that morning

that morning
the air humid
with tears
from somewhere else

my skin sticky
muscles tired
and mind uneasy

the polish on my toenails peeling
from the angst rushing through my body
the sun lay on my foolish cheek
overtop my teacher’s last kiss
I sat perched there feeling all wrong
all alone
on the verge of worrying my soul
into a peanut shell

suddenly
we sat together
as I would later do again
with so many
many
many
loved ones
not knowing this one
until
that morning

my mom said
I wore blue eyeliner
from the 80’s,
in my lap, awkwardly sat my lunch
and he, comfy in his striped shirt
and aged black
leather jacket

he was lovely

the two of us
on cold hard plastic
sharing
recycled ideas
and we both
knew it.

he on paper
me in light banter

us; you and me.
the
both
of
us.
old and young,
knowing and abstract,
sitting together
looking over a piece
of lovely paper.
children,
mothers,
pasts,
presents,
the scent of women,
and the hopes of fulfillment
these; our discussions

I didn’t want
to share
but when I stood
it was all
I tangibly had to give.
he taught me different, with his smile

A Mess

I have credentials,
they're all over the place
just like me
and
I have questions,
And answers that are all wrong.
they're trivial
and obsolete
yet true
and to the point

I love and try not to hate
I'm scared and I need hugs
and I like to sleep
and snuggle and sing in the shower
and smoke too many cigarettes when I dance with my friends

And I don’t want to say goodbye to friends without kissing them
but people say that's weird
and so I'm dissatisfied
but I'm also smart and loving
and kind and bitchy
so I'm a mess and I hope that you love me back.

different contexts

it grows like kudzu
we chop at it
belittling it
despising it
pained
planed
and exasperated

unsure and flustered
at the amount of it

water outs the fire
smoke stifles the respiration
like a hand over the mouth
of a noise
a phrase needing completion
though you know it already

and now

I sit
sit
sit
in a fishbowl of coffee drinkers
striking away at letters on the pad;
letters on the plastic.
Insignificance on the plastic;
industrialized plastic that provides meaning.
How the hell did I get here?

I remember
‘member
‘member
being in this fishbowl when it wasn’t a fishbowl.
heart beating like a crazed lunatic,
mouth dry, tongue torched with nervousness.
legs twitching and
our eyes darting.
And now,
I sit
sit
sit
staring at some plastic,
trying to find meaning.

our figures
there
simple
and pure,
illuminated by magic.
Magic that no person could ever see.
Remnants of that magic can be seen by my mind’s eye.
my mind’s memory banks
teaseing with images;
Smiles,
Laughter,
Fidgeting.
Nothing that could ever,
or should ever, be measured for its beauty.
I know of its beauty
and I will always know of it.

And I know you know of it too.

I’m tired of being measured with spoons
Of being poured into a semi-plastic piece
of insignificant industrialized nothing with snow flakes printed on the outside,
only to have soy milk
and 'organic' sugar added to it
and then sipped on for comfort by the measurers of this world who finger the coffee jacket made of 100% recycled cardboard.

I want to know you like I did that day,
when everything was raw and pure and undiluted
and without artificial flavoring.

uncuttable

You run
others hide
some of us stay
and lots of us ride.

All I know is my hair's a little longer
my heart's a little stronger.
The spaces needing filled;
comfortably stable
with my own identity

you stay at bay
I ask you to relay
and
to not run away.
Lay

here with me
Pray a little
Gray a little
with me
no games
no fears
no sadness
and no queering
of circumstances

Face me
don't turn away
from what is
and what is not

My heart yearns for
your presence
the definition of you
next to the definition
of me
this I ask
after much
pondering.

fuck appreciation
and situation
and disputation
and circuitous narration

the uncuttable affinity
of you
and of me.

Displaced but Settled

Where the topmost branch
juts out to form a novel path
that will last for so long
as that decision
is not disturbed by another's.

When the leaves dissipate
the view left behind
was there all along;
the lens blocked
by what we previously
coveted.

A new adventure awaits
discovery,
my hope lives in the desire
to find it.
Help me to see what I cannot,
feel what I fear,
love what is true,
know what I've yet to know.

what if

Difference;
beautiful yet trying
engaging yet deceptive

if you let it
lead you astray,
like a curving line
a curving line called life,
it may cause
floudering or
drowning
but yet it may
offer
possibilities
unimaginable.

We're taught that Difference is a charmer,
a rude uninvited guest
inducing unpleasantness
as unilateral thought
and disruption of affect
and behavior
and cognitive cycles.

Difference provokes
Fear.
Fear
as motivator
causing anxiety,
thwrating growth and
opportunity.

Challenge it.
raise up your fist
and frustrate it
before it discourages
what could have been
or what would have been.

We all have one opportunity,
one chance;
to flee or fight
to love or hate
to know or become ignorant
to what we know
and feel
and desire.

Come to me, oh, life.
Challenge what I think and feel.
Meet me face to face.

the dance

contrast is debilitating,
moments gone awry,
due to unfortunate
Freudian
processes

buckled up for the ride
giggly
giddy
and spry

air thickens
breathing labored
you remember
lit fireworks don't just sit there

scientific laws break
byproduct: a hardened shell
a hardened shell that ceases to break
rearing its ugly head
on a Friday night
when the only thing keeping you company
is a curvaceous bottle and a piece of lit
asthma
and your best friend sits
adjacent. watching.

contrast is debilitating,
moments gone awry,
due to unfortunate
Freudian
processes

they said it would happen
as it has all along
the pressure
the building stifled strife
you never listened

wound up, sitting.
contemplating.
creating a contrast in your mind
that is of a debilitating situation,
made of moments gone awry
due to unfortunate
Freudian
processes

mortal irony

a piece of hardened stone
pitches a hammer toward a crowd

a section of violinists
both deaf
and blind

a throng of caring and compassionate
therapists
who ne'er before have shut their mouths
to atune their ears

a gaggle of flunking students
who read and
study

a raw bleeding heart
that which no one will bandage