inhale,

1...
2...
3...
stop caring.

exhale

I learned something very important from Justin

The sky doesn't make room for clouds; it doesn't change or expand. It lets them simply pass through. Likewise is your mind. It's not permanently accommodating. That's so inspiring.

lemons

crinkled nose and curt
speech, slight acclimations to
your acridity




why are you acting like this?

noise

you wouldn’t hear me otherwise.
if i didn't do this at every
opportunity that fell before me,
you wouldn't pay me any mind.
you’d walk right past me as if
my existence were insignificant.
but you can’t, can you?
not while i’m doing this, at least,
not while i’m exceeding the
threshold of stimulation in your brain.
do i have your attention?
are you listening now that it’s
crashing into your system,
affronting you with everything
you had intended to ignore?
is it working yet?
is this enough for
a second look?
good.
now that you’re looking for me,
you’ll find that i’m gone.
it was only just a noise.

happiness

"Notice a quiet moment so the storm that sometimes resides in you can calm and become a gentle breeze known as peace of mind."

String Theory

And so again
I begin anew


A string thin theory
laid out on the sand


Vaguely
the shape of me


Perhaps
more character


It's just a concept,
an idea of how I could be


The only way to know
is to pull the string tight


Test elasticity
Push me against gravity


Send me into orbit
into collision
with my quantum self


I hope to see me
waving back


The other side
of these rough seas


Of changing sides
Of setting free


Dispersing the white light
that cuts me into slices like
a bread knife


Pull tight the string
and let go of me


Let go
and watch me


Accumulate mass as
I eat up each grain


Let go


Let go


And go ahead
Laugh on your way back inland

Kaitlyn (eye to eye):

We've been told that
We’re the same height
By doctors and friends alike
We even stood back to back and
I guess
It came out the same


But as I talk
When we walk
Side by side,
I still look up to you


<3333

the hustle

we’ve forgotten
the meaning of a day,
too mesmerized
and hypnotized
by the hands of a clock,
breathing
is just a drop
of life
inside an ocean
of existence.

If you hold on
To anything today,
Let it be this:
You are smart
You are beautiful
And you are alive.

What are you?

where are you?
what are you?
what is my soul?
my life,
what is a day,
a breath?
is it a question,
an answer,
a mystery?
or a collection of moments
shared between heartbeats
and fingertips
a collection of senses
savored in memory jars
the smell
of coffee
of dripping sunrises
and summer evenings
the touch
of paper pages
in old books
the chill of snow
and skin brushing skin
running up your spine,
taste
exploding on your tounge
tangerine
chocolate
sweet and sour
the sight
of colors and light
clashing,
crashing into corners
cracks
and glass
casting shadows
in a sleeping forest.
and what of breath?
is it more
than just substance
filling lungs,
perhaps existence
is found there,
in the moment
air is expelled
and passed
between lips.

whatever that was

seeing much less. no rosey hue to hinder my sight

Tables Turn So Strangely: Indifference and Ennui

I can see
myself wandering 
into the looming thicket 
of indifference and ennui 
and my mind pounds pavement 
to catch up to you
but I can’t and I can’t can stand it?
What a relief to
finally catch my breath,
stroll at a leisurely pace,
and for once,
not give a fuck
about how far ahead
you are of me.
It feels sooooo
good to stop caring!

anti-thesis

It is paradoxical, I
suppose, that I like his
hands closed around my
throat, even as he waits
for my breath inside of his,
that I want to be crushed
by his hips, even while treading 
carefully down his spine .
Hopefully, you’ll hold that
against me the next time
you have me pressed up
against the wall,
my ponytail wrapped around
your hand like a friendship
bracelet.

Calling Captain Celestial-Joyride

She’s floating in space, like a synthetic snowflake — shaken from the bottom of a snow globe, and suspended in the water. Except the boundaries of her snow globe are infinite. She could just drift, for as far and as long as eternity — until she finally collided with some cosmic body, or junk. 

The problem is that she’s not moving, there’s nothing to propel her forward; an object at rest will remain at rest, it maintains the current velocity… and in her case, this is nil. She’s the rest stop, on the highway of the space-time continuum. All those multiple worlds out there, the myriad of alternative dimensions, and here she was stranded — because she decided it would be funny to unstrap her jet pack. She never claimed to be a clever cosmonaut, but she didn’t really expect to be a universal idiot.

It’s all rather embarrassing, she murmurs in an alien tongue. If you could see her face under that helmet, you’d know that her cheeks are as red as the surface of Mars.

It doesn't matter if I come over late at night

Because I love the night
And when it's late
The planes stop running,
So as we lay in bed
When you fall asleep first
(Signaled by the cutest twitches),
Your body molded to mine,
Keeping me warm,
Window cracked for fresh air:
My mind goes quiet and
The only sounds are
The soft, rhythmical breaths
At the nape of my neck
And relaxing lull of the ocean
To put me to sleep and
Deliver a morning where
I still feel at rest.

as simple as..

Kiss me
Flawlessly
No lies to taint our lips
Broken promises need not exist
Let this touch be simple
Almost real
As true as words can feel
Lingering softly above broken hearts
As if intended to mend mine
Gently excavating inner damage
Ridding mind and body
Clarifying reality
As if love could almost subsist

Child Of The Rain

Child of the rain,
With rolling droplet eyes
And a mere splatter dress,
You do not realize
The countless lives you bless.

i wonder what your
spoken word tastes like,
though i’d imagine you
avoid the bright lights.
in the back of a dark 
auditorium, audience of
one, slow clapping will
accompany eyes rolling.
(and the crowd wants
more, feed the beast) 

Observations

The pulsing and blasting of music and bass are all engulfing, all surrounding. When night falls the music roars, the people laugh and scream, and their minds become lost in the night. Forever unquenched and forever yearning, they dance though the darkness and become lost in the sounds. Raving wildly, like beasts at some feeding ground. Always hungry and wanting more.


Only when the sun rises and the empty beer cans glitter in the street, and the vomit splayed on the hard concrete is crusted solid, and the dancers slowly awake from their night of seemingly magical and wild transformation, only then do they find themselves lying on the floor. This place once full of warm bodies and cold drinks, now replaced with the stale smell of alcohol. And as they sit on the floor and the music continues to play it echoes in the emptiness of their lives.

the news is scary

It’s honest, it’s real, and it’s heavy, dear.
The silence of shyness, the crippling fear
of the rape and the racism, torture and theft,
the starving so pure that there’s no hunger left;
the wide world of worry, each one by themselves
a true murder’s worth in the mind that it swells
and we’re walking around, and we’re reading our words
like we’re meant to be silent, live tragic, absurd.

But here I am writing, and you’re sitting down

And truth isn’t sadness but every beat
of your heart when you’re not sitting there in that seat:
the sex and the symmetry, the birth and the breeze,
the whispers of love that can weaken the knees,
The singing, the poetry, imagined, informed;
Fairy tales are all rescues- with the hearts therein warmed.
Yes billions pretending they’ve learned how to feel
when the mystery’s love, it is heavy and real.

wine wednesday

Upright, I let feet meet floor,
and the resulting reunion 
is vertigo made of paleness 
shades away from the pinot noir
that dislodges my center
with burgundy floods.

clutch

How strange to be on the other end. I didn't write this but I'm going to publish it for a friend who gave it to me:

"Sonnet K
The humming stillness of a sound,
Opulent, crisp reflections of the soul,
A single breath which circles round,
What solemn fate thou hast to make things whole?
What thoughts linger in thee is always quite a curiosity.
The world or the time, me think'st it all quite divine.
A sense of wonder and delight, inciting insightful reciprocity.
Thine brilliance knows only to shine.
Shakespeare, Dante, Emerson, Faulkner,
Not one may hold a light to thine unwritten poetry.
Rhythm in all words made, thou mak'st the perfect rhymer,
There can be no imitation of thee in all forms of mimicry.
For what sacred art there may be,
It is all retained in thee."


Thank you for making my day, seriously.

wearing your backpack makes you fall scorpion style on your face

So it’s one of those nights.
The ones where I freak myself out.
Sitting here with my dim lights,
Almost shaking with desires and doubt.
My brain is going on and on and on,
Thoughts about people, long gone.
The more I want to sleep, the less I can.
I am not a big “woe is me” fan.
Really, regret is pretty useless.
And I’d say worry is, too.
I assure you, I didn’t choose this.
But here we are again, right on queue.

jennnnn I miss you

The year was already tired
from moving in all directions,
wanting to rest on the porch with tea
before finishing the week. 
Thinking boiled over and scalded our hands;
determination, polka-dotted underwear,
obscene if not for it’s cute ridiculousness;
conversations dispensed in a Coke machine,
tickling our noses if we drank it too fast. 
Everyone ached on both sides:
the infinite awful and the undrowning hope. 
What fear!? we asked, all kinds of burdens
springing unintended from our nostrils.
Fear is us, what fear have we?