A better chance

sometimes I wonder if I looked at that picture
while standing in the exact place where I was in that picture,
that the gods would recreate the moment around me
and I'd be able to turn my head just a fraction of an inch
and tell you how much I appreciate you
I could tell you million instances where I thought
I was near my down fall but my hatred for kept me going
I could tell you about those hard nights when
I missed you until my heart hurt and I cried
and how I started emulating you-before I started to resent you
I would expound on all the times I dreamed you were off at some
war, or protesting, or dead
that one always made me feel a little guilty
I could tell you all about the times where I doubted you
cared for me at all.
the honesty would be exhilarating and eventually
I'd get to telling you about how I think you're looking for success the wrong way
I'd cite articles and police records and old high school transcripts
and tell you what I'd spent nights re imagining your life to look like
and then I'd tell--after all that
That I love you, and that I don't think about your future anymore than mine anymore
--it could all be a mistake but then there will be a better chance

Drowned for the night

my heart stutters a bit every time the cool night air hits my face
you think I'd be used to it by now.
but here we are out in the excited night air
puffing away talking of the regrets we'll always have later,
of the regrets we are all too sure we'll never have

we talk about friends and life and family
mostly the things that we're not proud of
and couldn't help anyway
and sometimes there are pauses
where there's the troubled pattern of feet
because of the uneven slates of sidewalk
raised up by the protest of tree roots

I think the park looks questionable,
but who would attach two college kids trespassing and playing tetherball?
It's not long before I declare your unfair advantage of height
and the game becomes a thinking tool
as i watch. we're talking about commitment
oh, that again

the room isn't moving, that's just how the room
thinks it wants to move when it gets uncomfortable
from my staring,
but when you;re on your back and your eyes won't close
you don't have much choice so you look
and you talk

you say things, quietly at first and then more so
and then you feel the warmness and
sometimes the feeling dissipates
and then the cool night air hits your face again
and it all comes rushing back
and you're drowned,
drowned for the night.

rAPIST & rEAL

on a monday i dreamed up a rapist
while my head was low and clear
and the string that runs through rapist and real is that of what i hear--

i was degraded in my mind

as he took me from behind

all i had were these ears

while the darkness called me blind

he came in

he came in

he came in

then out he went

then out he went

i recall his footsteps as pain on the way

and as pain leaving me after having its way

his voice was the sentence of my demise

the foretold evil of day.

back to the real as i sit here dreaming

a new man sits in my head

but still i hear footsteps

my heart fills full-dread

"Father you share the footsteps of a rapist"

and when you call my name i hear pain calling

my cries as a raging sea

for in my heart and in my ears. . .

you're the man that raped me

JW,

My only wish is for one to be here and witness the sincerity of these words....

Biting that hand
that one that feeds you
clothes you, shelters you, disilkes you......discomforts you........hurts you
biting it is only natural
not pleasing
the will to stroke a gal's breast is natural
not pleasing in circumstance
the hand is a flowing vein of food and drink and poison
shall i stay and be nurtured by this acceptable food?
shall i run and be saved from this poison?
will the hand of another feed me?
will the hand of another poison me?
and here sits a lost young man
asking questions to the air
can detest be in the same body as love and care?

caution pt.2

act 1
isn’t it strange ending up here?
never planned on seeing her again
but after liquor the night goes quicker
and we’re all friends again

act 2
i’m an atom bomb baby
so give me everything
tell me your favorite things
and promise to not let go
i’m a cyclone so hit me
with all that you have
i’ll do my best to keep up
if you never let me fall

act 3
snow falls on my cotton skin
and ash is burning on my wrist
tongue heavied by hesitant words
twisting fabric with my fingertips
they coax me to admit
my stomach twists with a kick
i got achy bones that feel too old
just a lonely kid
warm and flushed and ever in love

act 4
it’s a long night from here on out
i’m looking past the lights
at the stoic kid standing and watching
wondering how he got so tall

act 5
come back to earth in the car
suddenly instructing again
holding a bag in her lap
blonde hair held back for safety’s sake
back to the caution
back to the battles
brain asking if the words were true
heart knowing that they were

caution pt.1

i found a good, thick string,
heavy and loyal,
so i can keep the words you say to me.
i wear them round my neck
like a talisman,
close to the beat of my heart
and stutter of my pulse.
when i feel the tug,
it’s a warning, a shield -
your shoulder and strength
when i must be sure.

Something

I just really want it all to mean something,
but it doesn't. not all of it means something.
some of it is just a chemical released in the brain in a moment
and not even the warmth in the pit of your stomach can stop it
and even the words that you write can't mock it.
it's like a fire burning in your heart,
and there's blood dripping out your ear, down your face to cool it
so it starts working properly and then it starts working differently
and then you start having difficulties learning how things have changed
then an earthquake starts in your brain and you pray for the first time,
once again, that things can just go back and be the same even though when they were different
you felt so much more alive than you could back then

like 'like' you

I suppose being curious isn't enough
but if I just kept hanging around
do you think I could get my point across?

The fact that you want to know
--that you ask
that's enough to get my attention any day

and I suppose my ambiguousness
is enough to capture yours

but lets not get ahead of ourselves
and lets watch it all unfold here infront of us.

there's an insufferable clutter in my mind
and i'm shutting the door before any more leaks in
so i'm sorry to be rude but
i'm gonna have to ask a few to leave.
kings and kingdoms, the most scholarly of souls
can anyone explain to me the most murky of depths?
houston has a problem and it's not in outer space
it's in my heart, my only human heart
i'm thinking it's my nature but i know it can't be right
and at the gate of higher calling, can i walk in
without you at my side?

selective memories

My mind is bleeding vivid thoughts of what I should have done
you can't see the blood but I can in my dreams:

the stage is set, ready for the changes to become part of the performance
only there's only one audience member and no one will remember it this way
or hear about it, or see it any way.

Action. tons of actions, things you've never done but always wanted to
things that would have made this current path easier, less decisive as to who you'll become
but I've already decided and that's something hard to take back.

I'm watching it all as I sleep
in my dreams.

one drop of pure crimson regret after another
gliding gracefully down past my eyes off the tip of my noise
disappearing before it hits my collegiate bed sheets as I slumber.

and my mind is riveted by the burden disappearing, altering my past forever
I'll remember it better next time I'll remember it this way, where I ask all the questions
I thought but didn't say
Do all those crazy things, feel the adrenaline I put into papers and thinking into movement of my body
give some of myself the way others could
not harbor this fear I still have

Slowly night by night when I redream the past and change it forever, my fear dissipates
and when I wake and see the blood that no one else can upon my pillow
sometimes I am afraid and I try to collect it
but, its gone.

someone that works

there are things I want to say to you, things I want to ask
like how your day went and how you felt when you woke up and I was still with you,
or what the ground smelled like as you walked to your car & it was raining.
there are gestures I feel like making, time I want to give,
like walking in the cold to bring you a jacket, or riding my bike to your car
so you don’t have to walk home alone.

are all these thoughts just wasted space?
I’d do it in a heartbeat and you know that.
the thought counts but my body aches
knowing that I can’t rightly do it.

there's another realm in which I have to live,
one I attempt to reconcile with this.
but nothing can change the fact that when
you really know someone, you memorize
the way their fingers curl around yours.
his palm is too big, his hands are too rough,
and I don't understand why I can't find you
in someone else.

Influence.

I Know I was under the influence,
but I said what I meant.

I mean, I already knew it was true,
but I'd never said it so directly.
So smoothly, fondly, solidly.

And I want to say it again,
but I won't.

it's so...confusing, frustrating, upsetting,
inconvenient, unfortunate.

I said it, yet I didn't say it at all.

homecoming

i want to come home
just to show it off.
i want to drive around
and point to landmarks in my head,
like the parking lot we went to
when we skipped youth group
and sat in a circle,
burning leaves, breathing in,
feeling and talking and knowing
far more than a speaker could ever tell us.
the diner where we left our secrets
on the table, next to french fries.

i want to come home,
bring a friend with me.
go back through the places
that made me who i am.
their houses, their basements,
their rooms and backyards.
firepits and back seats of cars.

i want to show you off.
put you on display.
like a trophy i never deserved,
that i found while i was lost.
when i say i want to come home,
i want to feel that feeling
of growing next to you.

Getting somewhere.

When I think of the future
I get scared,
Because I know what I want.
I know the possibilities
yet I'm here.

So far from letting go of myself
So far from making Them proud
So far from being content
so far from giving much of anything
to the world

I'm so indecisive that my doubt has consumed me
and now I am paralyzed where I stand.
and the possibilities are blurred,
unrecognizable.

So far from freedom.
so far from making them proud.
so far from being okay.
so far from keeping much of anything.

I am so tried of the future and goals and expectations.
I'll take my time.

Maybe not get anywhere.
Except the future.

phones on a beige table

our phones are on a beige table
next to the salt and pepper
shakers and you're shaking
just a little.

the fabric of your sleeve -
the only sweater you own -
is worn down to threads
from thinking.

somewhere in our stomachs
feelings are pressing hard
and we're throwing up words
long overdue.

with relieved smiles
we wipe away the pieces
of broken hearts and save them
for repair.

holding hands doesn't mean
much under a moonless sky
but we hold tight anyway -
like anchors.

Grey Converse

She has the same grey chucks as you
sometimes when we're walking together
and I'm looking down at my feet
wondering why no matter where I go they look the same
I'll see those shoes walking
beside mine

I get caught up a little when it happens and
look up, but it's not you.
I knew it wasn't.
the hope Prometheus gave me
is rubbish.
and I keep forgetting to take out the garbage.

the funnest thing is there isn't even
a spec of dirt on her shoes.
it haunts me like some sort
of divine sign that I shouldn't
mess her up

so to counter the sadness I trip.
I look far infront of me at all times
and some times I run just to
feel the reckless pounding of my heart.

Cause it's reckless you know,
too stupid to stop because of the pain
always beating to go on.
When I listen is sounds like it's yelling
"go-on, go-on, go-on, go-on"
like constant direction for my
goldfish mind.
when I hold my breath it only yells louder.

while I'm catching my breath
I try to remember why it is my heart's yelling
and I look down and see my feet and remember,
morosely,
heather gray converse with a bit of splashed
green paint on the toe.

Note: I wrote this to counter the sadness given me by a new friend. I'm still functional I swear.

all that's gold

i watch the glitter
in the dead of night
with a wary eye
and the flashing lights
the hands all over
the world is over
your words all over me

we feel
and barely see
so i can't see what to feel
we're moving shore to shore
in a slippery sea
& while i'm standing stone-cold sober
you sway with that smile

in the night
when your world is falling
in the morning
when the floor stops moving
i'll always be the rock

metal crane

There's a crane outside my window
every time it moves I look up
and think of all the things that
are bigger than me.

There is a dome outside my window
the largest building on my horizon
not the only one where people suffered
and died.

there are people and trees and
the sky out my window,
things so much bigger than me.

It's a wonder I get out of bed some times
just to look and see.

There are things I begin to think
and loath and regret
because i'm so much smaller than everything.
There is life outside and the world is here
for me, but sometimes I feel like
there is nothing to see

thoughts running over

whose legs do you walk on?
i walk into a room one day,
a tutor, an expert, experienced
same day,
different room; can't speak.

i walk into a room one day,
a fighter, a lover, proud.
same day,
different room; chin up.

i walk into a room one day,
broken, beaten, sore.
same day,
different room; saved.

i walk into a room one day,
a fool, a genius, unstoppable.
same day,
different room; mindless.

i walk into a room
every day
myself.


untitled
you're a lingering cough.
just when i think it's passed,
i laugh
& i feel you in my chest.

refusing to budge, belaboring breath
when i climb the stairs
as i run away
& you're still clinging.

it's why i rarely sleep,
(it's why i borrow tea)
why my skin burns a fever
& why i lie so still.

scared to move,
scared to shift,
& scared for things to change;

scared to think
scared to feel
& ever scared for things to stay the same.

Waking up

Waking up to a room filled only with yourself
is the worst self examination
staring at the ceiling isn't
knowing,
it's creating new religions and
creating a world where things are
always in a state of riot
so that change can take hold
where commitment prevails
ninety percent of the time

Waking up to a room with yourself
a nightmare in itself
a peace you can't get out of
wondering when the virtue
you strive for will begin to kill
away the discontentment that
has overshadowed
your living.

Waking up alone
in a room with stray thoughts and reality
what a hurt.
a mortal wound
and motivation

For it all.

untitled...for now

Death you are my constant neighbor
A pest, a menace, an allie...a friend
Waiting for me in a slight recline
Witnessing me come back down
Down is where my eyes are open
Where they beg to be shut
Oh friend, you hold them open
For this i hate you
Soon your ties loosen and I float back
For seconds I smile
For hours I cry
Until you beg me come nigh
For this I love you
Love
Hate
Choose one
Kill one
Kill one
Choose one

I Belong away from here.

I belong away from here.

at least I do in writing

I can't help but think the nomad

knows

that I am just and insignificant dragonfly

trapped, with wings gently pressed together by the hands of a child.

no longer free to fly from one end of my exhibit to the other,

or look over the edge--Just to see.

Sometimes I'll duck down behind a particularly thick bush and pretend I'm a spy.

I erased those pages in my notebook though, so I don't do that anymore.

But Somedays, when I'm sitting in class I look out the window and think

"it'd be so amazing to just walk away from here."

I'd be missing and never look back

no name

no memories

no expectations

no pressure at all.

I'd belong away from everywhere.

Until then I write my saga in purposely yellowed notebooks

I got from the bookstore because I want to be hipster

I'll create a new identity during every chance meeting

and remind myself repeatedly that

I belong away from everywhere,

but for now I'm here.

two for the price of one

what we keep to ourselves
words press against my teeth
they knock and pound and throw a fit
fighting for release
and the part of me that’s comfortable
is calling out for peace
but the part of me in shadow
finds it harder to agree

wander
your mind has been found wandering around
with your middle school best friend,
the smell of dirt and lemon dish-soap.
for a moment you had one thought:
a movie theater and an old flame
or the taste of pancakes at 1am.
foreign friends making mirrors out of memories.
but you’re here now, and soon enough
it’ll be the new old gang.

I shouldn't miss you like this

Every time I think about what I should miss

I don't expect that face

it's like I'm assaulted by the questions I left unanswered

I think it's being fueled by the respect

the attempt to understand and the listening

I have a love for the intellect of others

morality aside, my thoughts

Are of divine subject

and though one jehovah

stands defined differently

oppositely, more omniscient

mine never seems to pale

encouragement for my soul

is in a voice

I want to be saved but differently

and that is understanding I'm unwilling to receive

from that face whose voice presents an olive branch to my soul

yet drives me to the lake

the unexplainable stomach drop

here are the people, the lives we brush by
the times that we take to venture a smile
the parts of ourselves that we slowly let die
& the inches of emotion that take us for miles

we see faces without depth, just features
we don't have much now, but we're writhing with futures
falling in love with one another and yet another,
we're falling in love with the possibility of each other.



[note]
i planned for this to be a long series of character sketches of people i've met. it was unrhymed and unstructured. i tried writing an introduction to it and found myself rhyming...so i ditched the rest and went with it. the people are still inside of the poem; they're just no longer mentioned by name.

Fear

I'm a little afraid.

That's really why I'm not normal.

I'm afraid that I can't bounce back

that I'll ruin it all.

'it only takes one time, and then it's out of your control'

there are no chances after you fall

Even if my fingers manage to grasp some merciful ledge

I'll be going so fast they'll be crushed

and my hope will waver

and I'll learn that

hope is a curse

on me.

I'm afraid but my courage can be used

any way I please

even if it's stupidly.

static

it's loud.
someone has a tv on in the next room,
& doors are opening,
shutting, opening, shutting.
even my light gives off static.
a faucet running across the hall.
my breathing, my pen versus paper,
the sound of a page turning,
a greeting, a phone vibrating.
outside goodbyes, six-five-four-four-five,
swipe an ID. click. opening,
shutting.
my muscles groaning.
the lights are off for no good reason
other than i'm practicing
for nicole,
for when she wants to sleep
& i've procrastinated myself into a hole.
mom wants to know if i want to call,
& under the bed with my eyes
closed it's like an imitation
of reality. all these noises, homes
multiplied and voices.
i turn my fan on;
i drown it out.


written 8/25/10

I haven't written anything that will help you understand.

It's.....it's like an itching feeling that makes me want to cover my ears

and press and press and press

until I hear your voice. keep pressing until I can hear your voice

until you're loud enough for everyone to hear and they KNOW I'm not crazy

I have to lay on my arms some nights so that my arms become numb

When they feel heavy and dead it's harder for me to

claw at my ears in the night when I dream your voice

I live alone now because I don't want anyone to hear me yell out when I'm asleep

Or when I can't take it

I haven't written anything because I've been busy

going to the store

I buy alcohol and cotton swabs every other day now

I'm worried though because it used to only happen on

mondays, because of that song you liked-

I don't really care about it anymore-

but now I wake up everyday to hurting

Because I haven't written anything at all

and i can't hear you