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