanted
a plague of humanity
a diseased brain,
never mind love.
forget the feeling like
everything would be
wonderful -
when girlfriend walks out
the door,
all you are left with
is an angry silence
the words dyke and sin

rehearsal

it takes more than just your clothes
to be a dancer.
try on the shoes, fit your toes
into the confines of pointe
your slicked back hair,
and the weariness
of knowing the steps by heart
and failing anyway

hammer

at first when we were new
you took that necklace and
you tied its cord around my throat
i wore it constantly, it was
always on my body to remind me
of you.
i wasn't yet yours,
just something quite profitable
to hold on to.
now that you claim me
i have my own necklace
to swing around my neck
yours stays firmly tied to you.
i am not sure if this
is a better arrangement.

friend/foe

the way when you turn to face me
you don't know whether to smile
or stare, aloof, away from me
and the emotion plays in the
lines of your face and
you don't understand when i walk away -
when i touch your face and
you duck your head, attempting
to avoid my touch -
these things.
i wish i knew you like i used to
the days i could count on my
fingertips
and i could have drawn you
from memory alone
with my heart

he

he says i'm too intense
for people to deal with,
and i understand
i burn with a ferocity
that scares even me,
sometimes
the way i'll be high
days after a smoke
the ways i see things
that aren't there, quite.
fucking crazy
like maybe they shouldn't have let
me go
but it doesn't matter.
i am here.
and i scare away
everyone i love
with my intensity.

on purpose

you'd think
that if we were as
goddamned happy as we
claim to be
then we wouldn't
drown ourselves in liquor,
smoke until
our tongues are raw
lie to the hallucinogens
(i am not as fucked up as you think i am)
the uncomfortable stares you get
when they've found out something about you
they didn't want to know
the smile falters
the brusque manner,
the hasty retreat.

the curse of memory

try as i may
she will not leave.

this latest incarnation
splashes the ceiling in the bathtub,
laughing and comfortable
legs entwined within mine
chaperoned only by the rubber ducky.

i know her legs, the scarred ankles
the way her hands felt in mine
it's not over, but it is

he says i want a girl
but that's not it, precisely
what i want is her
i want to move on
and to stop looking back

over-exposed

the glint of blonde made the camera glare
and the otherwise pristine picture was
washed in brilliance
that obscured the details of the faces

she was kissing his cheek
his abashed grin
her peaceful ambrosial bliss, eyes closed
steadying herself on his shoulder
a moment captured, yet obscured
simultaneously

$3.76 is

the price of a ticket
to buy solitude
music in the background like
a trance -
the words don't matter, or
the chords
just the feeling of being alone
when i want nothing more
than to run away from everyone,
i would pay any price to fade
into the obscure crowds
so you'll forgive me if
i don't think the price
of a big coffee is too much
to become nobody.

sometimes you ache
for another's touch
on your flesh but
sometimes, nobody
is not a bad person to be.
when lost in the crowd,
when walking alone on the street
thinking how nice it would be
to be somebody

i don't regret knowing, just feeling.

he doesn't know what to tell me
how immature
how sad my smile
how trouble seems to follow me
in waves
when i say how i'm doing fine.
and i am
when i've stamped the
suicidal screams to
faint whispers,
when i cease to mutilate
my arms
you're beautiful,
he says, why you date
the guys you date...

and i'm thinking how i'd
much rather date
no guys at all

you wanted to know who i am.

one who once knew your every curve
who would lie beside you and
try not to breathe
for fear of waking you
who would hold your lithe body against mine
who loved you.

now i am cut by your words
instead of a blade
i am the one who stares at you, numbly
when you look into my face
and you don't say a goddamn thing
when we once talked in the language of blood,
pain and tears.
your pictures, i stare at
out of the corners of my eyes
memories i did not make, merely borrowed
from the photograph albums of friends i perused,
hoping to see your beautiful face,
and averting my eyes in sorrow
when i saw your smile.

disappear

imagine the ease of her leaving
hugs her family,
boards the behemoth
alone, not grieved.
it is a breath let out
a weight removed.
imagine you never have to spot
her in the grocery store,
or at your favorite coffeehouse
her poetry no longer glaring
from the pages
imagine
you have no more links to her words,
her anguish falls on deaf ears
in the town she has abandoned.
imagine taking your hand
and deleting her presence
as if she has never lived for you.

everyone walks straighter,
as if a burden
is lifted from their shoulders.

which drugs, how many, how often, how soon?

i can feel the concentric circles
around my body
can feel the walls pulse and sway
contracting around my outflung arms.

i do not remember the reasons.

your company

when your heart turns actress
and you cannot stem the ebbs
and flows of that creative tide
when your mouth speaks words
that make you cringe
inside (no, no, don't go,
please stay, i didn't mean it)
and your hands, they let go
of everything you've been holding,
what then?
how do you reposition your lips
around your traitorous mouth
how can you stand to touch
yourself with those hands?
how do you forgive yourself
for banishing
the one thing you'd kill
to have?

poet humor

a little bit about me: i hate form in poetry, for the most part. i do like haiku, i also love sestinas. i might even throw a villanelle at you, but i hate ABAB rhyme forms, and any variation thereof. you can believe if i wrote a sonnet, then someone made me do it. so, this:
i found this, it's from a creative writing course i took before tenth grade (in high school).....
it still cracks me up. this is what you get when you make me do things i hate.



the sonnet-hater's sonnet

i do not want to write this stupid sonnet
though the assignment was to write in verse
of Shakespeare's time, and stay right on it
i rather think it molds my verses worse.
although it holds my rambling po'etry tame,
sonnet form my inspiration bums.
maybe someday this sonnet will bring fame;
though all think the word "gag" for sonnet sums.
constraining form is sonnet's major vice
it makes the poetry sound rather rough;
i'd really hate to write this sonnet twice
i think that torture once is quite enough.
i've learned my sonnet writing isn't best;
i'll write in something else, like anapest.

starting to lose

the song reminds me of years ago
before i even knew how to fuck
i'd spend hours listening to it on repeat
and imagine the scenario in my head

he would bring roses
or it would be perfect, somehow
we would be the pair
of movie soul-mates
matched moves, with a broken sort of sweetness
a completion
i was in love.

grey Nissan, year '92
the upholstery was piecey
he bent me into the narrow seats
radio playing
a commercial for cars.

on the way back,
he told me how,
years ago,
he had laid out roses for his prom date
who said no

when rage becomes desire

i want to be the girl
who can't quite manage to cry
when you fail me

Whisper*

i’m pleading
to
any deity that might
listen

that one day i’ll look you
in the face

and all i’ll think is,
“yeah, i used to love her.”




* also in my B.A. senior thesis

my face against the fabric

my eyelashes brush the glass and the tears
pool in the lenses
frames smashed between my face
and a pillow
i fling them off and watch
the salty liquid roll away,
or, if left alone long enough,
evaporate in the sun
like blood in a vial
scars on an arm
meaningless love letters
the scent of her on my clothes

picture me trying to evoke her
long after the scent has faded.

s.o.s.

same old shit
you ask every time
when you call me
three hours late,
"what you doing?"
and i answer,
waiting
waiting for you
because it's the goddamned truth
it's what i've been doing
since august
for every in-between call,
some small forgotten promise,
and the songs you won't let me play

it doesn't matter
i'm good at waiting.

i perfected the art
early in junior year,
lying still in bed, barely breathing
hoping she'd touch me -
a familiar scene i've repeated with you
and when
for the thirty-some-odd time, i fail
i stand in the rain,
smoking pain away.

love is*

like grapefruit

sweet when it curves
into your fingers but
after the fruit is devoured
all you're left with
is a pile of refuse

a bitter taste
on your mouth and fingers





* in my B.A. thesis. they wanted me to switch the first line for the title, and vice versa... so i did in the thesis, but i personally think that's crap, and have switched it back...because it's mine... and my prerogative.

this princess is quitting

i'm sick of all the lies about
the fairy tales
your goddamned happily
ever after
bunk and hogwash
i used to wait for that
fucking prince you swore
would save me

well then where was he
when i was slitting my
wrists, and why
didn't he hold me
when i cried

when i mixed poisons
and crawled
on the living room floor
thinking i was dying
when i prayed to the porcelain gods
when i fertilized
the cemeteries with my blood

where the fuck was he
playing his video games
or getting stoned

an imaginary thing
a lie no one bothered to rescind,
like they would about the tooth fairy

they leave the important questions hung
in the air, loud and unanswered.

conceiving bitterness

a faithless sort of man
the kind that will promise the world
and hold you, and then leave

you will choke on the sawdust
when he is gone.
he leave trails of broken things
behind him,
daughter, marriage, wife

how to become invisible

it's in the way you reach over, suddenly
propelled out of inertness by chords
all too familiar, and none you
want to hear

the way when i put certain songs on,
you change my entire lineup
and put your preferences on, instead

and look, i know it's not a social commentary
about my music tastes, or the
appropriateness of the sound

no, your problem comes with
long, curly brown hair
the kind that piles up in
the corners of showers
and sticks to you in
unexpected places, and
won't stay off your clothing

kind of like the way her memory
stays in the corners of your
mind and infects the
curves of my body

i remind you of her

but i'd rather leave you behind
than become her flesh-incarnate memory,
a replacement
to knock around your bed,
a shoulder to cry on

roommates

she wears blue contacts
the kind designed to
camouflage a darker color
like curtains for a window.
she doesn't let him see
her eyes naked, he already sees enough
with his penetrating glance,
and the way he undresses her silently
as if she is a statue
incapable of moving, or
independent thought.
the way his fingers trespass...

she closes her eyes.
he'll never see her.

cute girl seeks same

a gamer, i think
someone who gets lost
in a computer screen, or
one who can contemplate the complexities
of a d20.
someone who won't notice
my presence in the room
until i sit down in her line of vision,
so i can see that light jump
into her eyes.
i want a nerd
someone with glasses, so that
when i take them off and
they can't really see
they'll stare, unfocused, with a small grin
i think someone who would pair
a sports coat with jeans
and Airwalks
the kind that, when your eyes
meet in the bookstore, you both
just smile
because you know how to laugh
at yourself,
laugh at the world.

smudges in my rear view (irritants)*

i.
i can see your heart
although you’re trying
to cover that wound
as an oyster would
a pearl

ii.
the gentle curve of neck
does not betray tension
small and cold
surrounding the
abrasion
but your fingers do a
tap—
dance
on my coffee
table




*this is also in my B.A. thesis, edited from the original version a bit

hold your breath

you hear the room tense
with silent anticipation
we walk past with
fading breath
an unrequited love song,
an accidental death.
the room seems empty,
frozen, devoid
of warmth and life

film

every picture makes my stomach clench
an old familiar feeling i can manage
to pretend i'm comfortable with
but betrayal is never something that leaves
your mind. while i thumb the snapshots
(your naked smile)
i try to deaden, every time
the lump in my throat
the convulsive ways my eyes betray me.

[& but now]

those soft tones used to evoke you

i see only her
she stands over the whispered words
a memory no amount of blocking
could undo
i cannot escape her
i attempted to resuscitate my life,
free of her omnipresence

but i can't bleed this away
no, i cannot bury my insecurities
into my flesh, and dredge up
the old show of mask
and stone

i don't expect anything

dig in with your razor teeth
take the flesh a piece at a time
tear into the core
and keep going
until you have a perfect piece of artwork
hollowed from the inside out
a porcelain heart
empty
but beautiful.

daughters of Jupiter

such is my divinity
but having him as father
has not saved my heart
from a slow death

i can control the world
and create joy in lives
for short intervals
i can caress a cheek
and contain love
in my hands

but it is a useless talent.

no person may be satisfied
with mere moments
a glimpse of the love they long for

i cannot bend or force free will
to sculpt a situation, i cannot
work the wiles of cupid
to stay so permanently

the dawn brings emotions
i cannot change

disbelief has killed my power with cruel hands.

pathetic

you're like a bad drug
you promise paradise
leave me lying in hell.
and i can't drive away
and leave you standing there
like i should
you parasite
you've invaded everything
i held dear
and i don't understand
i can't burn
or bleed this away
i can't hold this in my hands,
and let it drop
like a leaf
coming to rest
on water.

irony must be a writer

even when
i could feel myself
start to shatter
i lay staring at the ceiling
composing a poem to tell you how i felt

instead of simply doing something
about the cause.

the classroom of her

fingertips twined in your hair
brushed back from your face
to find the eyelashes that
tremble against my cheek in sleep
the mouth that holds mine in its sway
the kiss i lose my mind in,
every time
we play these games
a fingernail caress
hands that shy and turn, yet
hold yours like a saviour

i have never been here before
no familiar paths guide my steps
i stumble blindly
like living in darkness for centuries,
and walking suddenly
into sunlight.

small roses

i look into the past and it hurts less
the sharp ache is gone, replaced by sadness
that, while pervasive, is not overwhelming
simply there in the back of my mind
when i choose to acknowledge its presence.

i have become far more than i ever dreamed.
and i did it
while walking on shards of glass
holding my broken heart
bleeding in my hands, and for this
i have a sense of pride in every small scar.

the housing of blackmail and love

you can travel time in photographs
(they are an unwilling machine, but no matter)
you can stare at yourself
and imagine
back into the world of the snapshot
and close your eyes (there you are).

desire

i wanted to know her
like nothing i could have ever imagined.
i prayed to a god i didn't believe in,
as our knees touched under the covers,
please let her feel the same
as i do.
her lithe body curled against mine
in sleep - i could hardly breathe.
i became even more of an insomniac,
just to watch her dream.
there is nothing else that compared
to the feeling of her small self
pressed against me, in a self-
conscious way,
our hands clasped secretly
in the darkness.

swept back into the familiar ways

slicked back
my hair's long enough again
bend the strands into the same old knots
to see my former self in the mirror
missing, albeit, the grace
charm
proper attire
and stance
of a dancer

i have changed, but it is transparent
and when you lie me over who i used to be
the patterns still fit
(they just need some adjusting)
i have become everything i wanted
desperately, and at the same time
was afraid to be.

four am

set spinning
by the way
you waken me to say goodbye
like a dismissed child
set spinning
by the drugs i've consumed
to try & get rid
of the memory of you
(& your hands on my body & face)
set spinning
by straining to stay away from you
straining
against the power of the pills i swallowed
to paint a better picture
stretched on a gravestone laughing at the sky
bleeding onto the stone
set spinning
by the lack of clouds
& goddamned beautiful music
& the touch of cold metal on my skin
the warmth of blood
& shitty alcohol
set spinning
by the lack of you
in my days & my nights
like a blanket removed
so i shiver all night long.

they say leave you

behind
like a bad dream
but oh
& it's so hard to let go
of dreams, once they have
taken root & festered
& tangled into my heart
like to still its beating.

i didn't want you to be like the others

your fucking face won't
get out of my head

nine times this morning
i thought of you and
turned that pain loose
on myself like a spear,
squeezed it tightly like
a knot,
where no
amount of untying
will ever loosen
my clenched teeth
the fake smile i give
to strangers when i pass

i make fun of people as stupid as i have been
the kind like dogs, who cringe away at
a blow
and later run back for the attention.

i remember talking, laughing
conversation
the kind about the type of men i like
i said i always ended up liking/loving
the ones who treat me like shit

you said you'd beat me, to keep the spark alive
and i laughed, because it was funny
but i'm not laughing now

masquerade*

welcome to the masochist’s ball
rent your whips and your chains
by the hour –
search down an empty-eyed partner
in a mask, blank –
faceless, smooth
and let her pour her rage into you.

when your stranger makes you scream

your stains will mark the pavement
like a murder scene.

chalk lines
are only found

in fiction.





*in my B.A. senior thesis, also

don't bother

i need stitches.
some things (never) change.

the reasons i couldn't leave you, at the time

kept waiting by the small and silly things -
the way her hair falls
from behind her ears, no
matter how firmly placed -
the way she breathes when she sleeps
curled into my neck
while the world outside
waits for me, i stay here
captivated by her movements
the small rustlings
of the covers as she moves
and yes, i have made a study
of this,
i have noticed
each thing
the motions even she
does not know intimately.

like (almost) a prayer

your voice like a hand over the phone line
to caress my cheek (like an unseen breeze)
love you, love you [not] - oh,
like it's ever a conscious decision - like
i could ever pin you down, and classify
this feeling (pit of stomach, a flutter) feeling
like time stands still - like love and hate -
the same intensity of emotion, simply
different ends of the spectrum.
like time stands still like stuck in mud
whenever our lips touch
whenever we mouth away our sorrows
and our yearnings.
let's say it's love - well
maybe but it's
hard to tell
when your hands touch mine, and
i turn away
(wanting oh so badly, but too afraid to try)
but i'm here, hold me -
make me believe.

i see through you

you can tell everything by the
clothing one wears
by the manner in which one
presents his case, his self,
the abrupt manner of his chopped syllables

public speaking

it's not a subject i tread lightly upon
the repercussions are still raised and indented
on my arm, however slight or harmless (looking)
but who am i to insist you not
broach these topics of conversation?
they broach themselves, insistent and loud
they want to be heard, yes
and sometimes i am helpless
to stop the tears, or streams of words

how to die (when already dead)

take a razorblade
attempt to carve your life story
into your arms
drink too much, and smoke
like a chimney

let your body think
you've given up on narcissism,
then
lash back out
and fail to breathe

turn colors
make the audience
gasp in alarm
wash, rinse repeat - (through the months)
make a habit of sleeping

in the street, praying for trucks



p.s.
this is modeled after a poem by Eibhlin Nic Eochaidh, called "How to kill a living thing"

you'll dance until your feet bleed

does this deep-seated need
become a dream, or simply fiction
alongside life? a truth
somewhat possible, yet
ever out of reach?
her small rustlings in the dark -
dreamlike yet perfectly played
the movements precise,
like choreography
the steps you learn by heart
in a stifling dance studio,
tracing shapes after the lights are out.

what we call "love"

if i believe your words - and i try -
what then? do i hold your body
closely, do i hear you whisper
and plead

so you tell me why you're crying
and you tell me why i slept
on the floor, before you dragged me
to bed, yes.

make your excuses
and when the abstracts begin to fit
i'll pretend to see the rest of the picture.

endings, beginnings, and obsessions

it's eventuality
we all have our vices,
the grips of passion
around our throats
it never ends

so let control go
give in to temporary oblivion
drug your way through
lose yourself in sex
alter your mind
if this world is mad, why
then i should be mad, also
to join it.

bent paperclips holding you together

the music is going
so you dance your part
you make your wishes
and if you get the steps right,
if the flowers are laid in your arms just so
then you'll be the ballerina
you always wanted to be
then you'll feel the part
of the graceful creatures
you always strove towards,
but always seemed to fall
somewhat short of.