inner child

its different on the inside
without the rocky exterior
without the bravado
beneath exoskeleton still intact
hidden amongst reflective surfaces
like fun house mirrors
dripping moments hanging like crystals
from cavernous walls
hinting unspoken words like sighs
its different on the inside
within sky high walls
where she frames her wishes like family
to hang in endless hallways
declarations of desires
where sarcasm softens
welcome mats leave footprints of vulnerability
leading onto a pathway
hardly remembered but cherished
treasure maps leads through
hundreds of locked doors, up and into
her childhood hiding place
its different on the inside
far away from the scars left
from piercing words
glimpsed only when her eyes become
crescent moons of sea water
days like this
when the outside world offers little sentiment
when understanding is skewed to illegible graffiti
spraypainted onto the back of her eye lids
its different on the inside
where love is kept safe from harm
and warmth washes over
like a low tide
lapping around ankles
without any deterrent to dreaming

Untitled 1.

blurred vision
eyes dry
smudged black day old eye liner
redness makes the blue even bluer
lips parched
with a head ache splitting in two
stopped at a red light
car idling
found myself with the help of a super spy kit
uncovering a fingerprint left
disappearing moment
reappearing later on this small wrist
left haphazardly
with aggression
with wiped away tears
small reminders of a breath stolen
a secret whispered back to her
in 8mm film
choppy
details are limited
things chosen to be remembered
interlaced with
some adolescent embarassment
what it felt like
to hear the word, beautiful
allowing it to sink in
beyond skin deep
drawing pictures
on the window from the insides
watching them fog over again

panic attacks

there is no prescription
for this deep and painful throbbing in the center
where my insides quake
eyes shifting all around me,
hear the silent tick tock ticking
makes the panic set in
my heart becomes a vortex trying to swallow me whole
shaky sort of knowing that perhaps theres something growing
and its crawling up the sides of me and
curling in the eyes of me
its waiting and its watching for a window to devour me
looming just above me in the darkness
still it watches me
hiding in the shadows and it never takes its eyes off me
biting snapping - never leaving
I can always hear it breathing
but when i turn the lights on
all thats left is empty nothing
spashed on white walls - mocking

compromised thoughts

compromising the fabrication of reality
I take what I have
bend it to be what I think I want
pretending it is what I need
giving it a shiny paint job
sweeping unmentionables under the rug
to forego the conclusion
that my hypothesis has always been incorrect
sought out supplementary understanding
shared moments elsewhere
emotional embraces from another
late night conversations
left me feeling a little dirty like having secrets
little white lies when I feel I cannot tell my truths
not ever to you
leaving me with a metallic taste
like bad medicine
force feeding yes’s
crushed and added to food to avoid the bitter taste
disappointed in my inability to look beyond the immediate
holding onto nostalgia
fiercely protective and lashing out
with clenched fists when asked to explain myself
with understanding sought out
where things aren’t so hard
makes me examine the details
more closely
wondering how things could be different
if the hands that held me
belonged there

reorganzing

there a was a drawer in my heart i left empty for you
for your belongings
space for your baggage
room for you to put your things when you came to stay
even briefly
for the night
for the weekend
but you would haphazardly throw a bag of clothes on the floor
to be scooped up upon every exit
perhaps a renegade sock left to hide beneath the bookshelf
i opened it the other day to wipe the cobwebs away
it remained empty
lifeless, except for a spider that scurried out
only to disappear into the floorboards
ready to make cobwebs in somebody elses misplaced wishes
looking around at the clutter
thinking i can use that space
neatly organized
labelled for efficiency
hopes
dreams
desires
alphabetized laundry list of longings
mark a check beside each given in completion
blinds opened
letting some light in

for me this time

no shackles round these wrists
untied
unfettered
unwilling to allow ownership
to brand its burning iron into fleshy parts
counting and counting the days spent with only myself
to answer to
to reason with
i carved lines in prison walls
cut hopes into skin with fingernails sharpened by wit
trapped inside my own skin
insecurity blanket round neck like a noose awaiting a hanging
i am tired of feeling invisible
i have said over and over
no more self inflicted emotional wounds
to prove i feel?
were my tears real?
love masochistic means beating your head into a wall
but only for so long
until being a martyr for your cause
writes labels on your concert tee
screaming pathetic
over the amplified white noise
that lulls you into a quiet complacency
back handing me back to reality
i am stronger than i appeared to be

escaped

this person is not delicate
no bruised petals nor shrunken violets shrivelled up
buried - deep into the earth
do not go easy on skin
do not touch with a soft hand
without conviction
create caresses without
the ammunition
of leaving a lasting impression
This memory recalls days when proximity only would
send rippled electricity from ears to toes
indifference begs and trains for something
a bit rougher around the edges
tougher thicker skin
callused palms turned upward against my cheek
This person is not delicate
not to be babied
rocked back and forth with soothing lullaby lies
but to be embraced
with equal strength
with unafraid passion plays
bold and brazen and screaming from rooftops
I am here and real and will
push pull tug and scream back at you
this person is not delicate

simple and unopened (written in 2009)

I am only me
simple and unopened
two hands and wrists heavy from heart scarred sleeves
two left feet that keep stumbling into the wrong headspace of thought
rationally the words of space and time should fall upon a sympathetic ear
but the angry reds of swollen eyes are screaming at me to adhere to my own internal rules.

I am only me
simple and unopened
two eyes that dig deep and burrow into your secrets
two arms that hold too tightly to foolish promises of romantic notions
disposing of my jaded thoughts with sling shots of dismissed comments
but the fear that creeps besides me shadow boxes all attempts to rise above

I am only me
simple and unopened
two lips that tell too much and too quickly to remember
two ears that hear the negative like surround sound from the best seats of the house
idealistic and imperfect dreams and desires painted with oil slicks upon a blank canvas
but without vision the color bleeds to muddled brown to paint with shades of gray

after this you may need a cigarette... (originally written in 2006... warning family members, its more R rated than my other stuff)

with the twisting of the rhythm of the nighttime lighting
you can drop drippings of a candle if you dont leave marks.
well unless they are hidden,
for office politics require a bit of delicacy.
yet delicacies of flesh forgotten from months of indifference
back turning on someone well hidden in doorways electronic.
its easy to be anonymous when noone can see you lurking behind that two way mirror,
where we're watching things start entwining like limbs and lips and tongues.
do you think you could make me speak like that or
testify or maybe sing a halleluia
from the back of my throat that comes out too throaty for anything holy. perhaps if you held wrists twisting one handed turnaround with shoulder blade biting
you could make an assumption of the tone of my thought processes that are like cutting into a sort of sweet cake like softness perhaps.
voyeuristic tendencies makes me want to tripod this moment or
maybe we'll just exercise the boundaries of speech
more affective than touching but licking down that side of my shoulder may prove more conducive to the worries in your mind of what comes next.
second guessing if i'm flinching wont get you to any type of finish line, yet your hidden glimpses of such sensitivity sort of crawl down my back arched spine,
closed hand on the jugular makes you feel the pulse you should be feeding, speeding, leading into the backwards sighs of sweat drenched lines surrounding open minds drifting .

Pass the Gravy (originally written in 2006)

Leave me uninspired.
Pillowcase still damp from another emotional
Episode
While watching
Episodes
Of bad sitcom television designed to
Play off my own abandonment issues
Like the issues of time gracing my
Glass top coffee table, stacking
Haphazardly
Ready to tip into a precarious situation
If only the canyon cut between us
Could be filled with water
Or sand or a rope bridge could be built
To close the gap
And seal the problems that
Turned me into a jigsaw puzzle
Noone has been able to put back together
In 30 minute increments
Intervals of conflict – resolution
we all live happily ever after
Much better than
We all go tumbling down

You remind me too much of him

churns my stomach
Like old fashioned butter
I filled the pauses of your words
With my own ideals and
Inserted my own aspirations
Into the cold motel vacancies of your mouth
As you could never be so inspired
Creating you to be what
I painted by number
Careful to stay in the lines
Creating you to be my masterpiece
My Pygmalion

But the fun house pictures
They never represent
Any of the honest breaths escaping
My parted lips
But the distortions of body
They never represent
Any of the legitimate longings
Of my weighted crown
That tilts just off center
Making my shoulders sag invisibly
Making my neck tilt at that
Odd acute angle

The man on the stage sang
And the words traveled from his mouth
To hit me in the face
Leaving a red handprint
Handing me a playing card that says

Do not leave me
Let me love you

But I keep upacking his suitcase
Like I did that day in January
Looking out from adolescent eyes
Drowning in a pinstrip shirt that smells of starch
And your aftershave
Unsure of my hero worship
Obvious disillusionment of
Such clichéd patriarchal let downs
let downs masking put downs
That wont let me pick myself up for
Fear that I will realize

I never
Needed you at all.

That seems more tragic than the
Sad brown eyes you see from
Without ever really seeing me
You’ve created me from
Your opinions of what you do not have time for
On your grid of whats important
What is an asset
To your own existance
But I will drive to sit beside you
On your left,
but not your right
And I will pass the food and say the graces
In attempts to Saving our good graces
cease invisibility perhaps

I would like you to be thankful
For my need to see a psychiatrist

For driving an hour to sit on your left
For keeping your shirt hanging in my closet
Thinking you may claim it
Eventually

broken record

the ground rises and wraps around black mary janes
swamp swell and sinking ankle deep in some sort of molasses type undertow of seeping feelings drawn on butcher paper with crayola crayons
my lines keep smearing and blurring on the paper
wonder why everyone can run by so fast
tip toes and two steps while holding hands and blowing kisses at me from their peripheral vision
direct eye contact can be uncomfortable sometimes
exposing broken bits and fractured phrases
gluing together pieces of my heart and
trying to sew back in the guts of it
like forgotten teddy bears with lost buttons eyes and torn stiching
little girls are supposed to know better
when it comes from taking candy from strangers
sometimes turning down that moment of sweet satisfaction
seems too difficult to muster the strength
now lost, again in deep wooded forests without a path
head slightly tilted to squint and spot where the moon and stars should be
all has burnt out like broken nightlights
blurring memories of how you remind me so much of when he left
brings me back to the thick of it
screaming betrayals and frozen feet that refuse to budge
the ground rises and wraps aroud black mary janes
deja vu dancing again and again, and again,
and again

music-boxing

throwing emotional sucker punches
scattering my pages
spitting words out like broken teeth
bouncing off cold concrete
throwing silent body blows to the inside of my chest
knocking the wind from me
making tattered rhymes spill from me
collecting in pools of blood
mingling, mixing with
water and and oil and sweat and grease
painting grotesque rainbows out of memorized speech
my bruises are worn outward, out of anger
out of context i seem bitter
out of order i've done better
left to watch from a distracted audience
to scratch feverish rhymes
in defiance of time
writing your name on the back of my mind
i wrote for you a thousand lines
but you never wrote a song about me

return of the nighthawk

the nighthawk is returning
to perch protectively upon my walled defenses
he will look down over that which i have placed my flag
my world, illustrated by the color by numbers of my perspective
surveys the landscape for roadblocks and hazards
waits to attack if needed
if necessary
the nighthawk is returning
to live presumptively upon my coat of arms
he will offer caution when i cannot see through the fog
keeping my eyes from the ground to the sky upwards to heavens
flying low
where i can see him.

to be awake

silent words stay swallowed
by propriety and
proprietary information is kept locked up in vaults
stonewalled tightly within a blank expression
fears take a firm grasp on my tongue
second guesses second guess themselves
twisting my thoughts into a bermuda triangle of expressing myself honestly
would want to say these lovely words to you that dance from brain to ear
to pen to paper
rather to pour you some expensive bourbon
and see how it goes
liquid courageous and monumental moments in my mind
when allowed to take shape fall flat against the reality of things
silent words stay swallowed
like some sick medicine
i dose myself with not good enoughs and
self inflicted insult tonics
to find solace in thinking i will fail
when what i'd rather do is a far more sinister delicacy
to wrap you up in my inappropriate thoughts for one evening
to persuade you to see my way
through my eyes and into my decadent dreams
where your lingered breath on the base of my neck
is a moment too long to be accidental

future roads

This poem is about you
about the way I feel when your proximity cuts to within twelve inches
about waiting for your hand to move to mine
it is about wondering if you are wondering about me
at this moment
as well and alongside an empty chair
it is a question if you will take it upon yourself to call
it is a question if you will take it upon yourself to write
This poem is about you
about where you are right now while I am here at this computer screen
about how long it is going to take for our personal space to intermingle
about time passing
about a story of a boy who hasnt met a girl
at least not yet
a road to be travelled by matching well worn converse
towards each another
This poem is about you
it cannot describe the way you smell when your arms surround me
it cannot trap the sparkle in your eye when I have caught you laughing
but it can be a love letter to a concept
consider it an invitation to find your way across cities and roads to me
my intuition has given me warning
whoever you are
This poem is about you

numbness is failing me

he spoke to the insides of me
from the first embrace
when the flickers of something more than nothing were
crackling the synapses like firecrackers behind touching skin
even just fingertips
could not be extinguished beneath soft spring rains
fighting against the very nature of things
i vowed patience abundance
branded his name to the insides of me
burned into my heart like a sword slicing through fire
three quick slashes
forcing me to look across crowded patios
seeking the slight squint of a winking glance
finding acknowledgement
until i could find myself lost to him again and again
he touched the insides of me
thoroughly and deeply contributing to the stories within
offering the moments to fuel the metaphors
for more than a thousand days
offering the moments to fuel the dreams
of more than a thousand more nights
when the patience has become my enemy
he dulled the insides of me
to an ache only likened to that of a vast emptiness
yearning to be filled
an unquenchable thirst
waiting for springtime rains to fall again

bottled

cant lock up the anger
using a funnel to pour this liquid lava from my tongue
to entrap the sour taste in dark bottles
marked poison
hiding behind the facade of a smile
fooling myself
want to be better
want to be healthy
want to be happy
if i keep smiling eventually it may become contagious
so why is it so hard to convince myself
all the false laughs have left me
things have slowed
to a quiet moment
where i am shaking up those bottles of emotion
suspended animation of explosions
allowing my feeligns to seeth

time flies when you are getting older

if it was fifteen years ago,
i'd be donning steel toe boots
oversized hooded sweatshirt
lipstick six shades too dark
easier when i was a smoker
to maintain a tough exterior
you cant smile when you are taking a drag off a parliament light 100
it was easy to look cool
if it was fifteen years ago,
i'd be cursing too much
going out of my way to be as unlady-like as possible
probably sitting on a curb in a parking lot
watching the boys ride skateboards
drawing on my converse shoe
it was simpler when all i had to do was act uninterested
didnt even need a drink to feel ok in an crowd of artists
speaking the same language
sometimes more than not
sometimes you have to take the heels off
throw on some black eye liner
cross legged directly on the asphalt
discussing philosphy
sometimes you have to remember
who you were to be who you are
if it was fifteen years ago,
i wouldnt be home before midnight on a friday night.

outside the cubicle

can you hear
telepathic words
sent from eyes to ears
bypassing lips
afraid to be given away
too lightly
fragile like bubbles
travelling from here to there
leaving nothing in the air between us
besides each another's breath
pulse beats
vibrate in the pupils of your eyes
trying not to look away this time
as i have done before
as calendar pages fell to the floor
again and again
trying to wallpaper
the cubicles that bind us
from being artists
time has stopped being an enemy
seems like an old friend
known and trusted
especially when
there is noone to translate
my sentence fragments
into feelings

interlude but confused

scraping lines
in the walls of my mind
pros and cons
a list a hundred days long
makes me want to scream
windows up in my car
lost all control
emotional overload
tears falling while driving
commuting is far too much time
left to my own devices
my thoughts are picking up on
interference
radio waves causing static
removing me from my situation
for a moment
but not long enough
starting to wonder
what I would trade for a day
back where you are home

I can remember

you lived inside a tiny birdcage
I could hear the wings beating inside my chest
trying to fly away
I would sing to you and beg you to stay
but appeasing the wanderlust
is only temporary
bandaids to cover a fractured relationship
for one more day to dance with you
for one last nighttime conversation
for one more morning waking up beside you
you felt trapped inside a room
flying towards the glass window
seeking the outside world
watching you fly away
cage empty, with the door swaying
the music has stopped playing indefinitely
but sometimes when I think of you
I still hear you whistling

lost heart

I have sent out a search party
for this heart lost once living within
rib cage protection
last seen in a parking lot
4am
years ago
stolen away through my breath
all evidence washed clean
or perhaps sunken into the black tar asphalt
I have sent out a scavenger hunt
for this heart lost once living amongst
happier times
last seen on a plane travelling somewhere
to the east coast
stolen away through clammy hands
leaving skin cells on the knee of my jeans
everything is raw within me
kept captive
within the back of a messy car
lost somewhere in the trunk
amongst piles of things
lost treasures
books, a forgotten sweatshirt
it could be there
under something
I have sent out an APB
for this heart once living within
the daylight open to the sunshine
now nowhere to be found
arrested somewhere
silenced
checking hospitals, and mortuaries
perhaps it is dead on the side of the road
somewhere along
the central coast of California
or maybe just lost
in an unknown place
boiling under the san fernando valley sun
hitchhiking its way back to me
pick up truck riding
broken down and out and dirty
trying to get home

The Boy Prince with the Keyhole Chest and the Girl with the Skeleton Key Vol. IV

The Boy Prince with the Keyhole chest sat
and sat
and sat
and sat
he pounded upon his chest
hard with his fist
listening to the echoes dance against
steel ribcage walls
wondered if there was even a heart left at all
if it had dried up and crumbled to dust
perhaps it had melted under the sun
perhaps it shattered and melded itself
to the metal inside
never to be seen from or heard from again
He thought of the pieces he’d given away
He wished he could take them back
one by one
sew them together with yarn or some string
sew them together to not come undone
sew them together as he was when he was young
the Boy Prince with the Keyhole Chest
felt the anger start to rumble in his belly
start to bubble
till it boiled
and there sitting on that lawn
he let out a wail that shook the ground below
it bounced off the clouds
and then the ground just below
it shook the flowers on their stems
it shook the grass blades
it shook the air they were breathing
across streets far and wide
all the way to the place Violetta resides

words

words are lost glimpses of something i never thought i would see
something teasing and easing me into the gray area
surviving comfortably between black and white
letting go of self imposed myths
that have been shackling me
now broken by aggressive flattery
sheilding eyes from some type of
blinding happiness washing over me
waiting for a quiet moment for words to envelop like arms
hearing something like a buddhist chant
soft flowing breaths with ins and outs that move me
swaying and slowly back to sleep like a feverish child
within dreamstate eyes and whispered kisses atop eyelids
words are lost glimpses of something i never thought i would see
paving the way to leave a trail up a mountain guiding me
thrown caution to the wayward winds
marching now haphazardly

a conversation with los angeles

i awoke wanting to spill my insides onto the page
share the tiniest of twists within my minds eye with you
i awoke wanting to tattoo my soul onto my fingertips
to reach out and give away the sparkles from my eyes
so you could melt a little bit too
into the ground i am standing upon
i awoke wanting to write a love song to los angeles
to share our special moments with you, all our secrets
I awoke wanting to speed down mulholland's feminine curves
daring you to follow closely as not to lose me in the crowd
so you could see this place through my eyes
spend a moment inside my mind
i awoke with my heart in my hand beating in time with the traffic
breathing the smog in like the cologne of a lover
thanking this city for bringing me to this place.

today

today i awoke with a thought in my head
dangerously close to optimism
i poured a half full glass of water between my lips
and said hello to the people who passed by
today i didnt look at the clock quite so much
nor did find myself sorting and resorting the same papers
again and again
mindlessly
today i awoke with a thought in my head
dangerously close to happiness
dont want to speak too soon
find myself crashing down tomorrow
so for now i will stop,
entertain the notion that sometimes good things occur
and new lives can occur at any time.

cutting

it hit me recently
the pages ripped from my calendar
something torn from me
like someone took a scissor
deep inside my heart to cut a major artery
i cant bleed out fast enough
thats when it stops hurting, right
::or so i have been told::
repeatedly by the confidantes
they seem to know whats best for me
::or so i have been told::
it hit me recently
still surprises me
that the clock just keeps on going round
some tick tocking sounds like mocking
sounds like stalking
thought it would have stopped by now
its best to put my hands over my eyes
put fingers in my ears
::or so i've been told::
but i can still feel the presence
of a phantom limb
of a phantom hand
just forget whats eating me
until there is nothing left of it
but tear stains
and heart sprains
thats what the onlookers know to be true
::or so i've been told::

The Boy Prince with the keyhole chest and the girl with the skeleton key vol. III

dear readers we know
these two must cross paths
inevitability locked its cross hairs
on their heartstrings
shooting arrows with cupids crossbow
dialed up a variety of near misses
brief sightings
quick glances
walking up stairs while another walks down
sitting at the same tables
in the same restaurants
just hours apart
avoiding new loves flying dart
his nose buried in books
her eyes peeled down at the ground
shrugging excuse me's
while travelling upon asphalt pathways
ignoring all the passerbys
jingling keys walking by
creaking rusted heart cage sighs
The Boy Prince with the keyhole chest
felt a rumbling in the universe
felt a whisper on the wind
he did a most impossible thing
he closed his book,
stopped
sat upon the green grass
acknowledging it made his skin itch
and finally looked up.

no ideas

there is a part of me that wont give
perhaps unanswered motivations are clawing up my skeleton and into that little twitching spot in my mind
surrounding me are the same broken hearts that have always been
i wonder if i find solace in shared hurt feelings
maybe if i take an advil twice a day, every day,
that little tap tap tap will go away
stop knocking on my windows with scratch branches beckoning me to come out and play awhile in oncoming traffic
there is a part of me that locked up tight
threw away the key and swallowed the combination
burned the roadmap and sat watching and waiting for the vultures to circle.
sitting cross legged under a hot sun

neverending work daydreams

i'd like to get away a while
climb barefoot on volcanic cliffs
where lagoons meet lava flows
where mermaids mix cocktails
singing siren songs
along beachfront passages
i'd like to get away a while
watch flowers growing tropical
where quiet is uninterrupted
where i can nap in sunshine
lazy sand castles
and tree house adventures
i'd like to get away a while
without a word to anyone
where clouds fingerprint sunsets
where footprints wash away

dreaming

she went to sleep and dreamed of beautiful things
tiptoed up staircases of poetic words
and down the smooth slides of the silver tongued
she danced barefoot atop damp grass
but did not notice the cold
she rode on ships of with swarthy pirates
to deserted islands where coconuts dropped from skyscrapers
she smiled like cheshire cats
sipped wine from the the petals of lavender roses
she dreamt of standing under very tall trees
and finding comfort in the shade
she pretended she was magical for this single moment
allowed herself to remain in this enchanted place
just long enough to believe in it
she held her eyes tight so not to wake up

The Boy Prince with the keyhole chest and the girl with the skeleton key vol. II

With storybook eyes She
Enters the scene
Quick with the breeze
Whistling softly
Upon the grass she would lay
Violetta was strange
in only one way
when she could do just what she pleased
she spent all day
Collecting lost keys
upon her waist there was a ring
Where all the keys were dangling
Silver, iron, bronze and gold
Different styles, new and old
Violetta kept collecting
Making her seem quite perplexing
The neighbors watched and ridiculed
They thought she should be in school
They wondered why she needed keys
rather than dolls, books, or girly things
she didn’t care
She blocked them out
kept adding keys
she had no doubts
that she would need these keys indeed
to unlock a most stubborn lock

The boy prince with the keyhole chest, and the girl with the skeleton key vol. I

the boy prince with the keyhole chest sat alone
upon a pile of comics he used as a throne
reading them all one page at a time
he lived in his own world of heroes and crime
for hours a day he scratched at his lock
his nails all worn down
he left bloody fingerprints upon his crown
his heart had been closed and locked tight away
no matter how hard he tried
cant make happiness stay
he tried prying it open one day with a stick
leaving scratches and scrapes on the metal around it
he tried bashing it open one day with a rock
leaving large dents behind he continued to pound
his only choice now was give up, settle down
he sat back on his throne and he tilted his crown
he never would feel that thump thumping of love
he never would feel the soft fluttering of doves
within his hollow chest
like the tin man once was
with a heart locked away
the boy prince and his cage
a prison unto himself
who could not find a smile despite all his wealth
he crossed his arms then and he started to frown
he cried only once
a single tear fell
that keyhole chest rusted
as it splashed to to the ground

encased

i keep you safe
deep inside a padded room
behind triple bolt locked doors
swallowed the key long ago
trying to forget you are there
trying to forget that you care
trying to forget hearts laid bare
i keep you safe
deep within recessed memories
behind amnesiac methods
blocking out my reflection in your eye
with theivery
with caution
with closed eyes i hide behind myself
making excuses for feelings
for moments i am visualizing
for memories repressed
i keep you safe
where noone can harm us
where we can rest easy
where we are protected from ourselves
within a storybook moment
i lost myself to you
i keep you safe
upon a shelf marked DO NOT TOUCH
avoiding mishandling
avoiding mishaps
avoiding misunderstandings
waiting to take you out of the case
a doll waiting to embraced by a childs love

dream eaters

dream eaters
creeping stealth like down endless hallways
crawling in our inner ears
to burrow deep into the soul of things
chomping on those bits and pieces
to steal away hope
dream eaters
with sharp teeth clicking
waiting for that deepest kind of sleep
to twist our fears into realities
to hide away the brightness
swallowing our spirit hole
dream eaters
dancing upon a field of memories
picking and choosing
the bad from the worst of it
juggling insecurities
between them
while laughing upon the heart of things
dream eaters
wont allow us to wake up
to breath
to run
sending us to that scary place
again and again

ghost writer

the ghosts creep up on me
with their stories and their feelings and they pull at me
they whisper in my ears
thinking i may have forgotten the fear in the past
the ghosts sneak up on me
with new disguises and voices speaking codes
but i am learning to find them
stealth moving down the hallway of my heartbreaks
the ghosts try to stick band-aids upon wounds cut and recut
spilling invisible blood upon a newly mopped floor
the ghosts beckon me to walk beside them
revisit graves and dig up past mistakes
to lay out the bones and distinguish cause of death
the ghosts urge me to turn within and sit a spell
find a moment for self reflection
as they feed upon my ability to forget

subjective conjecture

inexplicable emotional reactions
some days are like a serene pond
with floating candles in paper sailboats
some days are more like foil crunching between cavities
i wish i had the ability to read minds
i wish i didnt want to scream at the top of my lungs
then again,
guilt wrapped quiet moments
caught laughter in a split second of forgetfulness
i wish feeling ok didnt hurt too
living with purpose is something i am not accustomed to
loving without expectations is a lesson needing to be learned
i wish i could go on a vacation from my psyche
i wish i had the ability to forget
then again,
some moments should be written down
etched into wooden blocks titled for referencing
acceptance is subjective
as is time

flashbacks

falling into the
insides of things
flash bulb moments of
memories
walking outside
early morning
with squinting eyes
easier to see things clearly in
nighttime hours
wrapping themselves
round and round
slithering
snakeskins
reminds me of a
secret
rendezvous
splitting candy hearts in two,
one for me and
one for you
to take away with you
as a souvenir
unless memories are enough
to keep my image fresh in your mind
me,
I'll keep your photo locked away
inside tiny steel
hinged moment libraries
hidden in my heart
somewhere noone will look
feeling like
i understand how a junkie feels
missing the touch that
matches the fingerprints
left on my skin
for so many years
acting like some sort of
heroin
in my blood stream
refusing,
not allowing me
to forget
the moments have been recorded
tattooed onto the backs of our eyelids

rewind

rewind me back to the beginning of that tape
before it was scratched
played over and over again
before technology passed me by
rewind me back to watch my image dance across a screen
unscratched, unblurred
youthful in my energy
rewind me back
to that moment where my face broke into a smile
when i lost my bearing and became unaware of myself
just reacting naturally
with laughter
and sparkling eyes
rewind me the beginning of that tape
before everything cracked
before things overwhelmed the ease
when i still held a bit of the magic in my hand

proximity

your proximity
is guiding me
to cut the negative space
in two
leaving only ribbons
shredded strings
of missed opportunities

i will write a novel
of the subtle nuances between
the variety of ways you look at me
and sell it to you
by the inches between us

your proximity
is guiding me
to cut through the layers
unleash
honesty upon you
vulnerability
looks good on me

thunder

eating the anticipation up
sipping like an aged wine
savored
slowly
with purpose
invade me from my mind inside
then outwards through
doorways kicked open
eating the anticipation up
listening to the thunder
travel ever closer
ready to engulf her
stayed away from the fire
time and time again
afraid
cautious
with purpose
invade me from my mind inside
then outwards through
doorways kicked open

internal combustion

your embrace filed within memory banks
reignites with internal combustion
liquid fire chemistry that begins to write poetry inside your skin
words travel through glances
spoken in smiles
smirking that they knew you were there all along
begging for one more night
there has been unfinished business
last left conversations without hand touching
i still remember many things
hear songs that cut your initials in my cerebral cortex
its easy to forget what its like to be special
but i believe words that drip from wise lips
there is a fireworks finale of realization
located somewhere in the vicinity of self love
and physical attraction
something has occured within me that is opening portholes

racing

time shooting by like bullets
into my hindsight
rearview mirror watching things disappear into the distance
wiping the rain off my eyes
and keeping my hands on ten and two
there is no map to get me out of this place
hitting the gas
hitting up a new idea or two
traveling to new doorways and floorways
up stairways
down highways
signs might say nowhere but I'm heading there fast
meet me on the corner of
second chances and new beginnings
time shooting by like bullets
into my hindsight
things seem clearer in the sideview
closer than they appear but so damn faraway
i'm speeding towards and through a roadblock
to arrive at the finish line of you and me

ambivilance

ambivilance bleeds down this severed limb like some sort of root-rotted paraphrase
systematically whispers that contentment is too far away for any type of planning
taking every day for the one before-
i have grown accustomed to feeling like i am in the wrong place, wrong time
if you could take my successful statements and file them away into a folder marked
hopeful, maybe one day i'll be in the mood to read through and laugh a bit
but not right now.
right now i am carving something in the wall that looks like graffiti but it feels like fine oil paintings
right now this complacency has caught fire to such a fire of frenzy, i have forgotten what it was like to breathe slowly...
if i could change everything surrounding me with one snap of the fingers i would light fire to my own walls and burn them down to blue skies only
ambivilance bleeds down this severed limb like some sort of unfinished novel
maybe more like a short story
but i am tired of not knowing which way is up trying not to fall down

denoted from a conversation

he said it was something like a sparkle
a spark
lost or burnt out somewhere along the way
think i misplaced my match
i could knock rocks together to make fire
but then there is all that noise
something like a charisma
a chasm
fallen down into it
i can yell echos down
never hearing anything in return
he said it was something like a mischief
mistook for maybe just confusion?
a moment
caught amongst the history pages
i wish there were digital cameras in my brain
so i could remember that girl
sleeping somewhere under there
napping with a gray weathered quilt
waiting for sunlight to come
unafraid even then
and now

honesty

i like honesty
brutal unabashed honesty
words that scream sincerity
that cut inside and burrow like a tick in your heart
words that hurt you to say
words that sting as they hit you with their transparency
i relish in that moment of awkwardness
when someone has just become so beautifully vulnerable
you want to shatter the moment with a scream
hand sweating seconds
when another has completely revealed their guts to you
spilled sloppily across the floor
i love the worst part of a person
the selfishness, the childish
the parts of us that breathe humanity
the flaws
that paint them in their truest
most beautiful light

structural integrity

strengthening myself from inside out
straightening the corners
ironing out some wrinkles
cleaning the windows so i can see clearly for once
upkeep seems to be the problem
maintenance avoids major repairs
i tend to let things go
using duct tape to hold it together
super glue my sanity
strengthening myself from the inside out
making sure all walls are sound.

searching inside for butterflies
trapped within a net
wings like heartbeats
fluttering against my insides
to replace that sinking feeling
as if to plug the hole in this leaking boat

ponder

wonder what it is like to come easy
wake up on sunday
with sun peaking through windows
arm haphhazardly slung over another
without any rush to run out the door
newspaper reading
email sending on laptops from outdoor patios
of your own home

wonder what it is like to come easy
a touch upon your cheek
kisses that dont carry with them
the sour taste of expectations
hopes unlocked
voiced freely upon your lovers ear
letters carved into a tree
by smiling eyes

the middle

looking for this handholding time
a moment spent where you can see a forever
erupting out of nowhere you've ever been
handed a gilded invitation
calligraphy and swirls of ink
some sticky sweet sentiment
that leaves you feeling all weak in the knees
looking for this whisper time
afraid to say the words that linger
easier to look away with some shy smile
thoughts kept on folded paper
hidden within pockets
kept close to my heart
looking for something more than the middle

with me

words spill now
the dam built of smiles and reassuring glances
has found itself cracked
lack of repurcussions has removed the gag from my mouth
filled my pen with ink again
pictures in my head again
pictures waiting to travel to paper
stories that have not been written
rhymes that have not been spoken
words spill now
breathing myself back into me
not afraid of being who i am , when i am the only person in the room
setting up a welcome mat
dusting off my well worn boots
having a seat inside my own mind and resting a while

inspired by a drawing i made

she has given out too many hearts
pockets are empty
riding off into the moonlight
inside her red umbrella
perhaps to collect the stars this time
and hang them above her sleeping place
stars dont stain as much
making wishes when they fall
she creates stories in the clouds
remembering things she has heard before
things that helped when she used to be scared
she has given out too many hearts
carrying an empty satchel of hopes
she blows wishes into the sail
to propel forward
like a tiny sea captain
thinking she'll write her own fairy tale
or bedtime story
she has given out too many hearts
mending the broken pieces into one to keep
just for herself

today

am i smiling today?
someone should tell me cause i feel a bit numb
is that a dent showing between my brows
its there when i have been thinking too hard, too often
dont make that face too long or it will stick
am i smiling today?
i cannot tell because my mind is floating somewhere else
not sure where to go
i've been sidelined for so long
that i dont recognize me
am i smiling today?
it doesnt feel like i am either here nor there
cant mind the center anywhere
feel old, feel young,
feel like i forgot how to be in this moment
am i smiling today?

insides

this empty stomach
creature seems to be chomping on my insides
relentlessly
restlessly
legs havent felt normal in days
sometimes they are missing from the knees down
as if a broken heart can stop circulation
the only working pieces seem to be the waterworks
guess they are broken too
cant seem to stop them from leaking
my lungs are an empty cage, rattling

jigsaw puzzle piece girl

jigsaw puzzle piece girl
missing hands to hold him
missing heart to love him
put the edges together
find the empty spaces
pieces scattered through the town

whisper all your secrets
she will never tell her mouth is silent
scared to speak the words
her eyes will hide them all inside

jigsaw puzzle piece girl
missing hands to hold him
missing heart to love him
put the edges together
find the empty spaces
pieces scattered through the town

she paints pretty pictures
from her dripping heart worn on her sleeve
her disposable feelings
and I cannot make her smile

jigsaw puzzle piece girl
pieces scattered through the town
jigsaw puzzle piece girl
pieces scattered through the town

unsettled

I am a different person inside than out.
well maybe from the neck down
cringing at candids
disposing of all evidence
never thinking people can see me
sharper than HD television
in front of their eyes
I cannot delete unflattering poses
I cannot crop and color correct
wish I could hide behind a profile
but everyone has to come out sometime
can I have everyone stand to my right
that is my best angle
and you must not sit while I am standing
views from below are always the worst ones
dreaming of an unadjusted reality
where the insides and the outsides
hold hands
and act like they like each other