365

there was a euphoric glimpse
walking on the frozen Brooklyn streets
holding hands
holding those seconds
when it seemed as if
we were the only people in all of the city
moments past midnight
exhaling frozen breath like smoke
forming the existence of what would become Us.
forming hearts in our hands
crossing bridges to burroughs
left remembering what the snow tasted like
and the excitement of exploring a new ending to our story
countless seconds counting down
saying good-bye to sadder times
days when that empty feeling crept back inside of me
feeling like no one held a key to me
or matched the puzzle pieces within me
when suddenly things fell together so easily
holding hands across a table
without the words to express the gratitude
I feel towards the universe
and whoever is pulling these strings.
been waiting for a bubble to pop
someone to pinch me, a shoe to drop
but now I'm relaxing the grip on the wheel
waiting for the next 365 days
to unfold themselves like origami gifts
taking a mental catalog of every ordinary moment
that I am grateful for this story

inevitable

People talk about
meant to be
not make believe
but destiny.
written amongst
stars it seems
magically
A cynics dream
to find a scene
straight from
the screen.
two lovers locking eyes
and mesmerized
they realize
without compromise.
those who know
it’s burning slow
this inner glow
will radiate
this perfect fate.
after so much wait
almost too late
saved me from tragedy
a life it seemed
without you and me.

eighteen years

time is just numerical
a qty of sequences
ones and twos
lined up endlessly
in repetitive rows
like musical notes
to be played over and over
always sounding different
depends on the ear
eighteen years, the same as
six thousand five hundred seventy days
this spot was an empty void
inside me, waiting as usual
to feel something
akin to some lame quote
from romantic comedies
eighteen years, the same as
one hundred fifty-seven thousand,
six hundred eighty hours
I spent less than four hundred
miles from you
at any given moment
listening to the same music
on the same radio waves
and walking the same pavement
in the same cities
only to pass by the same parking lot
where we once sat on the hood of your car
sharing cigarettes
and awkward glances
I would stare at your arms
you would watch my lips move
never really getting anywhere
eighteen years, the same as
nine million four hundred sixty thousand
eight hundred minutes
I spent incapable of moving towards
anything of permanence in my life
be it my choice or chosen for me
by some twist of fate
I’ve wandered back to the starting line
if only to wait for you to
reset your clock
and synchronize your watch once again
with my own
eighteen years, the same as
five hundred sixty-seven million,
six hundred forty-eight thousand seconds
spent to find you
exactly where we are standing
today

Homemade

there are white walls
blank canvases
to hang smiles upon
captured moments
empty wood floors
awaiting the sound
of bare feet
quiet steps in
the early hours of the morning
sitting in front of the television
watching saturday morning cartoons
eating cereal from my favorite bowl
forgetting I've been
an adult for years now.
there is clean air
that has not been made into
angry black mold clinging to
remnants of what is living
growing within walls
hidden from the eyes of visitors
to multiply
after midnight
dead now from
exposure to light.
there are open doors
without any hesitation
windows open to the future
where i can exhale
within a home decorated
with new memories
born of the briefest moments
those seconds
when his face
would rest at my forehead
never knowing
i was always home

when again

words have stopped flowing like tears
creating comfortable silence
where previous temperments
made for tempermental tapping furiously upon keyboards
like machine gun fire
couldnt get the letters on the screen fast enough
when i wanted to write about this sense of dissatisfaction
that lingering feeling
left dry at the roof of my mouth
the taste leftover when the cocktails have stopped
numbing the fact that life isnt getting any better.
what is a writer to do when the anger ceases?
when soft kind eyes find their own
when reassuring hands tear down walls guarding hearts
only to expose the sugar coated lovesongs that lived there all along?
the sad poems are not rolling off my tongue
instead i want to doodle hearts in the margins of my notebook
write his name next to mine in blue ink
the writer in me- wearing black
who counted the coffee rings that began to stack
over and over and on top of one another
as the days ticked away slowly
redundant and anticlimactic is slowly
drawing her last breaths
only to be replaced by this bright eyed
smiling girl
who has started to believe in magic again
who has started to sing along to love songs
with windows rolled down
on freeways that lead me to him
words have stopped flowing like tears
they have changed into a mantra
repeated three words over and over
to turn the light back on and illuminate this room

Captured 3/13/13

There is a moment when the sides of your mouth
curl up to make perfect parentheses around your smile
simultaneously, it emerges from your eyes
only to spill down your face like happy tears
to wash away any doubts I ever had

There is a moment when I awaken and realize
you are there beside me arms so long they wrap around
entirely, guarding me from nightmares
that have plagued me for so many years
to keep me safe for the first time

There is a moment when words fail to leave lips
when a kiss or breath is the only way to communicate truly
how full my heart feels when drenched
in the pools of my reflection within your eyes
when I let myself relax and believe them

Sweetest Cacophony

Words fail
to encapsulate
let alone illustrate
this internal
metronome-
beat
breath held
beat
beat
scientific proof
of love.
let me add
in case you were not sure,
I do reciprocate
these feelings
 these created chemical
reactions are
something like
a freeform 6/8 time signature
from deep within my
rib-caged
bass drum-
hitting like
beat-beat.
breath
beat-beat.
breath
yet becoming
something more like
speeding
rising up from somewhere
void of conscious decisions
forgotten delusions
letting the notes
play as they may
rushing now
after being held at bay
for what seems like
forever
beat-beat-beat.
breath
beat-beat-beat.
breath
faster still
triple time
when you lay beside me
impossible to
deny cravings
unlike any satisfaction
I have known
music starts to swell
to something like screaming
too close to ears
delicate.
when these notes
become an illustration
a deviation
from
previous life paths
to create
the sweetest cacophony
of sound
makes me feel like my
heart may leap from my chest
directly to your
open palms
formed in perfect
collaboration
with mine.

1-4-13

I’ve whispered
my secrets
from the tips of my fingertips
to the ears of the universe
never expecting to
have them answered
or offered back to me
in any type of way but
ironically
perpetual reminders that
I was not born
with a sense of fulfillment
or belonging
but rather born feeling
like my skin was always
one size
too small
for these insides
that are
bursting at the seams with
too many feelings
sometimes
looking at your face for
too many seconds
cracks my ribcage in two
like longing
for a lover
you’ve held through a hundred lives
this throbbing
where a heart beats
cannot be written
in eloquent prose
the feeling is too desperate
born of suffocated hopes
paints hearts upon my tongue
to sing songs only to you
as if we are the only two
to roam crowded subways
and iced over sidewalks
pretzel puzzle fingers
finding warmth
when lips press upon lips
and smiles seep out
between breaths
with laughter

twelves

 

I have dissolved
into a puddle
at your feet
at your touch
which has taken
journeys
 through decades
to arrive at its
destination
to root itself
through and around
and inside of me
wrapping round
my heart
and holding fast
to match pulse
to beats beating
quicker than usual.
these days
feeling like it might
come straight out
of my chest
to get closer to you
to live in your
coat pocket
where you don’t have
to take off
your own scarf
 to keep me warm
where you can
protect me
as you would like
from negligence
or harm
from harsh words
and indifference
I have grown used to
casual disappointment
now allowing for
this adaptation towards
something  bordering
on the sentimental
and romantic
reformatting the circuits
within my mind
to say thank you
when a compliment
causes eye avoidance
perhaps eventually I
will believe
each lovely word
as you do
until then,
I will send letters
to myself
postmarking each
important day
so I never forget
how I feel at this
perfect moment

Winter

wandered aimlessly
through cold asphalt streets
echoes resounding
with each step from my feet
stars as my hat
oil slick rainbows below
inhaling the smog forming
pictures in the sky
like puffy clouds
would in other towns less
wrought with cars and chaos
always collecting keys from
temporary domiciles
this transitional lifestyle
is the science of
vacant brain sleeping
while passed out on a couch
still wearing my shoes
from the previous evening
listening to the same television show
through yesterdays eye liner
on repeat in my dreams
turning to nightmares as well
alarm clock repetition
"the plot never changes"
can describe so many things
wonder what going home means
to me now
in a city I've always known
abandoned me somehow
my heart broke in this place
called it a loss
family is scattered
haven't felt safe in what seems like
two lifetimes
of liquor soaked timelines
blown away cigarette ashes
i'm finding some solace in places surprising
truths are now different
and I have given up analyzing
what my gut says is true
i'm always the glue
but sometimes its nice to get
tucked into bed too

teetering backwards

I walked barefoot once
upon a checkerboard floor
but splintered my foot upon
a twisting creaking staircase
that did not lead anywhere
only to run quickly,
backwards, away
I saw reflections of a memory
leaving fingerprints invisibly
leftover stickiness from
gluing back these pieces of me
I like clinging to you
in that space where shoulder
and heartbeat meet
to brush cheeks
I walked barefoot once
through forest floors
feet wet with moss and mud
ignoring scratches on bare arms
trying to read smeared black ink
as I draw a thousand tiny hearts
upon my skin to your lips
words sung to ears with whispers
cannot find a substitute
lyrical pathways of where I lay
the dirt feels better than cold sheets
most nights anyway
I like the secrecy the night brings
standing right at the edge
when you can finally see stars

Coming to my senses

It is something familiar

like sitting in the front yard of the house I grew up in
or the way my mom would wake me up with an orange juice in the morning
(never have been a morning person)
that comfortable silence that I used to look for
within all the arms that never quite held me correctly
is now wrapped around me
like a quiet symphony
singing softly like a whisper in my ear from a memory

It is something familiar
like a smell I can’t place but inhaling brings me back 
travel in a time machine to a specific place and moment that changed it all 
(probably another time I ran away)
that moment when a hand pulled my hair aside
when a touch to my shoulder brought earthquakes 
feelings I was not prepared for 
that gutted my stomach retreating to my own insecurities 
like a broken record

It is something familiar 
like a dream I had, but faded into subconscious memories 
a faceless figure holding me and reminding me that there are those who can love 
(a voice that can soothe the beast in me) 
a soft spoken phrase cuts like an arrow to the heart
pierces and infects me with a sweet dizzy spell from a fuzzy thinking head 
a man that gives me the spins by just glancing my way 
and for a second he can see me, 
without the walls that surround

ragdoll revisited

the heart was bandaged
badly bruised
but the pieces almost fit together
with the clever use of duct tape
twine tied up the edges
and seams have been reinforced
with patches made
from mismatched fabrics
but still it beats steadily

the eyes that always look away
seemingly bored is so much safer
than being entranced
electrical shocks of direct contact
from corneal fixations
enthralled and exuding the
emotions that come
with the sweeping down of eye lashes
but still they see simple beauty

the lips that smile despite herself
hold back the words of
a thousand poets' ink stained hands
allowing the depths of all the unanswered
letters of lovers to drown her within
an ocean of her own making
convinced she'll never learn
to swim well enough to get to shore
but still can whisper kisses to another's lips

the frowns - an idea for a children's book

i keep the frowns in a drawer
beside my bed while i sleep

(where i repeatedly tell them stories usually involving princesses
and the occasional magic spell)

but the frowns shake and tumble
crash into each other

knock over the table
open the drawer to spill all over the floor
piled upon each other
stack higher

and higher

and even higher

until they begin to fall from the windows
fill the space under the bed

(which seems dangerous to me, since thats where all
those pesky monsters live)

they bounce from wall to wall
sit upon desks
tumble out the doorway to takeover
even the hallway

the frowns just keep multiplying
and getting more
and more
and more
overwhelming

until i am surrounded by this sadness
clinging to the walls and making them get closer
and closer
the frowns wont listen to me
"go away i say"
again and again but their eye brows get madder

but just when the frowns think
they have won over
blasts of light blow them up
Like fireworks at night

(you see they are much more contagious
and far more courageous)
the smiles will win, in the end
as they do

fading

i can hardly
remember her
that scared scarred girl
walking on eggshells
as not to awaken the
beast inside him
barely make out
her silhouette in the room
as if i had erased those years
from a memory card
torn out pages from journals
torn photos that remind me
there was a time
when i was living
within her body
calculating
and then recalculating
the plausible exit strategies
causing the least amount
of collateral damage
i can barely recall
the tone that would change
like a light switch
turning on
turning off
turning his face to that
distinct shade of
angry red
turning wrists purple
and leaving hand prints
where hands squeezed so
tightly
afraid i'd squeeze my way
through a rabbit hole and escape
i can hardly make out
the faded memories until
they sneak out in a story
seep to the surface
slowly make their way to
a life they cannot survive in
hand chosen and
created by
beautiful things that
illuminate dark thoughts
like night lights that
never burn out
to keep away the
monsters lurking
in closets
locked away
within the
subconscious

Thievery

A stolen moment
Of time spent without seconds
Frozen stories
Spent spinning within my mind
Of a brief interaction
Free of repurcussions
Reading and rereading
Words written from then
From now
And then again never said
Never spoken
A muted mouth where syllables
Hang like secrets
In the air we are breathing
As if I would ever dare
To bring thoughts to reality
Where physical interaction
Is simply a story in some book
Written and set upon a shelf
To bring theory to temptation
Describe a science of
Unexplained chemistry
To dreams where touch can ignite
And a memory can illustrate
What never existed

Mapped

Maybe then
A thousand years ago
Or more
When we looked out
From different faces
Hands were allowed to touch
Fingers entwined easily
Once upon a different time
Your words were whispers
Just for me
Arms wrapped round tightly
Where I ought to be
And then perhaps
That longing place
Deep down inside
Was just a bit less empty
As it is within this in between life
Tragic truth
As destinies shift
To different places
I must have missed
Your telling eyes
And walked right by my hearts desire

timewarped

suggested memories
implanted
something somewhere
somewhat
suggestive
within outdated
disc drives
and
pixilated photos
clear eyed
baby faces free
from
age telling lines
with a cracked
voice to say hello
reminding her
she is
special too
for one moment
when innocence
still ran through
excited minds
and
palms remembered
what it felt like to
be nervous when
a girl smiled at you
backwards
travelling
within your minds eye
safe from
the disappointment of
any version of
shared realities

parking lots

something about
the public nature
of lips pressed
together
standing against
my car in an
empty
parking lot
ignoring those
coming &
going
that gets me
every damn time

lipstick signatures

allowing myself
to drift back to
a different time of me
a different side of me
the girl with black hair and
a bright heart
part of me
the un-cynical
un-apologetic
laughter filling the whole damn room
snapshot of a feeling
wrapped up in the art of me
allowing this dead weight
to drop like fallen leaves
as an offering
to the fates
to re-claim my soul
swallowed whole
just to be spit out at my feet
sewn together
from broken fragments
creating new stories
written upon napkins
with lipstick signatures