Whisper of a Soul

A whisper scrapes my cheek,

a whisper of the night,

a whisper of a sunrise,

of pink, blue, white.

“Nice to see you,

            who are you?”

I don’t wear a nametag, for

what good would that

do?

it would become covered in Drops

of Moonlight and

Dust of Daylight that

would fade the lines, blur the ink, make me illegible,

And untrue.

These Drops of Moonlight and

Drops of Daylight, they sprinkle:

adding a glimmer to my soul.

I’ll smile, I’ll laugh,

I’ll do a little dance,

(the nobody-is-watching dance,)

I’m proud to play my role.

As I walk among the Night

things, crickets fill my ears with,

their sad song, their love song,

their all-night-every-night

kind of song:

reminding me they’re near.

The Music ignites an ember,

the ember ignites the flames.

soon enough my

entire body

sways with symphonies in my veins.

The colors fill my brain with the

universe's story,

I close my eyes, open my

mind,

take Life’s inventory.

And the Morning, it

becomes,

as all Nights must.

So begins the day, the

daylight dust.

It’s not the dirty dust, the

kind of cough and sneeze,

it’s the kind of glitter made to make

you wonder and wander the paths of your mind.

Never does it displease.

So I stand underneath the

sun when a

curious sound I hear,

it’s a gentle HUM, a soothing

HUM,

the kind of Music of

which flowers appear.

The HUM could only mean

one thing:

the universe is alive, entwined.

The thoughts of mine,

thoughts of yours,

this hum will cause the bind.

Paint a canvas in more than black sharpie, and when you run out of space, cover your bedroom walls with the Music of crickets and colors of voices, Dust of the sun, Drops of the moon, the way a HUM looks, and when you have finished,

Write on your heart.

I think you’ll find,

you and me,

we play a very

similar part. 

Fall Out Of Bed With One Shoe On.

A smile is just a smile
unless there's a reason behind it
and a reason is just a reason
unless there's a meaning behind it
and a meaning is just a meaning
unless there's a person behind it
and a person's just a person
unless there's a mirror behind them
and a mirror is just a mirror
unless you can see your heart in it
and your heart is just a heart
unless somebody else takes care of it.

Piano Solos

Trace the lines of my face in
pastel and pink
for I can't do it on my own and
trace my tears with drops of Neptune
for the ice in my heart has shown and
although my feet plant on this Earth
my head is high,
high where the wind blown.

Above the trees and above the birds,
my heart does soar
not even you could take me out this door,
this door of color, of light and sound,
I don't have money but not am I poor.

For I have you,
this is simple and true.
I hate poems that rhyme,
you bring it out in me,
you do.
you do.

(It's a last resort to prevent my heart from exploding something needs to get out and reach the air and my fingers can't type fast enough to make up for the vast emptiness in my head except for the three little words that start with a 143.)

#8

As I stand outside under the crisp fall air it fills me 

with a 

longing and regret for things

I don't know and people

I can't see;

the moon so large it casts a perfect

round shadow

(let your beautiful shadow engulf me)

More commonly I lie in my room,

the air so stuffy it suffocates me

with a longing and regret for things

I don't know and people 

I can't see;

the glow in the dark stars shining 

down 

(trace indigo across my face)

Shout at the sea with more of a beautiful ramble 

than anything else

and don't let the fisherman come home without a 

touch of potpori because everybody knows that

if you're not part of the problem,

maybe you're my solution.

Play a symphony in my love.

Self-Induced Therapy

I want to scream at the computer how you're not just 25 words, not just some sentences on a sheet of paper, not just a face in the crowd, or a grave stone that will ultimately get weathered away and worn down so nobody can even see your name anymore. Nobody will ever know who you were or how amazing you were, HOW DARE THEY MAKE YOU 25 WORDS. Please, somebody tell me how this is fair. Only the good die, why not somebody else? Why not an evil, dark, person who can't love? Why not somebody who lives their life for their own benefit? Why?

Sing to me a ballad of tears, weave me a sweater of sorrow,
paint yourself into a rainbow and cover me
in colors so that maybe
I can pretend to smile and laugh
5 months is the hardest part because
people start to forget,
memories start to change,
people start to forget
don't let me forget.

Existed

I can google your name
and it's like you never even existed.
"First 25 of 166 words" is all it says in the place I used to visit everyday.

It's like you never existed.

I can look at a photograph of you dancing in the ocean
and it's like you never even existed.
The edges are torn and yellowed, fingerprint-scared, and forgotten.

It's like you never existed.

I can look into my mind and hear your voice and smell your house and taste your soups,
but I can't touch your face,
It's like you never even existed;
my mind is playing games with my heart
because you always, always,
always
existed.

#7

Free me like the strong ocean tides
breaking through
the levees of New Orleans
and
Free me like a love song
breaking through
the chains of My Heart
and
Free me like the artist's pen
breaking through
the walls that flat canvas impose.

love letter.

He said,
(you're) a moon rock in my asteroid field, stardust inside my wand.
I said,
listen here, wave-breaker. I'm not amazing as moon rock or fragile as a speck of dust but thanks for (the) compliment I guess.
I'm not either of those things and that's just because, if I could be anything, I would be coal and if I had to name a million reasons why, YOU would be (best) at the top.

If I could be any(thing), I'd want to be your coal.

I'm not asking for much
but a couple of lumps and bumps upon the surface and some powder
on my surface that sticks; I want to taint your hands with black. I want it to
seep
under your fingernails and I want to
bury
my way into the caverns of your heart.
To make myself a home in there is all I seek; to
just
curl
up there and stay the night or two or three, or maybe
seventeen
because (that's) one of my favorite numbers.
But he already knew that by now.

I wouldn't hurt you if you
let me
have a little
place, a little corner of your
universe
to myself. I can sit quietly if that is what
you
please, I'll cry with
you (ever)ryday
if that's what
you
need, and I'll always be there because somebody up there knows
you're all I see.

It will take a little bit, but I think that after a while,
maybe,
possibly,
after
twenty-one
or
so
days,
I would reemerge from the depths of your
soul
to find that all that's (happened)
is that I appear
no different
to the rest of the world than I ever was before.
Still just a lump of grimy old coal off (to) go
soil your clothing
again whenever you get close, so
god forbid it. don't talk.

In the one moment where he pushes my hair from my eyes
and looks at me like I'm the freaking reason the Earth is still in
orbit,
there's something else in his eyes that tells (me) he sees what everybody else struggles to
glimpse.
"You're a diamond pulled from moon rock, the reason my stardust exists(,)" his lips whisper to mine.






So take Me into your unIverse, take me and never let me go; I've searCHed waited too long for flowers to grow Around my feet. Intertwine your supernova arms around mine and for thE first time I don't care if I don't shine to anybody else here in the whole fucking worLd.

#6

I sit beside my window with the

door to my heart opened up just enough to feel

the cool night air tangle my hair and the crickets

weave symphonies in my veins.

Well the rain splashes on the porch outside

and it mixes with imaginary footsteps of one very real person.

As he walks across the grey pavement he thinks he's just walking

but really he's dancing.

He talks and all I see is a canvas of color erupting from

a place deep inside his soul, but he just thinks he's speaking.

He's

taking what was grey and blue and turning it to glitter.

All that glitters may not ever be gold, oh I know.

They all tell me that I'm being stupid and I'm being silly

and once again I am going to rip my pants in two searching the

ground for an answer.

They tell me to lock up and throw away the key because

this boy is danger.

I won't.

(I don't think)

Lately my head, my heart, and my body have all become

separate entities; my head saying stop, my heart saying go, and my

body just half between the ground and the stratosphere.

I'm okay with that.

I've got him.

I can't lose him.

they didn't say it was going to be easy, but they said it would be worth it so hold me in your arms for a little while longer and whisper to me the things I already know, kiss me sweet and kiss me slow, he's taken my heart and now he's stealing the show.

Letting Go, Continued.

If you're out there somewhere, I hope the

wind is blowing and the trees are swaying as the

crickets sing and the sun shines designs on damp pavement.

I hope that you're walking barefoot, if you're out there

somewhere; you'd want to feel the pebbles between your

toes as you balance and dance away the ground.

I hope that wherever you are, if you're there, you

get up early enough to pick basil from your sweet garden

and watch the sunrise cross your face.

If you're out there somewhere, I hope the stars are

shining on your neck and the moonlight carries you across

the sky every night while you conduct a symphony in your veins.

I hope that if you're somewhere, you feel the cool

ocean lap across your feet and hear the waves crash in your

ears; I hope you get a little sea salt in your hair.

I hope that wherever you are, you're looking

at flowers more and looking at lightning the most. I hope

that spring comes after every single winter.

I hope you're smiling, wherever you are.

I hope it's a real smile because I saw too

many fake ones those last few months and

as much as it hurt all of us, it hurt you the most.

Wherever you are, I hope more than anything that

you know I love you. I hope you know that you're the reason for

everything I do.

I hope you know that while the sun still shines here,

it seems a little duller, but that may just be because you

needed a little piece of the sun to take with you.

The ocean is a little cooler, the sound it makes a little dimmer,

but that's okay because as long as you have a piece

for yourself, I am fine.

Sometimes I'm angry, angry at the world

angry at myself and

more embarrassingly, angry at you.

I pick fights with God, even though I know

it's completely possible I'm picking fights with myself.

Every night, I see a glimmer of hope because

I know as soon as my head hits the pillow,

it will be a short time until I see

your face in my memory.

Some days are harder, some days blissful as the

warm soup you used to make me that

day when you told me,

I was the reason for you.

I want to remember and I still

don't because the pain of that day is still

fresh in my mind but I know that my biggest

fear is forgetting.

I saw you not too long ago, I was rowing a boat.

I can remember that.

You were wearing your flowery, sparkly shirt and your

tan slacks. You were with Nick.

You said to me, as I gave up hope,

"Don't burn your bridges before you cross them,

you never know what's on the other side."

I pulled harder to that finish line than I ever had before,

maybe it was out of hope, maybe it was out of desperation

to talk to you.

I've never crossed a finish line laughing and

crying at the same time so maybe God

does exist in that small moment,

my watch stopped because you wanted me

to take pictures in my mind of that.

I'll remember. You need to remember too though:

Wherever you are, I hope you know I'm okay.

Well maybe.

But I try to be.

I'm okay.

I choke out the words everyday, but I promise,

I'll be okay.

I hope you are.

I love you, but I have to let go now.

You Gave Me Scars Because, Honestly, YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE. But, thanks for them.

Take my paper, ribbon, glued back together a billion fucking times heart and sure, why don't you rip it one more time? I went to the doctor yesterday and when she asked "any pains" I pointed to my chest. Instantly I was on a little metal gurney being rushed around the way bees buzz around a hive or the way little innocent ants scatter a hill. The lights whooshed over my face and surrounded by men in white lab coats they were yelling things like STAT and OXYGEN and then I was thrown around, like that hasn't happened before, mind you, on a cold table covered by some crinkly waxed paper and without warning they cut me open. I screamed in agony but in actuality it was pleasure because at least it was something other than what I have been feeling for the past 36 hours. 36 hours. I heard them slice my skin, pry apart my bones with a deafening crack and the whole time all I thought was that the slice they made is nothing compared to the slice you made with your cruel words and intentions and that crack, that fucking wonderful crack, hurt less than the time that you kissed me in a stairwell and when I opened my eyes you were gone. The doctors finally made it through all the locks and steel doors and they found my heart there, barely beating, springing a leak or two. The room went silent, a pin dropped and I heard it mix with the hum of the machines and the beat of my heart. I let lose one single tear, something I haven't done in a while, and it didn't run down my cheek, it didn't mix with my lips. It sprung from my heart. I couldn't take it anymore, I closed my eyes. Too many people were staring at my naked chest torn open, too many secrets pouring out. And no way to stop. Just make it stop.

What they didn't see, is on the inside of all the scotch tape, ribbon, and glue is just a pinch of glitter. Just enough to give to one.

I woke up to find myself in a nice green room on a soft bed with a new, hand stroking my head and saw for the first time in my life that maybe having a heart that looks like it was made in a preschool art class isn't so bad after all.

#5

When you type into a little text box,

I heard you and

suddenly I knew that

the stars shine for you and

you're willing to give

a little glitter to me to

make my paper skin

more 3-D.

Octopi Are Smarter

If I (just) bury my feet real deep in an ocean's sand I used to swear I'd hit China. Okay, so maybe it wasn't an ocean, it was just an old red sandbox sitting by a chipped blue swing set broken with a million little hearts lingering on it. That's beside the point. The sand scraped my toes and I'd hit the occasional pebble that would make me bleed but that was no worry to me because I'd find China. Maybe I'd wind up in the middle of a crisp blue ocean, treading water for hours and hours trying to find the perfect palm tree beach to pull myself onto, maybe I'd just let myself sink to the bottom and speak with the fish there's so many reasons to just float down. I'd much rather speak to an octopus than any other fish because from what I hear octopi are pretty damn smart and mom always told me that you learn more when you talk to someone smarter but the trouble is how in the world do you find a smart person that isn't a total ass face? It's much more comfortable to fall straight to the ocean floor, strip off my clothes, burry my naked butt into the sand and rock and look at the moon from way down there. You can learn from an octopus but generally, when I'm not in China, I learn from the moon and the stars and sometimes they whisper to me. They tell me that lemons are yellow because God had to piss and the sky is really green it just depends on your perspective. It's different from the bottom of the ocean in China because all I see is a hole in the old red sandbox, creating a portal to your heart in just one slightly but suddenly different perspective. (live.)

Letting Go

(Listen to this as you read.)

If you're out there somewhere, I hope the

wind is blowing and the trees are swaying as the

crickets sing and the sun shines designs on damp pavement.

I hope that you're walking barefoot, if you're out there

somewhere; you'd want to feel the pebbles between your

toes as you balance and dance away the ground.

I hope that wherever you are, if you're there, you

get up early enough to pick basil from your sweet garden

and watch the sunrise cross your face.

If you're out there somewhere, I hope the stars are

shining on your neck and the moonlight carries you across

the sky every night while you conduct a symphony in your veins.

I hope that if you're somewhere, you feel the cool

ocean lap across your feet and hear the waves crash in your

ears; I hope you get a little sea salt in your hair.

I hope that wherever you are, you're looking

at flowers more and looking at lightning the most. I hope

that spring comes after every single winter.

Wherever you are, I hope more than anything that

you know I love you. I hope you know that you're the reason for

everything I do.

I hope you know that while the sun still shines here,

it seems a little duller, but that may just be because you

needed a little piece of the sun to take with you.

The ocean is a little cooler, the sound it makes a little dimmer,

but that's okay because as long as you have a piece

for yourself, I am fine.

Wherever you are, I hope you know I'm okay.

I'm okay.

I choke out the words everyday, but I promise,

I'll be okay.

I hope you are.

I love you, but I have to let go now.

#4

Take a crayon and color the faded lines with

soft pastels or black and white because

through these frames the eyes lie no

matter how many times you clean the glass there

is always one smudge left and it's right where you

are trying to look.

#2

Getting scrapes on my elbows and knees and

the bottom of my feet is a small price

to pay for the universe to

be in my hands.

I pray that little specks of dirt and

leaves

and love will work its

way into my cuts and taint my

blood.

I want to feel the sting because what

follows the sting is a mother's voice

softly saying that it will be alright.

I want to feel the sting, I want to feel living,

there's a difference.

everybody knows that living is different than alive.

I have the universe in my hands so I can bring the

sky to meet my fingers

or maybe even

my fingers to meet the sky.

I can make the grass grow greener or my bones grow stronger

and whiter so

I will never break again.

I can make a bike pedal faster and turn the

corner without a

single warning.

I can run faster than anybody in the world,

if I want to,

and I can make the world speed up.

I have the universe

In My Hands,

but there's two things I can never do

even if I try.

I can't fall in love.

I can't slow down.

I asked you to hold me

not because I was chilly but because

there was a smoldering in my soul,

sometimes they call that love,

but all I needed was to pass it to you

so that my heart didn't attain the irreparable

damage it was used to.

I have the whole universe in my hands,

but I can't find love,

and I can't slow down.

dkeghfaweguh[w2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't ever post non-poem posts but let me just say I had the scare of my life today, poets.

I THOUGHT I LOST MY ACCOUNT.

Blogger wouldn't let me log in! My face was flushed; I started hyperventilating! I tried for 1 whole hour.

...Then I realized I kept putting a random comma in my email address.

Oh, life.

To become more.

Inside of every one of us, there are oceans.

There's enough blood to create tsunamis and our hearts

beat enough times each day to

paint skies pink and grass purple, and it's

enough to

keep us alive but not enough to keep us living.

I Wish There Was An On-looker Who Believed

If you stop to think,

for a moment at most,

about the way rain fell on black pavement...

It splashes and spritzes out from underneath the

fat droplets

It gets caught in your eyelashes, weighing your

lively eyes down.

You run towards the car across the pavement in a sparkly

blue dress, the most beautiful princess.

Then, you jog.

Then you walk.

Then you stand.

and you stand.

just standing.

Looking to the sky, drops fall flat on your face,

caress your cheek bones,

mingle in your hair.

As cautious as a toddler, hesitant as the first kiss,

you spread your arms.

You don't know how, but somehow, someway,

you're spinning.

You are still looking at the sky, arms flung wide,

rain beats down on your smiling face

and not for one moment, one moment at all,

do you dare close your mouth; pull back that toothy grin.

The rain tastes too good, tastes too sweet to fight it.

Your perfect curls become weighed down, hairspray

runs away.

Slowly, frizzes start popping up, but you don't care one

bit at all.

It's slicked back,

mascara slides down,

but you're beautiful.

Butterflies aren't supposed to fly in the rain,

you heard,

maybe it makes their wings too sore,

but you swear to God you saw one.

It flapped and flapped and you could

tell it was struggling, keeping from drowning,

but still graceful as a swan,

pretty as a petal.

And you thought,

"I've finally found what I want to be."

A car door clicks, and broken from your trance,

you stand straight up,

dress hanging down, sopping wet,

no makeup to be found.

He runs over, umbrella in left,

holds out his right.

"Take it," he says, coaxing you along.

You think, seconds feel like hours and

minutes feel like days.

You don't know why, but for right now,

you're perfectly fine.

You take another look up, his eyes stay still

on your face, searching in the most loving way,

trying to see your thoughts.

"I want to be a butterfly," you said.

"You can."

In that moment he abandoned all hope of reasoning,

all hope of making it back home,

so he shouted to the driver,

"Sir, could you please turn the music up; the

headlights on?"

He dropped the umbrella, the rain fell harder.

He took her left hand, pressed it to her lips,

and almost died.

For the first time,

for the first time ever,

you felt beautiful.

And he saw that.

For the first time,

the first time ever,

you felt free.

just free.

If you stop to think,

for a moment at most,

about the way rain fell on black pavement,

I found that the you's are me's and

the he's are you's and I want nothing more

to be a butterfly in the rain,

and unspoken beauty,

a hushed secret,

with you.

Just another onlooker,

but one who actually believed.

Welcome To The Planet.

The grass tickles my nose as

I roll around in it.

It's green and it's cool, and I like the

way that it feels in my hair.

The sky looks blue as

it fills my eyes.

I look around and it's bright and beautiful,

and I like the way it feels in my soul.

The pavement scrapes my feet as

I walk barefoot across it.

It's good and fun, and it doesn't even

hurt, it feels like life.

Your eyes feel like home as

I look to heaven.

It's home and it's home, and there's no

other word to describe it but home.

Here's to the hurt and to the pain and to the way it rains and looks like it will never stop because now I know that every lightning bolt I've ever witnessed and every thunder boom that has ever shaken my spirit has a beautiful story tied around it's wrist.

Here's to the fact that I gave up on time healing wounds and to losing my way and to the way it feels when you're suddenly placed smack in the middle of an oncoming train with nowhere to run to because now I know that trains don't want to hurt me, they just want to see how high I can jump to get away.

Here's to you and to your spirit and your soul. Here's to the hum of the universe. Here's to God or whoever runs this crazy place we call home. Here's to the hurricanes and the floods. The tornados and the cyclones. Here's to that place that we reach every once in a while that we feel we can never get past. Here's to Hope whispering "one more time."

Here's to me.

Here's to you.

Here's to that feeling that for the first time in my life, I feel free and crazy and careless, but never reckless. Here's to knowing that things are good, but they can get better. Here's to saving your fork for dessert, because I've heard that the chocolate cake is delicious.

4 below

81 is no where close to 14, and

both are far from forever,

and I honestly would try to understand it all,

but tears fog my brain

and I'm all too tired and all too small to make

a poem when it's 4 below zero in my soul.

#3

If I could see through my tears,

it would be a miracle.

If I could eat my dinner,

it would be a miracle.

If I could smile,

it would be a miracle.

If I could feel,

it would be a miracle.

If you came back,

it would be a miracle.

Miracles never happen, so why does everybody think they exist?

Slipped Away

You promised you'd always be there,

and you shouldn't have.

Now only the ground hugs you,

not me.

I couldn't even say goodbye.

There's no time, rush rush rush,

leaving without a second glance.

I prayed, screamed for you to wait.

Screamed.

SCREAMED.

Come back.

Don't leave.

Come back.

(it's in God's hands.)

As always, I'm just one step behind,

a little too late.

You're gone.

(what's the secret? love.)

Still, I want to climb the stairs into your

house,

go into your kitchen,

and see you sitting on a stool,

waiting for me.

I feel like the soup should be cooking,

tea should be steeping,

we should be talking.

You should be running your fingers through

my hair,

speaking softly that way we can still hear the

birds.

We should be watching sunrises over your porch,

wading in the cool ocean water.

I should be next to you,

I should be there.

(don't burn your bridges before you cross them; you never know what's on the other side.)

You should be here.

It doesn't feel right.

You're not gone.

It doesn't feel right.

You're not gone.

They're wrong.

You're not gone.

Not.

Gone.

Right?

(you're beautiful and you can do anything, Hannah. you can do it.)

Come back and I promise that never again will I take one more thing for granted because now I know that life is as fragile as that teapot that he bought for you.

Holes

There are no words to describe.

It's like leaving your shoes out overnight,

the dewy morning rolling around,

putting your shoe on,

and realizing it's cold.

It's like skipping down a sidewalk,

then hitting a pothole,

smacking the ground,

dazed and hurt.

It's like getting an envelope in the mail,

addressed with your name with care,

opening it,

only to find it to be empty.

If you took a knife and stuck it to the core of the Earth, I bet it still wouldn't reach the bottom of the hole in my heart.

Definitions.

From the murky depths of a just-thawed lake,

my soul pours.

It tumbles through the filth, and the whole time,

it's saying "I'm fourteen years old, and most days I'm

just trying to be me."

Me.

It's a funny word, because it's all one that

we have in our vocabulary, but it can't be put in

a dictionary.

Who's to say what the definition of me is, if I don't even know

my own definition?

You.

That's a much easier word to ponder.

I can say much more about you.

But I've known Me for as long as I can remember,

so why on Earth would I have a definition for You but not

one for Me?

Me.

Well, I know that when I was little, I wanted nothing

more than to be an Astronaut.

I wanted to wear the moon boots and be the first lady

ever to press my foot into the moon dust and the stardust;

even be the first to touch the garbage dust floating around out there.

To sail past the sun, non-existent winds whispering me forth,

God's finger on my back.

Never could I have guessed that

I would never be able to do that.

When I was little, I just KNEW that Prince Charming

was out there.

He rode a white horse and he was a night in shining armor,

protecting me,

the finest maiden in all the land.

Never could I have guessed

that I would have to

steal his sword, take his armor, and flee on his

white horse...

all to protect myself.

When I was little, I laughed a little more and

when I did, it was a Hell of a lot easier.

When the sun was in the sky, it wore sunglasses,

you could sing a song to make the rain go

away,

and babies only came when

"a mommy and daddy love each other very much."

I never could have guessed that the sun is just an

explosion, the

rain is just a cycle, and

a mommy and daddy don't even have to know each other

to make a baby.

When I was little, a soldier's gun was a

far-off thing. I knew

that it rang like a doorbell, but when people

answered, they didn't walk again.

I never could have guessed that a soldier's gun

could be heard around the world,

to my back yard,

the doorbell ringing on my friend.

And when I was little,

death was a big scary thing that only happened in

the movies. And when it did,

everything was okay by the time

"The End" rolled around.

It wasn't a big problem, just a minor inconvenience.

And now I'm just a maze, a series

of layers, if you will.

You can,

I CAN

try to pry open a door,

go down to the next level,

get to the core but something locks every time,

something just doesn't rhyme with the sound

of the universe and the beat of my

heart.

They say to me, YOU are weird.

YOU will never succeed.

YOU are not worth it.

YOU are NOTHING.

YOU, try not to keep living because you will be a

failure.

There's a key inside me,

underneath that murky just-thawed lake,

screaming for me, me only.

Wanting to be found.

Not by you.

Me.

All the Me's are You's and all the You's are Me's

so somebody please tell me why the definition isn't the same?

Try it.

Playing with matches

ends fast like automatic toilets

flushing before you are ready.

So I sit in a purple spinny chair, look at the world

as it whooshes by.

Lines blur, colors fuse, and suddenly,

Nothing matters,

but everything does.

Something was written in braille.

And it was so simple and so unbelievably blatant that as

soon

as the lines blurred that the blind man could

see.

Invisible Canvas

I want to write and

I want to show

just how I feel, what

I know,

but words form too quickly

inside my mind,

there's not enough time to

spit them all out,

so I push and pull and

fight with myself, just trying

trying,

trying to find the words to make

this sound right and alleviate

the brick on my chest,

the pressure inside my heart,

I'll surely burst if I don't get it out soon.

I'm stuck and I'm struggling,

bobbing in cement,

under the house where I belong,

and I can't seem to surface,

say what I want, what I need,

what I need.

It doesn't matter if I never get it out,

nobody will ever know.

My heart is speaking half- human,

half- the-smell-of-rain-on-the-pavement-on-a-summer-day.

I just want a flower to bloom,

and ember to glow,

my blood to flow, and

I want to show you that I know that

this flower can bloom,

and ember will glow,

and I just know realized that indeed,

my blood does flow,

but I can't find the words to say how I

feel.

It's like a warm breeze that tickles your hair

and draws designs on your back,

bringing you closer,

calling your name,

whispering gently,

wishing I knew.

wishing I knew.

How I feel, how to get it out,

Oh I wish I knew.

And I wish you knew too, because

what good is a poet if nobody listens-

like a bird that sings for no good reason.

I have words that are screaming,

emotions that are forcing their way to the

surface, yet

it's impossible for me to let them out,

bottled down,

speaking another language,

like the jibberish that a two year old speaks,

the kind everybody pretends to understand.

I'm not much of a poet if I can't

make you see,

because poets are supposed to paint their

words on invisible canvas in not-so-invisible ink,

but how can you write when

you can't find the invisible canvas, and the

ink has turned muddy and gray?

The only thing that seems to be

able to surface from the depths of my breast is:

To hear the hum of the universe and the hum of all hearts and the hum of the grass as it sways in the wind is just one more thing on the list of stuff I wanna do

Belly Laughs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFWiNNUfpC4&feature=related

Still Life Poetry

I look out the bus window,

and stare at the people, walking by.

You can look, but do you feel?

and Have you ever seen somebody

on the street,

wondered where they've been,

wondered how their life is,

wondered where they're going,

or what their favorite color is?

As I look out the bus window,

and stare at the people,

all walking around with their heads

buried in turtle shells

and invisibility cloaks,

As I look out the window and look at

the clouds floating by, the snow melting,

the clock ticking, the man laughing,

the woman and child trying to get buy,

the teenager with a Mercedes-Benz,

it hits me like a burst of inspiration,

a flash of lightning.

Who we are,

what we live,

is just Still Life Poetry.

Confessions of the Playground

If I was a swing set then I would want

to be a little rusty with

the red paint chipping slowly off and

I would stay there through winter

and summer,

spring and fall.

and If I was a swing set I think I'd like it

because I would always be there

and somebody would always need me

and when they saw me they would smile and

think back to memories.

It's just

a couple of words in an ocean, dripping

slowly out through the faucets but

I want to open them all the way

start a flood, break down the doors,

distract the prison guard and

If I started a flood it wouldn't be me

who mopped it up I would let it sit,

grow moldy,

attach to the floors and maybe the spores

would turn into a flowers and

the prison would disappear.

With the prison gone the sheet music will

flow and the piano will sing but not

me because they say "You!

You do not deserve this, you are ugly,

you are not true!"

But they don't understand how it is to be

just a blade of grass in the field,

desperately trying to show,

trying to shout out how I

am different and I am special,

just like they told me in the

first grade.

I wish I knew before that when I'm bursting

at the seams and screaming as I write

and crying although I don't really know why,

I am just exposing me, trying to figure myself out

just a little more.

It's just emotion knocking everything down,

and no, don't ask me how I feel,

I couldn't explain because I just don't know I'm

just a little confused

too confused because I've been licking prison

doors.

The rust cuts my tongue, I taste the

metal but it's nothing compared to how I feel

when they scream and shout at me, they warn me

never to dream or explore

because I am not smart enough to find my way home.

The funny thing is, I don't even know where home is

anymore,

I don't even know who I am, but I thought

I did. It's not as simple as it seems.

If I was a rusty red swing set with the paint

chipping off, exposing my core,

I think you might understand, and

if I opened the faucet a little bit more,

then maybe it would flood the floors,

bring me home,

sweep me along,

water the flowers,

make me as beautiful as I said

I was,

when the swing set lied to me.

Fragile, Handle With Care

Well I looked at the starts tonight and

yes they screamed your name but that's not new, it's all I hear these

days it's like holding a seashell up to your ear,

able to hear the world but all I hear is one voice, one voice

and it won't stop I say,

"give it a rest,"

but no you can't suck the bullets back into the gun especially when

everybody says,

"move on, get over it,"

so this is me saying, "what if I don't want to, what if all I want is you?"

and I'll scream it back to the stars and we'll get into a fight,

but really I'm just fighting with God,

fighting, arguing, and wishing, waiting.

it's no

big deal,

fighting with my mind, fighting with the gift,

fighting with that little girl on the playground,

the one in the sandbox when she said,

"oh don't you worry, prince charming will come"

she lied, don't listen to five year olds

because yeah I'm just fighting with me,

arguing with myself,

Matchbox20 told me that I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell,

so why don't you come back here right where you belong,

make me well and keep me strong,

I thought I'd never say this, but I can't go on.

I'm waiting, wishing and wishing that I was different, that

I belonged that I felt whole again,

and I do except when I'm alone like right now at

11:30 at night it's alright,

its just me, I'll cry oh so silently and try not to use up

all the tissues like I did last night.

I don't want to move on I'm not ready, I thought this was my decision

but I guess I was wrong about that too,

don't worry, I won't come back to you, because even though I want to,

you wouldn't get it,

I'm in chains, in prison, licking the floor.

Trying to get out and I think I see my chance, but it

hurts yes it hurts so bad,

I see my heart beating my blood flowing and I'm so

fucking happy that there's actually some left.

Move on, move on, but they don't understand:

the heart I gave you was yours to break and you broke me and the road

and the little breadcrumb trail that,

in all honesty,

I trusted to lead me home. Hell, I should

know not to trust actors because you're a damn good liar

and you kept me going for so long,

Yes, you broke me like a bone,

broke me easier than a twig and you promised,

you said you would be gentle, you said you

wouldn't do this, just because I said,

put a shipping label on me,

"Fragile, Handle With Care"

Not Your Normal Recipe

You cracked me like an egg,

just added me to the mix,

so I swirled and tangled,

with all of your other mistakes.

You walked away with a slither,

but another sly snake,

so I sat here and walked there,

thinking about my mistakes.

I healed with the clock,

although, the pain still haunts me,

so I skip and I smile,

a halloween mask.

I hope you're still standing,

you should know I am too,

but I'm doing better than that,

better because of you.

You cracked me like an egg,

just added me to the mix,

so I swirled and I tangled,

I'm grateful I did.

Keep it.

Dying to live or

living to die is the question.

Would you jump if there was

a question,

Roses or Rocks await?

What if the stakes were high and

nobody -k-new,

what to do but

som-e-body had to.

The waves crash, stars fall.

Crash into you, crash for you?

Fall into your hand, fall at the sight of you?

Who's to know oth-e-r

than fate.

That one who turned on the lam-p- tonight,

the one who walked away only to show

that

(-)

The ripest Apple was

right here the whole time.

The stars m-i-ght fall, fall onto me,

rain like glitter.

Or maybe I'll put the stars in-t-o

the sky.

I can never see them,

not because they are invisible;

because I don't see what they don't see

in me.

No dying to live.

No living to die.

Live. It's all too simple.

(I should have started 14 years ago.)

Mirrors Lie. Or Did You?

Run and run

if you want,

where are we going?

where have we been?

My bones are breaking,

or maybe my skin,

cracking.

The light shines through,

and who knows what you see,

(something different than the mirror tells me.)

(it can't be good)

untitled

They expect me to focus but
no my mind is just full of
you
like a field of daisies in
spring,
rather its just a field of
thorns
with black sky lightning flashes
memories that
smell sweet as the daisies what
the thorns once were.

Hold On To Your Pants, Don't Buy a Belt.

Walk a road or let the road walk you,

it's like what they say about the wind

because you either follow or it

will take you far away.

Sometimes I'll go barefoot on that gravel

road just to feel the rocks cut my feet,

a simple reminder,

as I walk alone that the universe is inside me,

I just need to let it out.

Silly String and Band Aids

It's like silly

string but you see

I don't feel silly, just

sad.

You lied li(K)e

the calender did and,

the days pass slow

just like they never did

before.

You don't see how my

hea(R)t breaks and

worse,

you don't care.

So I hang on t(I)ght to silly string,

but it's breaking because

it wasn't meant to be like

this, too much, too fast

so please come back come back,

can't you (S)ee?

You ran away ran away,

you said you wouldn't

just like a

prodigal.

They give me band aids

and more silly string,

tie me to the roof, swing

under the s(T)ars.

Your silly string doesn't help,

the band aids just cant fix

broken hearts. And normally,

mom's kiss can make it all better but

no not this time.

Nothing twinkles, nothing

is right,

there's a h(O)le in my chest,

gaping. wide.

I know it's a void that only

you can fill,

surgeon, cut open my heart,

(F)ix it fix me,

no hospital needed.

Just the music wing where

you whispered in my ear,

you said you loved me, did

you lie this whole time?

You held me in your arms, and

when I cried, wiped my tears.

You asked why,

I said, never leave

me.

Maybe I didn't say it loud enough, maybe

you just (F)orgot,

but I'm staying here now, crying

because you lied.

liar.

liar.

I love you, yes

I still do. What's that?

Unconditionally?

Yes. this is real, thanks very

much.

You said I don't get it, you

said that you had to do this, but

baby I disagre(E) I think

we could change this silly string into rope

that ties us together,

once again.

Can I have a band aid please? Place it

on my lips,

w(R)ap your silly string around my

heart.

Fix me. (LOVE ME.)

Why don't you love me?

Why don't you love me?

Fix me. Love. ME!

Why?

You said you would forever, I guess

forever isn't as long as I thought it was,

so sorry, the joke's on me.

Silly string and band aids,

broken hearts,

broken me.

You broke me,

you don't care.

You love me,

you love me,

you love me,

You promised.

LIAR.

but no.

(I STILL LOVE YOU)

not me this time. you.

(AND I ALWAYS WLL.)

Forever.

(COME BACK?)

Saying Goodbye.

Her shattered body

lies still in bed,

mumbled words

were all that she said.

I enter the room,

not expecting the sight that I see,

For she was always the strong one

looking after me.

I hold her close

but she's more fragile than ever,

scared to break her,

Yesterday I would have thought, "never."

I say hello,

she summons the strength to smile,

what she doesn't know is that

it gives me strength to stay a little while.

Inspired by her strength,

guided by her love,

now all I see is a broken woman

she is all I ever think of.

She's been my sunshine,

there for me all these years.

I try to look back on the memories,

but it's hard to see through my tears.

Never was she supposed to go,

she said she'd stay forever

she said nothing would break our love,

nothing whatsoever.

She taught me so much,

strength, love, to care,

but I will remember her lessons forever,

this I solemnly swear.

This is not the end,

this is just the start,

It's time I begin to live my life,

with the Nona spirit, strength,

the Nona heart.

You're In Good Company

They yelled at me for

the Sharpie on my walls,

my filled up notebook,

my mind of poems,

but what they can't see

is that they power my pen.

You Can Use A Toothbrush, If You'd Like.

Take that bucket of yellow

paint,

and cover your eyes.

Paint that sky because

you know that

it's not what you say and do

it's how you feel and what you know.

Let's base it back in loose

facts,

and cover our eyes.

We'll paint the sky yellow because

we all know,

it's not who you're with and who you're not.

it's where you are and who you want to be.

Pick up your paintbrush,

they say

to simply paint the sky.

What if I want to paint the walls,

or the trees,

or the grass,

or even me.

Just paint over who I am to become something

(something that you'd like.)

So here's to the artists,

painting their rooms yellow.

Here's to breaking free and deciding

to paint the world.

But I won't ever paint myself.

Paint the sun a tangerine floating on a string

in a sea of ice blue conformity.

Shut The Ringer Off.

Broken phone,

(In the corner,)

is there

(nobody there?)

Anybody there could

(hear him scream? And)

fix the ringer but

(they are all happy,)

they're too busy to care.

(looking at him through the glass.)

The discarded phone,

(In the corner,)

it has no use,

(he has no use,)

so they left, went up the stairs

(behind he stayed, a web of lies.)

There is no use for a broken phone,

(or a broken boy,)

pick up the pieces and throw it out

(he picked up the pieces and threw life out.)

Nobody cared about that old, broken phone

(nobody cared about him, scarred and so alone.)

#37

Listen to this as you read: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VTIN80XGICA&feature=related

Thanks Libbi for the awesome idea.

Clear glass

noses pressed upon it.

(And they stare -transfixed,

wonder.

believe.)

Cork pops off,

the sweet secret spills out.

(And it weaves and tumbles,

drifts.

soars.)

My fingers fly,

paintings in the air.

(And I'm the artist that nobody knows,

whispering.

feeling.)

As suddenly as it began,

all good things just reach their end.

(So I fold it up with love and care,

my secret.

my own.)

It's mine and it always will be:

the one thing you can't and won't take from me.

Poker Face

You know how it goes.

The grass grows green,

and the sky seems blue.

The little girl tries,

An old man dies.

The war breaks out,

and a dove breaks loose.

The rich man stands tall,

A dreaming boy feels small.

It all seems so sure,

and there's a hole in the wall.

The little boy smiles,

An old woman sits among piles.

Chaos on the run,

and optimism wiggles in.

The girl's heart soars,

He always hits closed doors.

The grass grows green,

the sky seems blue.

Which one are you?

You know how it goes.

#1

When all the stars
fall out of the sky,
and the black cloack falls over
us,
you should know that
the grass isn't green,
the sky isn't blue,
and when I run,
it's because I'm searching for you.
It was the Diamonds I left there too.

And when the stars
fall out of my sky,
and the fog settles in
my
mind,
you should know that
all I wanted

was for
you to understand.
It was a need that
cut me to the core
The one that left Diamonds shattered on the floor.

Mardi-Gras

It's funny how
(things happen, people change but)
life always goes
on.

(There's a reason for everything,)
If you look hard enough,
you can find the beauty
(No matter how horrible it may seem)

Sometimes, it seems to hard to
see ut, but beauty surrounds us,
(Each day is a gift.)

--Everything has a stary--

--Sometimes you have to read
between the lines-.

(deaf)initions.

To run through
(jello):
a sweet treat sometimes like
(life):
actually more like
(sour milk):
lumpy and bumpy as
(me):
the undifinable word that will
(speak):
pouring out my
(heart):
beats but doesn't
(feel):
pain, saddness, a friend's understanding.
(happy):
a lforgotten way
to (live):
Something that is a mystery without
(you):
my other half.

Say Goodbye To The World You Thought You Lived In.

I'm in the middle of the ocean,
bobbing up and down
and it's salty.
Oh wait, I'm in my bedroom.

I'm in the control room,
looking at all the levers
and they control my life.
Whoever pulled the levers tonight should be shot.

I'm on a chairlift,
your arm is around me and i'm smiling
so my heart beats fast.
Oh wait, that's just a photograph.

I'm on the phone
crying silently as we talk.
I say goodbye, you say whatever.
Oh no. This is reality.

So my grip slips,
I land hard
on the marble floor
and the coffee spills all over
a wwhite shirt
but that's the least of my worries
because right now I'm running
spinning in circles.
The good is gone,
music plays in the back of my mind.
tears stream down,
scream now.

But, that's okay because this can't be real.


Oh, but it is.

It's really not funny how that works out.

At Least The Birds Sing

If there were
eyes
Stuck in the
skies
That looked down in
awe
At everything they
saw,
Would they smile after all these
years?
Or would they cry such bloody
tears?

Two Meanings

If we were to

(run)

we would

(skip)

through the fields

(,whispering)

time stops here

(,maybe,)

we'd have the time of

(our lives)

are wooshing by too

(fast_)

hope makes us

(last)

place isn't so bad considering

(the circumstances)

are only half of the battle it's the

(reaction)

)choose.(

Consult the Washing Machine

The world slips slowly from view,
I lose my grip.
Fall away.
Want to know the future?
The washing machine knows best.

Spin Cycle.

I've been here before and I'm
here now,
and for sure,
I'll be here again
No it will never
end
faster now,
pick up speed,
faster faster faster,
going 'round faster,
I
fall
down,
NOT FAIR
I scream as I'm pushed
and pulled
away from what I know and
who I was
and my past
oh the past!
It comes back,
don't you know?
Beware, beware,
it's one big circle!
So ha ha ha, Life,
I've figured you out,
you can stop this cruel joke now.
No?
Not fair.
Faster faster
it should end now
faster faster,
Tumbling around,
what's up?! What's down?!
I thought I knew but I don't so
faster faster,
faster faster,
faster faster,
I fall down.
faster faster,
faster faster,
faster faster
And abruptly it Ends.

Ding.

Pizza's ready.

A Not-So-Pleasant Walk In The Woods

When the brain gives up,
the heart takes over.
I've learned that's how it goes.

And you have this sick need
to -s-ingle me o-ut.
I say why, w-hy, wh-y
w-hat did I do to y-ou?
I can't remember.

So I wander through the woods,
used to be on a path.
You pushed me off.
(But I fought, by the way.)
I just wasn't as strong as I thought I was.

Meander I do,
twist and turn,
looking for the path again.
It's gone, or hidden from my view.
(Or something.)
Because I can't find it.

I'm lost.
I'm lost.
I'm lost.

You're just mean.
Because I am going to be something?
Because I am different?
Because I am me?
W-ell I g-ot n-ews f-or y-ou.
I will be something.
I will always be different.
I will always be me.

All you're ever going to be is mean.

You're mean.
I'm lost.
I'm lost.

Aren't you lost to?
Lost sight of what to do?
Where did you lose your way?
You're just like me.
(Dreadful thought, I know.)
We're both lost.
Are we that different?

You're mean.
You're lost.
You lost me too.

This is me feeling. Not
thinking.


If we work together, maybe we could
un-cover th-e pa-th.
We-'re lo-st.
lo-st.
I gave up (trying to reason)


When the brain gives up,
the heart takes over.
That's how I've learned it goes.