It Takes a Certain Kind of Person to Ruin Snow - 02/24/11

It's snowing,
snowing in February,
angels of ice glittering from the sky
with the grace of stars,
in flurries
in gallops
in dance steps
1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3
I throw my head back
and let their cold kisses hit my tongue
before the bickering
and the fighting
overwhelms my senses,
cuts off the feel of the cold
and smell of the water
and the taste of the flakes
and the sight of stars falling to the earth
with a dance.

So, broken and breaking even more,
we walk home
past the pretty, purple strip club.
Woman on their break,
their cigarette smoke meeting the snowflakes,
dashing together like star-crossed lovers,
but eventually both dying;
past light posts that illuminate the snow drift,
showing each dancer in her own spotlight,
then each flickering off stage;
past spouses holding hands
with their children laughing.

Snowflakes hit the ground and melt
but the atmosphere my family creates
makes it feel like they turn to water
before they can even hit my face.

I Wish I Was a Whore - 02/23/11

Some skinny little skank,
leaning callously against a blue bus stop sign,
her fake red hair contrasting,
taking a long, brutal drag
off a bummed cigarette;
looked at me as I passed and said,
"You're wrong, girl."

I stopped, in my orange tennis shoes,
my fading jeans,
my tangled hair lazily assembled because what matter was
what was underneath it.
I stopped because she said I was wrong
and I was going to be a physics major,
and I was in the
amazing, stupendous, rigorous, monumental,
over-hyped IB,
and I was good at tests.

I stared at her seductive clothes,
clinging perfectly to her curved body,
like she was a store mannequin come to life,
like she was made to look good.
She used two painted nails
to throw the cigarette to the curb
and black, shiny heals
to stomp out the flame.
She exhaled smoke and perfume and said,
as she breathed,
"You're wrong, girl."

Buses come to that stop
with a irregularity
that makes my mechanical heart twitch
like it's organic.
But she stood there,
leaning,
breathing,
inky eyes cast down the street
with a carelessness
that must be what makes sex sound so good.

"You're wrong, girl,
because you know, but you don't understand.
You don't wait:
you jump in on the lab before you know how to do it.
You don't stop:
if it's written, it's written, and you're turning it in.
But you're wrong,
because you are good at taking tests,
but you've never been tested.
Because you're smart,
but you've never smarted.
Because you actually have,
and you won't admit it,
Because you're not a physics major,
you're a poet in denial."

If I Was a Poet - 02/20/11

If I was a poet the likes of
Pablo Neruda
who fills my teammates' memories,
quoting him like a deity
like Buddha
like all the words of all the languages,
were his
to mold and cradle with the tender kiss
of a mother,
then maybe I could find a way
to explain
the stars’ attraction,
pain’s satisfaction,
and why I feel the need to be needed,
want to be wanted,
and love being loved.

If I was a poet the likes of
Charles Bukowski
with his sarcasm,
his energy,
his honesty and lack of apology,
maybe I could then just tell you all
that it sucks
everything does
but you do it anyways.
just do it.
That you live and you live and then you die
and that is okay,
as long as you lived.

And if I was a poet the likes of
Mikel Jollett
then maybe I could serenade
the broken hearts with music
with rhythm
with chilling images
with pure emotion
with love and hate
mixed and mingled and torn
torn right down the middle and taped together

If I was a poet the likes of
Tori Amos
if I had a voice to yell my words
my words and my soul
to tell the world my soul
then maybe I could be free of paper and pencils
and trying to convey inflection
though line breaks.
Maybe I could make life make sense.

So We Both Love Rivers - 02/19/11

Here,
in the dying light of a year long Saturday,
the sky already so dark that I,
a writer so practiced,
can barely make out my pencil’s tip,
do write on the back of a map that was supposed
to lead me to victory so sweet,
how I ended up by the river,
a year passed and no change:
it flows.
The river gathers and flows.
So everly it flows even as darkness
of sky and soul
cloud my vision.
It flows.

The trees arch over it
as they did last year,
as the will next year,
one dead and I remember.

Remember the way back
perfectly, not one wrong turn,
even though I doubted,
but here I am,
flowing.

The river does not whisper to me
the way it did the Brahmin prince,
does not tell me its secrets.
Have I not lost enough?
Have I not completed an experience ascetic enough
to beg pity from this river,
flowing?
So, alone, I sit,
where I once stood,
holding a love,
touching lips for the first time,
learning, passing on.

Back to the setting sun,
I sit.
The river flows.

And I love so I will
flow back
to where I came from
but wander slowly shall my feet
with my heart’s slow beat
of mourn.
And as I wander, I do wonder
what has happened by the river?
I fell beside it,
empty and heavy,
dreading to move,
feeling so little,
but as I wandered back and wondered,
there was the river,
filling my heart,
filling it, but making it light.

So full and so light.

Summed Up in a Held Breath - 02/06/11

Do you know what “everything” means?
Do you understand “love”?
Do you know what “my whole world”
Is comprised of?

Little flashes of your smile,
Between sarcastic remarks
On my personal habits,
My sleep schedule,
My on and off anorexia,
My insanity.
That little eye roll.
Circular hand motions.
“Breathe” as a command,
Not a verb,
Not a word,
But my whole world
Summed up in a held breath
A skipped heart beat.
A gentle hug.
A quiet kiss.
Refusing to let me out of your arms.
Refusing to let my lips leave yours.
Jaws firm against each other.
Magnificence
In a scent
Captivating
Intoxicating
Stimulating.
Rocked in a sound wave
A perfect crest and trough
To sooth my pulsating mind.
Confidence flooding from it,
Intelligence raining from it.

Love,
To sum it up in a single breath,
Love and love and life and love and you.

And what more is there?
What more is there but sleeplessness?
What more is there but tears?
What more is there but holding
Clinging
Clawing into any sign of love there is
And hoping it doesn’t shake you free.
What more is there but wrapping
Coiling into life
Winding around it,
Devouring it,
And yourself
And the sun
And the moon
And the stars?
What more is there but hoping?
Hoping for love?
Hoping for life?
Hoping for understanding?
Hoping that today will not be the day you die?
Or that someone you know does?
Hoping that “sorry” will stop coming up
Because there is already so much
To be sorry for
And so much of it is worse
Than what you’re apologizing for?

Hoping for more hope.


A slight breath.
A sigh.
Silence.
Walking next to you,
Trying to match your pace,
Your strong legs.
Hoping the stars will fall and we will see beauty.

The Best - 02/06/11

Starlight.
Brilliant bands of hope
Radiating from what might be already dead stars
And yet still shining
Glowing
Illuminating the nights
On which we throw tear ridden eyes to the heavens
For a sign

“Do I continue?”
“Am I good enough?”
“What’s the point?”



I want to be the best.
The very best.
I don’t care what at.

School is out of the question.
Years of striving for a
4.0
Brought down
Like a house of cards.

I’m not the best friend.
I’m a liar.
Sorry to disappoint,
But I’m not actually
“fine.”

I thought I could be the best
Girlfriend.
Loving, tender, helpful, horny.
What more could a guy want?
But I’m needy.
And clingy.
And not the best.

And then
One tournament
I got a first place.
True, it was in a room of novices.
True, I couldn’t beat anyone with experience.
True, I wasn’t the best of the best.

But I was the best.

That thought flooded my mind
And the tears stopped,
Mid-roll.

But I was the best.

The starlight lit up on the cloudy night
Curled up next to me
Whispered with the delicacy of a lover

But I was the best.

The starlight held me there with it,
One of its own,
Its kin,
Alike to it,
Part of it,
Accepted,
Welcomed,
Loved.

 But starlight disappears behind the clouds,
Behind eyelids,
Behind quick words.

Starlight fades to hurt,
To pain,
To sadness,
To emptiness with her neck craned to the sky,
Waiting for the stars to return