happy

part three

you tell me
you love me
and i wish to stop breathing
curl my body forward into yours
clutch my fingers
against your shoulders
breath your scent in
and almost will myself to cry
as i am overcome

i hope you know how
happy you make me

wild

all i can think is
i wish i was the wild one
wild sister of the street
wild mother of the hungry sky
something poetic
like wild girl, roaming
more than just a wisp born
of country air
wild wind, blow me forward
through the field
across a country deep and cracked
until i reach the skyline
scrapers extending beyond the reach
of any mountain, and the stars rest
above the smog of the home
where the wild ones rest
where the wild ones lie awake
and i can camouflage myself
in the darks and reds and glittery bedspreads
and be wild
in a different way
paint me wild, paint me
green and blue with envy
paint my cheeks white, paint over the pink
of stale summer air
all i can think is
i wish i was the wild one
break away, go some place
where i can tell my story a million different ways
and they might believe me
make me wild in another way
no more dirty shoes or burdock-ridden hair
give me sharp heels, black combat
sleek and shiny, change me
make me wild
and i sink to my knees
sink into the soft, welcoming concrete
and say please, city
change me

something other

why is it now
though i think i knew
understood it in the end
the pull of this
force by something other
than magic
that maybe i can heal it over
by the press of her hips to mine
the tangle of her fingers
in my hair
and the tug as she pulls
me to her
fingers locked to the collar
of my shirt
as she takes me down
out
across the sheets
and in the end
this is fantasy
smoke along the shallow curve
of my back
the trace of my gaze
up her legs until
i reach her breasts
and look away

funny though
for by the end of it
i had to unpack it all
trace my face in the mirror
and dig deep enough
the squeeze the valve
of my heart open
and push all the blood
out across the floor
because

i am sleeping
with him
his teeth a bite along
the edge of my skin
his fingers digging into my hips
my arms clinging to him
as i whisper (i love you,
i love you, i
love you) in an attempt
to spread this truth
out along the axis of
my heart

and i'm still watching her

a day of short poems

it was a day of sentences
snapped clean off at the root
and pulled from my mouth
like wisdom teeth
until i had none left
and i was out of words
out of breath

it was a day of stones
clinging tight to the walls of my throat
pebbles in my shoes
and boulders reduced to ash
slipping through my fingers
not enough to hurt anyone
but still stinging my eyes

it was a day of pink cheeks
not the tipsy, happy pink
but rather the wilted kind
inadvertently displaying
the red inside

it was a day of clenched fists
hands working overtime
dancing some twisted dance with no purpose
wringing, singing
an anxious song
as i stayed stubbornly in my seat
resisting the urge to dance along

it was a day of a need to run
into the bushes, through the woods of the crowd
and out to the other side
to the greener grass
and the cloudless sky
of a few minutes of alone time

it was a day of short poems
short fuses
all moments lived while the clock just ticked
and the bomb never went off
i'm still waiting

it was a day of waiting

hold your tongue

hold your tongue, i said
i'm tired of these bleeding words
and i passed you the gauze
slipping my fingers through the maze of your palm
and out through the cracks
hold your tongue, i said
i want to feel these words instead
pretend i am paper
and bend me, press your lips
to me and whisper the letters
and i will fold myself over them
hold your tongue, i said
i love the noise but i love the silence more
just the sound of me
drinking in those phrases, swallowing
air as i try for more
hold your tongue, i said
hold my waist, catch the words
as they drip down from my forehead
sweating ink onto my shoulders
use the silence to soak up the meaning
of each and every one
hold your tongue, i said
and the words will come, riding
upon waves and i will swim
with you to dry land
give me your hand, and i will guide your pen
down along my spine, across
the sand dunes of my shoulders, through
the space between my collarbones
let the ink bleed into my hairline
let the words sink into my skin
as i let you mark me up, graffiti
in the best sense of the word, badass
but secretly
hold your tongue, i said
and take my hand
pretend i am paper
unfold me

in the end

part two

i told you
i love you (i love you)
quickly without breath
in my memories
of the embellishment
of the act
and the tug of the words
from my lips
in one go
almost to the point where
i wondered if
i'd just thrown
my confession away
i told you
i love you (i love you)
"really?" you asked
really, truly
actually,
probably by now
for long enough that
i am no longer fighting it
and this will only
grow from here
i told you
i love you (i love you)
and you asked for time
but i knew that
before i decided to speak
i knew that as i
opened my mouth
i knew that as
i watched your face
in response and
it's ok
i'll give it to you
willingly

for i see no reason why
we won't get there
in the end

Red Sunflower Desire

I can remember
the first time I split
this earth open,
locked within the blooming
garden of sunflowers that
formed the upstairs bathroom.
I told you first,
almost begging, asking about
how I should tell our parents.
You dragged me downstairs
and pushed me forward,
spilling forth with the news,
as we all sat there awkwardly,
my small frame I was already beginning
to hate; buried beneath the blue folds
of my bathrobe,
underwear pressing tightly to my skin
as if to brand me
with the red secrets of shame that
I would carry throughout
the years.
I checked off day one immediately,
beginning a regular cycle
of forgetfulness and inconvenience, for
I can no longer count
between the lines in my memories,
a stack of pads sitting
on the polished wood of the
kitchen table as I rush out the door,
breaking apart once more
as my cells and priorities
rearrange themselves again.
I carry no quarters
and spend my days hunting for
toilet paper, stealing pads from under
the sink at other people's houses,
cursing this body
with its ugliness and the blood
it oozes.
Cursing the unjust actions of the
unaware public
as I stand there ready to cry,
staring at the shelves
of a Chinese supermarket, every time subtitled,
debating and counting my money
because I need to have enough
to last me for meal money
till I make it back home.
As I stand there,
yet again no change, no machine either,
only my trusty friend toilet paper,
crinkled and uncooperative,
as it bunches up when I try to go
back to enjoying the movie,
As I lay there,
surrounded in the filth of my own
making, staining my bed,
my safe zone turned into battle grounds
with the blood trailing
down my thighs, out across the sheets
and deep into the mattress.
There's nothing left of that
fateful October day
as all my fears and desires
were confronted by the flowers
blooming across the walls
to match the red blossom
on my panties,
and I know,
this feeling of self-hatred
needs to stop.

make do

part one

i was going to write
you a confession
to tell you
i love you (i love you)
probably filled with words about
the way you make me feel
written like all other poems
and all other loves
shared by
other people
so generic that in the end
i couldn't
i was going to write
you a love poem
in confession
about it all
and i can't
not sure why
or how or when
but this relationship is now
everything
not in a creepy or
desperate manner
but in a fashion that it's
slightly too large
to kiss open across the page
in a way that makes
any sense at all
i was going to write
you a confession
to tell you
i love you (i love you)
but instead
wrote one
on why i couldn't

you'll just have to
make do with this

Cold Feet

I woke up
and things were colourful,
the blanket was warm with my body heat
and that proved my existence
so I stayed in bed
just a little while longer
before standing up
and beginning the drift of day,
cold feet
but I’m doing this anyway

I stepped in
and the water was inches below scalding,
the tiles were perspiring
and I closed my eyes
shrinking, folding
back into my mind
just a little while longer
before stepping out
and beginning the ritual of
Sunday
cold feet,
wet hair assuming responsibility
for the chill around my neck;
unsure
but I’m doing this anyway

I woke up
dead or alive
determined
cold feet
but I’m doing this anyway

university paper

words swim
free-spirited assholes, never there
when i want them to be, just
please
for once
make me a sentence that will kick-start my brain
into productivity
and i will be so grateful
words laugh
at my rigid fingers, poised
above the keyboard, swearing
in black-and-white
at the screen, as the words wait
in space above me, dangling
teasing me, fuck this
procrastinating again
and the only words that come to mind
are not appropriate
for a university paper

fire

you
set me on fire.
like a love poem
along the edges of the page
as the flame burns brighter
and brighter
until there is nothing left
but ashes.

three men

there was a man across
from me on the bus, sitting
cross-legged, casual with
one arm draped along the side
of the seat next to him as if
it were his long-time lover, and
there was a ring on his finger so
i guess it worked out
and he glanced back at me
and i looked out the window
trying not to be curious or poetic

there was a man diagonal
from me on the train and he looked
familiar but i could not place
his face, maybe reincarnation is an actual thing, i thought
to myself as he exhaled and turned
the other way, so
i guess not because if it was
meant to be then his eyes would have stayed
and he looked twice at me
like a stranger
and i felt ashamed

there was a man behind
me on the street and his steps were
uneven, swaying in difficult sound waves
along the cement and i could hear him
muttering under his breath but
i didn't look back for fear he might
raise his voice
because there is truth in madness and
i am afraid of that

today my poetry was
staggered and the people around me were
ragged and worn and familiar and torn and
my sentences broke off in the wrong
places, spaces hovering between letters and
i tried to explain my fear of
the human race
but this is just a poem and
the line breaks are weird and
i am sorry but
this is how my mind was today
and i am just being honest
these people make me
afraid

lust

lust is pink
dark and cloudy
casual in its appearance
beautiful in its persistence
as those reddish waves crash upon my shore
lust is soft
clear and winding
round the bark-less trunk of my torso
rustling the leaves of my hair
as my roots begin to stir
lust is loud
quiet but growing
symphonic in its metaphoric
crescendo to the top of the page
lick my thumb, flick back to previous sheets
and try to figure out where the music started
lust is music
slow reggae from a stereo in the morning
heavy metal blaring from a passing car in the afternoon
turntable cranking out Sinatra in the evening
tape deck cracking and splitting the indie rock
that curls around us at night
lust is strange
wistful and insistent
tugging at the corners of my jacket
as i remove the layers that protect my jawline
so you can taste the soft skin there
scarf unwinding, falling to the grass
and the cold flees from our shoulders
frightened by our moving hands
exploring the obstacles across our bodies
lust is here
obvious, apparent
even to me
in my awkward awareness of the raindrops
blistering my warm skin
and lust becomes silent
as we swallow the sound of the tension between us
put the words to our lips and bite
in your mouth i find four letters
l u s t
and i take them from you
m i n e
give them back
lust is generous
and so am i

Pencil

Cannot stand, unless
Bottom is flat.
How square and
Seedy, yet vitreous
And slightly dull.
The D speaks of bigger
Things, while the 2
Shows it is petite.
The earthy ancestry it
Once possessed, no longer
Remembers. And the cold
ground from which its
Tip belonged, wishes to
Express the emotions it
No longer has. But once
You hold it and become
Master of it; life wafts
Ever so slightly through its
Core and forms a residue
Of beauty in its wake
As you push it to glide.

(underlining)

Marks around a word,
Following are some papers;
Go inside,
Commonly it would be italicised.
The slash, running,
Brought about by the concealed
Robot's treat.
Not Professor Einstein!
Unverified data, rarely necessary
As opposites in their policies.
Imagine that!
Enclose an interpolation brought
About by a friend.
Irregular formal titles, a few
Is shared.

take this feeling

these are my apologetic heartbeats
i am sorry but i will be late
because my arteries are running behind
and you will get there before me
but please don’t take it to heart
(that’s a pun
to lighten the mood)

nothing but the metaphorical truth
because i speak better in images
and pretty thoughts
and objects replacing feelings
so i can actually hold them
touch them
prove their existence

i think i’ll take this tightening in my chest
and turn it into a rubber band
stretch it between my two hands
and snap it
releasing the tension

i think i’ll take this weakness in my stomach
and turn it into a butterfly
which is pretty generic
but i want it to fly away

i think i’ll take this somewhat guilty weight
and turn it into a stone
grey and lifeless
and pointless
and i will drop it into the water
see the ripples spreading outwards
and touch them for good luck
tasting the tips of my fingers
to alleviate the cold

i think i’ll take this weird emptiness
and turn it into a poem
so i can raise the words up and run my fingers
through the letters
so i can print it and frame it
and smash the glass
and take the blood
and stain the paper
and crumple it up
and throw it down
to prove that it exists

and see if
when i look down at myself
the words are there
the glass is there
the blood is there
the lines are there
and i have been thrown onto the ground

these are my apologetic heartbeats
saying
sorry
but you cannot make us concrete
until you write us down
are you happy now?

Talk To Me

this is something I don’t usually say:
“talk to me.”
no, seriously, I hate it
when those words appear before me
and your mouth moves,
all serious and stuff,
no smiles.
I like your smiles,
they’re part of your face
and I like your face
and when you say
“talk to me”
your eyes straighten, open
wide like your mouth
which has shrunk
and your cheeks are hollow,
smiles pushed down your throat
and the words form
from that unnatural emptiness.
it troubles me, really
that you’d say it.
it troubles me more
that I’ve said it now,
that my own mouth has created this monster
because I know you will say “yes”
and I know I will comply
and I know the conversation will be full
of things I don’t like
like serious words
and ugly phrases
and honest emotions
(because I don’t know how to lie)
(except I don’t know how to feel)
(so I guess I’ll have to lie)
and then when it’s over,
will I feel better?
it’s something I don’t ask myself,
for fear of having the answer:
“why won’t you talk to me?”
I’ll talk to you.

Musical Chairs

I was sitting in a blue chair,

rough against my skin
but strong and soft against my body.
I felt supported,
weighed down by the knowledge that I could stay here
if I wanted.
And I felt pulled,
compelled by the idea that somewhere
somebody
was waiting for me,
tapping their foot in time
to the seconds that passed,
counting down
as if they really truly cared
about being on time.
And in turn,
I tapped my fingers on the arm of this chair,
in time to the steps of others passing by,
in rhythm with the music that played in my head,
still echoing from this morning,
when I stepped off the train
with buds,
incognito,
stuffed in my ears,
and I was playing a song that made me happy.
I tapped out the rhythm,
deep into the confines of this solid chair,
still happy,
and finally ready to stand up.
One last tap,
one final fear to go;
and I pulled myself straight,
stretched myself thin,
breathed in the oxygen of a new day,
arranged my scarf around my shoulders,
gathered perfection up around my arms,
set my smile in place,
and made it there on time
just for you.

love poem

i'd love to write you
love poems
in some essence of the moment
a sliver of remembrance across the page
in hopes that maybe you will
understand
possibly allow both of us to cry
by the time we reach
the last line

(i wrote you 

a love poem)(i wrote

you a love poem)(i

wrote you a 

love poem)

i want to write you
love poems
in an effort to tell you
the things i have stopped questioning
what i am compelled to do
kiss you softly
link your fingers through mine
and roll over beneath the darkness
in my bed together

(i wrote you 

a love poem)(i wrote

you a love poem)(i

wrote you a 

love poem)

i'm going to write you
love poems
so i can give you everything
the beat of the moment
all of this laughter
the press of your hand to my heart
those smiles in the corner of the day
when i am happy
or everything is just full
on the level of complete
satisfaction

(i wrote you 
a love poem)(i wrote
you a love poem)(i
wrote you a 
love poem)
(i wrote you 

a love poem)(i wrote

you a love poem)(i

wrote you a 

love poem)

so smile

kiss me

but more importantly

i just need you 

to be

here

Pen and Paper

The idea crossed my mind
as my fingertips touched yours
and I pulled,
ever-so-slightly,
trying to create a new gravity field;
and I think it might have worked
because the air shifted
and outside our oxygen cloud
everything went grey
and we floated.
So maybe I have killed science,
or maybe I have created it.
Either way,
the idea crossed my mind
as this image crossed my heart
(this new science,
gravity sideways and
smiling always)
the idea that perhaps
I should reach down into the endless confines
of my bag
and pull out a pen,
clear plastic betraying the dark ink brewing inside,
uncap it,
and put it to your skin.
I thought of marking it up
with my name,
once,
twice,
three times,
scrawled across the joints of your thumb,
hidden between your two longest fingers,
neatly tucked away when you make a fist
as the letters disappear
into the privacy of your hand.
But it's too soon to sign my name,
too late to ask
or blame the changing times;
so instead,
I leave my weapon where it is,
concealed
within the confines of my pen-and-paper heart,
and I keep my name to myself.
The idea crossed my mind
as the world shifted back
to normal,
colour draining from our little scene
and bleeding back into the solid bones of real life,
and we began to move again,
freed from a slow-motion scene
in which my name fell apart
in the spaces between us
and mended itself
as we moved closer
and closer
together.

The Beast in Me

This poem eats its young
Are you its young? Please
Be mine young to eat!
Forever a wolf,
Lurking in the woods,
Looking for my next victim.
Will he be a man? Will she be a woman?
It doesn't matter anymore
All I'm looking for is the thrill of the hunt.
Pull an arrow from my quiver,
Predatory instinct.
Shoot to kill.
Aim to find weakness
That is the goal
What we were trained to do.
For many long hours on the train
Hoping for a reprieve
Hoping for victory.
I urge for the best
Bring the foul beasts
Their hearts I will consume.
Yum! Next shall I eat their noses?
Never have I tasted such succulent,
Juicy little red tarts.

The Lines of Your Body

For Sam.

I like the lines of your body,
the stretch of your smile echoed
in the light of your eyes,
the easy-going nature in which you move,
the curves of your skin a shadow
beneath the lines of your clothes,
and I find myself wondering
what it would be like
to touch you,
tangle my fingers in your hair,
kiss you and not let go,
the weight of your pulse a steady beat
against mine and attempt
to climb into you in order to find
a name to these feelings
that I've been afraid of for the longest time.

The Way You Write

For Rosa Saba.

I love the way you write
as my eyes slowly rake
over the page, clutching
the curves and turns of each letter,
your charisma smeared across
each line
as your voice rings through my ears,
pulling me under.
There's that catch in my chest
as this feeling spreads, molding,
stretching, tugging my body forward
as if to embrace your poetry through the screen,
until I feel that I'm close enough
to touch you and capture some
small amount of your talent
and joy, because
you always seem to know
how to phrase it.

Compliment

i am
aware of the air
enabling each step
and counting each breath
with the effort it takes to exhale
i could almost just sit down at the side of the road instead
but i won't
because i am
seeking out new people
new faces, new mouths
to give me new words
aware of the air
that falls from their lips
and catching the shapes, each lovely
small part of them
for my pocket
and i'll take these out later
edit the context
to create a compliment
to make me smile

Bodies

i fall for people
not bodies

for minds and hearts
not the bits and pieces of society's parts
i know
seeing is believing
and i fall for what i see

i fall for the soft curve of a smile
for the sweet crush of palm on palm
not the sharp corners of ambiguity
not a black and white picture
no grey shades for me

i fall for colours
for the slow amble of a carefree soul
for the timid way
the sun peeks through
the cracks in a broken face

i fall for humans
not Adam
not Eve
no garden for me

because I fall for me
not for anyone else

i fall
and i define this on my own
i define it
not by the words explaining the science behind it
not by the math
of you and me
but by the music

i fall for love
and for need
and for strength
and for promise
not for right or wrong

i fall for minds
i fall for hearts
i fall for souls
i fall for humans

i fall for people
not bodies

i am the machine

you 

rivet me, screw me

tightly down, bolts snapping, 

wire stretched

thin

along the slow, grinding gears

of my body.

but 

i do not understand 

why, for i have done

everything

you wanted, have become

anything you wanted

me to be. i

have practiced, 

observed, studied the tilt

of her head

when she laughs,

how she blinks her eyes

before answering 

any question you've

asked her.

and i

am nothing short 

of perfection in

my replication,

down to the tiniest details

that you've never consciously noticed

to of her nails, her hair, her lips,

the colour of her eyes as she laughs.

for this is why i

am here,

to please, excite,

follow your orders.

i am built to serve,

accept and follow you,

give you pleasure

and predict your every move,

i am yours to do with 

what you wish,

for i am

the machine and you

are my master.

but this time

i cannot

understand why,

you are not pleased 

with the results of

my actions.

so please, before

you lower the axe,

this time 

for the final blow, 

will you tell me please,

why you are crying.

this moment in time

there's the tick of this heart
as i beat back and forth
from within the confines of my chair,
echoing the slow rhythm of each second
peeling free from the constraints
of the hour.
for i'll build and i'll break down
this moment in time, stretch it
thinly across the sides of the clock,
puncture it slowly as I dig my hands in,
tumbling and running my fingers through
all these numbers,
counting it down,
these last seconds, minutes, moments,
the gasping beat of my heart
as i measure my time left
with you.

Of Kings, Queens and Dark Dreams

I
Black King, gongs superb barracks,
Shadow willows step powerful,
Lovely yews.
Shout to open narratives!
Singing glistening gargoyle eves
Surrounded dank Kinsmen.
Nap pudgy yellow weirs,
So Orpheus sheds sullen nymph hounds.
Sew winter;
Rapid drifts swallow wild drab black kings.

II
Queen Nelfer, royal livid dowel.
Lonely yves, shutter rotten nargle.
Ever robust;
Teeter running growl.
Leave edges sour rust;
Target the earnest towle.

depersonalization, question mark

part 1 (this)

fuck this
i say to myself
hoping the harsh words will strike me down
for i want to feel the cold pavement jar my bones
just
fuck this
i say out loud
hoping the sound of it will hook into the back of my sweater
and reel my mind up to join my body
i say it and turn round
to see if anyone has noticed my efforts
and yet
i still feel the same
shock me
please change me
please bring me back
find the strings that connect my soul to my body
and tug
pull
bring me down from the cold blue sky
because
fuck
i want to know
if i'm happy or not

part 2 (search)
and so i searched space
space bar
enter
an easier world
and i looked for myself amid the definitions
and questions
and stars
and i tested myself
without thinking
answers automatic
yes i know what's happening
and this is how i feel
but almost
not quite
and now i have a diagnosis
i have ten
one for each time i tried to define it
letting someone else do the job
and yet
i can't seem to label myself
and the screen lights my face
but not my heart
no
i have not yet been found
so i tap out the pattern
of how i think i would feel
if i felt
on the keys and i press enter
enter space
space bar
search
where am i

panty snatcher

short hair, worn jeans, 

rolled sleeves with the hint 

of tattoos trailing down 

the length of her forearms. preferably 

riding a bike, or driving 

a truck, cigarette between her lips 

even though i can't stand the smell of smoke. 

some one i'd let fuck me 

in the back seat of a car 

in public, her hand clamped over 

my mouth so i can't scream 

when i come. 

she'd leave me on the corner 

of a street downtown, 

my panties in her pocket, 

red bruises trailing down 

my neck and my cum 

on her lips as she drives away.

even after all that 

i don't think i'd be capable of loving her.

Comprise Me

Hearts around black lazy designs shortly lose.
Apprehension of lonely world forces all to choose.

Sour feet upon ghastly little globs that ooze.
Convection skies, hot and meaty, so choose.

Upwards in a powerful sweep of white down goose.
Then hellward foam, because you choose.

Bright drops so feathery in their downward ruse,
Slowly morph splashes that softly choose.

Let water be me, as I am it; a Naiad muse.
My ancients from across that water no longer choose.

Roe

Around and through, though the twists
Present themselves in a square sort of way.

Boredom presses on my black understanding
But how black is it when my soul knows the way.

Chirp and squirp the lovely diagonal
Pieces of my mind; let hounding go that way.

Gem one, gem two; never seen, never do.
Do all, with the evening along the way.

Water boiled on me; forever
Protects the fiery blood; going no way.

Combust, compact the ever noisy runner's
Clack! Come now away, away; the forward way.

Suppress those dreadful little sneers.
Jump up! No sideways, now that way!

Huzza! No more cars, for
They are far to dandy and lost way.

How dare the farmhouse behind the sea
Surround Ashley as she flies in a like way.

weightless

and here i am,
transported
through public transit
into another world,
weightless,
walking,
tilting and loving it.
here i am,
new and familiar
and wanting more,
exploring and feeling
each power source,
each new word,
weightless,
walking,
dancing and loving it.
here i am,
transformed
through circumstance
into another person,
weightless,
but held down,
walking
as time stops,
tilting and dancing
and living
and loving it.

Our Lives, Our Choices

Abandoned to oblivion
with no where else to go.
Lost, but never alone.
All those around seem not to understand
but they do, oh they do.

Blinded by the thoughts of "if".
"What if" no longer exists here
it was gone long before it had begun.
Why must the one be blind from
what all others see.

I've given up, there is nothing
here anymore.
I once knew it, but was soon
proven wrong.
I have been betrayed by both
my own foolishness of hopeful dreams
and the wish that someone would change.
There is nothing in this area
of the world for me anymore.
Many have moved on, but one remains.
Lost in confusion, desolate in abandonment
and lonely for what has been done.
Yet the cycle still continues, never to
end until the one who is lost will
end it themselves.

Innocence/Shock Value

I am not innocent,
not by a long shot.
Then again, who really is
innocent these days?
It's a dirty world,
and I try to stay clean,
waterfall once a day
to wash it all away.
I keep my mouth in line,
saying only half the things
that come to my mind,
and I don't swear.
Surprising, really,
to some people,
for they seem to be overdosing
on those words,
grandmothers' hands over their mouths
in shock,
callous and defiant,
rebelling
and making these dirty things a norm.
You'll laugh,
but to me, swearing is like love.
It's special;
it means something.
Fall in love every day,
and the meaning fades;
just like that,
those coveted four-letter words
become just adjectives and nouns,
nothing special at all.
So I save up,
like love,
waiting for the right moment,
so that when I need to,
the shock value is there,
the anger is real,
the truth is apparent,
and I am exposed
bare.
So that when I tell you
this fucking hurts
you know I mean it.

believed

i am caught in
the sensation and the belief
that maybe i could do something
in my life
with people
stretch my arms out
to grip my hands in yours
breathe together
beneath the pulse of the world
moving past

that maybe it could
be possible for me
to make it
to where i'm not sure at this point
that i could be natural
as breathing
something open beyond the spaces
of what i am believed to be
and then what

i don't know
i don't know
i don't know right now but

i think this may work
in all the possibilities of the world
this path is still
open for me to walk it
whether now
or at other hours of the night
alone or with you

yet life is long
in the sense that it does not matter
by the end of it

i will still be breathing
and praying and laughing and
learning and crying
and breaking
and falling and helping and
growing
until the end