Inaccurate Memories of Train Rides and Birthdays - 12/19/12

Unraveling green thread,

tossed blankets

of mossy fabrics,

the oozing motion

of light blue paint

falling on bubbles sheets

falling on the clear edge

of the canvas.

Bandits and robbers

won't take my candy,

only Great Grandma's laughs

I think.

I remember green,

blue,

brown.

Trees, sky, dirt.

Where did the robbers come from?

And the arrhythmia?

And the bumper stickers?

And the stillborns?

And the cantaloupes

in your daughters tubes?

More importantly,

where did all the holidays go

when no one was dying

to celebrate them?

Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle - 11/28/12

(Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta!)

You say that you don't want to waste your time
On things you'll never use in life
Like me
And the equation that describes
The ratio between a hypotenuse
And its adjacent side

But I've derived another equation
To show that this relation
-ship ain't changing,
That our derivative is undefined
At every single point in time

So tell my electron orbitals
Exactly how inadmissible
Are Legendre and Bessel?

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
You'll never know oh, oh, oh, oh
How far I'll go oh, oh, oh, oh
oh-oh-oh-oh, OH!
Because you're stuck on position
So momentum has gone missing
The only thing that you'll be kissing
Is my uncertainty goodbye

The electro-magnetic spectrum
Can account for your deflection
Einstein knows how to describe
The speed at which you're telling lies
Heisenberg wouldn't be concerned
With the indeterminism in every word
That's coming from your direction
At 333 meters per second

I don't care how you insist
Because you're a third derivative
So you can bet that you won't see me
As n approaches infinity
I'm rocking off to divergence
Unconstrained by your convergence
Your factorials just weren't worth it

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
You'll never know oh, oh, oh, oh
How far I'll go oh, oh, oh, oh
oh-oh-oh-oh, OH!
Because you made the wrong calculations
At every step of this derivation
And found only the equation
Of my velocity goodbye

I'm so done with this discontinuity
Gibbs phenomenon even at infinity
You're the zero in the denominator
Time-dependence in a Hamiltonian operator
But once the boundary condition's imposed
Out of my equations you'll go

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
You'll never know oh, oh, oh, oh
How far I'll go oh, oh, oh, oh
oh-oh-oh-oh, OH!
Because you're stuck on position
So momentum has gone missing
The only thing that you'll be kissing
Is my uncertainty goodbye

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
You'll never know oh, oh, oh, oh
How far I'll go oh, oh, oh, oh
oh-oh-oh-oh, OH!
Because you made the wrong calculations
At every step of this derivation
And found only the equation
Of my velocity goodbye

You'll never know
You'll never know
You'll never know, oh-oh-oh-oh, OH!

The City/My Soul - 11/25/12

I can hear my heart beat
in the city at night,
the rush of wind
over the river
is the pulse of my blood;
the clang of metals
in the distant industrial area,
the opening and closing
of ventricles;
the hum of traffic,
busy capillaries.

I can see my mind running
in the city at night,
radio towers twinkling
are my neurons firing;
satellites flying and falling,
thoughts conflicting;
the rippled water
reflecting distant images
chiaroscuro,
sums up
my being.

Writer's Block - 11/25/12

The night could give
so much more inspiration
could my fingers bare
the cold.

The Photoelectric Effect - 11/25/12

I cleaned out my idea books

to make room for textbooks,

set down my quantum books

to fiddle with computer programs,

rid my mind of poetry

to welcome in philosophy,

turned away from all I felt

until I thought no more.

But the stars don't care

how you interpret

quantum mechanics

or what images

you make with them

or how you came to be,

for they are

your creator,

the still image

of their past lives

making its way to you,

slowly.

I turn away and the light

cannot be said to shine.

When I do not write about them,

they do not wait,

yet are still where I left them

when I come to my senses,

turn back around

and see.

The city lights are star,

fallen on the ground,

and the path I take to see them,

a black hole's event horizon,

dangerous and dark,

Nine pm out on the bluff,

with cold stars of night air

burning my burnt fingers,

and stars of water molecules

rippling down below

and stars of thrilling melodies

ringing from the bell tower

and stars of my own,

palpable as I peak

from under a branch

and the city glitters into being,

stars of probability functions and many-worlds

collapsing in the existence of many-minds

but somehow always the way I see it,

and only when I see it.

Each scientist and poet

got their fame

by listening to the stars

and reporting what they heard.

No more or less

could ever be said

about anything in the world,

but stars and stars

is all we are,

little nuclear reactors of light

so bright

our after image spans the solar system,

pushing further everyday.

0.707 - 10/30/12

I feel like
one over the
square root of two
is following me
everywhere I go,
in each math problem,
physics equation,
chemistry example;
one number
is creeping
over my calculator's screen,
repeating eerily,

0.707.

I feel like
Pascal is following me
everywhere I go,
at each decision I make,
each hesitance,
each crossroad,
one flawed argument,
encroaching on all
my on-goings,
whispering,

"The reward outweighs
the cost."

I feel like
Robert Oppenheimer
has an apartment
in my brain,
a little one room studio
covered in books
and white boards
and equations
and bags of tea,
with Curie next door
on the right
and Bohr next door
on the left.
Joe Strummer,
Pablo Neruda, and
Langston Hughes
live a floor below.
Captain Picard,
Hamlet, and
Carl Sagan
live a floor above.
They all wander in and out
of the lobby
of my cerebellum,
chit chatting,
gossiping,
deriving equations,
mincing verse
and memorized lines,
yet all end up saying,

"Physics or Poetry?"

I feel like
OR
is following me
everywhere I go,
defining what I can
and can never
have, hold, be,
taunting aspirations,
burning lists of goals,
tearing down
carefully crafted towers
of fanciful futures
in harmonies of

"Position or momentum?
Emotion or structure?
Science or art?"

I feel like
the things I think of
too often
have warped my mind
around them
and the only path
to freedom is

AND.

Sierra's Concerto - 10/26/12

Sweet Jupiter rising
Sweet cascade of moons
Flying
Flying for you
Somewhere
Out there
Another body of water
Awaits the spark
That brings it all to life
Rearranges the dice
Turns back time
Sweet Jupiter spinning
Sweet storm clouds look so pretty
So far away
Sweet Jupiter singing
Where no one can hear
Or say
A thing anyway
Sweet Jupiter
All for you

The Ballad That Never Should Have Been - 09/28/12

There's a pub at the end of the world where the dead kids drink their dreams away. There's a hole in the wall at the end of it all where the sinners cry blasphemy. And the only two that you need to know are called Lonely and Miserable, so take two shots of all they've got and call me when your life is over.

The only kids in the world

are the ones who haven't 

died yet,

because the only kids in the world

are the ones who haven't

tried yet.

And the laughter you hear,

full of dread,

full of fear,

is from the one

who are already gone.

And the smirks that you see,

full of glee,

- misery -

are the ones that are singing

this song.

Lonely and Miserable

hit the road

in an old station wagon

with no where to go,

with the last of their marbles,

and a heavier load

than they would never

return with,

so that at the end of it all,

at Hell's last call,

at the peak of a mountain,

on the edge of The Fall,

they could lose all control,

they could lose their souls,

and know how it

so wasn't worth it.

From St. Sanity

to the Point of No Return,

fighting vanity

and they lessons they

didn't want to learn,

they found thirty bullets

and thousands of pills.

So with their limited knowledge

and minimal skill

they decided to burn

it all down

to the bones,

to the shell

of the home

they could not longer find,

the security that had died,

the loves that had lied.

In the Shady Part of Town,

they found a pub

at the end of the world

where they gambled

happy memories away.

In small little towns,

they met friends

all around,

with whom they

could never stay.

Because the only kids in the world

are the ones who haven't

died yet,

because the only kids in the world

are the ones

who haven't tried yet.

And the smiles that hid the lies

and the midnight cries

are all you want to see.

And the hints here and there,

evidence so bare,

you just let it be.

Lonely and Miserable

hit the road

in an old station wagon

with no where to go,

with the last of their marbles,

and a heavier load

than they would never

return with,

so that at the end of it all,

at Hell's last call,

at the peak of a mountain,

on the edge of The Fall,

they could lose all control,

they could lose their souls,

and know how it

so wasn't worth it.

From St. Sanity

to the Point of No Return,

fighting vanity

and they lessons they

didn't want to learn,

they found thirty bullets

and thousands of pills.

So with their limited knowledge

and minimal skill

they decided to burn

it all down

to the bones,

to the shell

of the home

they could not longer find,

the security that had died,

the loves that had lied.

In the blackness they awoke

to and echo when they spoke

of the deeds

that it seems

no one speaks of.

And in one universe,

no one wrote this verse,

and no one ever dies.

But in this one

Lonely and Miserable

hit the road

in an old station wagon

with no where to go,

with the last of their marbles,

and a heavier load

than they would never

return with.

West and Lance - 09/14/12

I wrote you a letter

And I sent it in the mail

And I hope that you get it soon

Because life is better

Though the world is frail

And I need you to know it too

The internet can't deliver

Butterscotch candies

You can't fill and email with glitter

It's enough

To keep in touch

But heartache requires so much

More to keep you from growing bitter

So I wrote it all down on paper

And shoved it all inside

An envelope no bigger
Than the words that I did write

I sealed it with a poem

I signed it with a sigh

I sent it off to no one

Who can't tell truth from lie

I wrote you a poem

And I sent it in the mail

And I hope that it finds its way home

Because despite the world's solemn

And despite the world's ail

I want you to know how I’ve grown

I’ve written 300 poems

About giving up

And only a dozen about trying

I’ve spent so much time

Keeping it all inside

From the actually tears

To the fear of crying

So, Hallelujah,

You can break me down

Any time that you like

Because though he's on the east coast

And she's within a day's bike ride,

It'll always be there names

Those cords bring to mind

So I wrote it all down on paper

And shoved it all inside

An envelope no bigger
Than the words that I did write

I sealed it with a poem

I signed it with a sigh

I sent it off to no one

Who can't tell truth from lie

I won't ever know

Whether it was just a phase

But I know that I never will care

Because each painful step

On each tortured leg

Are my stories to share

Are what got me from there to here

This is what I need to tell you

This is what you need to hear:

I love you, I miss you,

I'll never forget you,

Our friendship grows stronger each year,

You're brilliant, you're beautiful,

Hilarious and wonderful,

Steadfast and noble,

Insane and uncontrollable,

And you've given me the strength

And the hope and the brains

To continue without any fear

So I wrote it all down on paper

And shoved it all inside

An envelope no bigger
Than the words that I did write

I sealed it with a poem

I signed it with a sigh

I sent it off to no one

Who can't tell truth from lie

Physics Shorts - 09/12/12

I.
Waves, waves everywhere
Oscillations in my hair
Physics is made up of oscillations
Described in mathematical incantations

II.
Frictionless surfaces are so much fun
Vacuums are where the best physics is done
Think it's impractical and can't hack it?
Then get out of Theoretical and into Mechanics!

I Hope It Wasn't Taboo - 09/12/12

Standing on the pulpit
of a Catholic chapel
doesn't bring me any closer
to God
than sitting in the woods.
I figured that as long as I was
at a Catholic school,
I might as well look around
and see if he 
was there.

I met him once
in my backyard,
watching cottonseeds exist
and I met him again
in my bedroom,
sipping orange juice
and blasting music.
I created him in my mind
and I've killed him
once or twice.
I've asked him about math and physics
and about fate and destiny,
mostly to yell and argue,
because he never gives any answer.
He was my favorite hallucination
for a couple of weeks,
but now I like
the characters in my stories
a bit better.
But I haven't seen him here
at a Catholic school.
His "son"
is in every one of my classrooms,

but where is he?

Una Taza de Corazón - 09/11/12

La cosa sobra

té con cafeína

es que lo tiene

cafeína pero

no tiene tan

mucho cafeína

como café.

Café me hace

saltar y correr

cuando quiero

escribir o estudiar.

Café me hace

dormir y descansar

cuando quiero

saltar o correr.

Café me hace

escribir y estudiar

cuando quiero

dormir o descansar.

La cosa sobra

té con cafeína

es que no lo

tiene tan mucho

cafeína como café.

Té me hace

calma y tranquila

cuando todo mi

trabajo me ha

rabiado.

Té me hace

escribir con fuerte

cuando mi estrés

ha robado mi

imaginación.

Té me hace

sonreír

donde café

me haga

querer llorar

con tema.

Café me da

dolor de mente.

Té destruye

mi pena.

My Best Pens - 09/11/12

The best pens

I’ve ever had

were stolen from

classroom floors

and Debate tournaments,

the ones no one

thought enough of

to remember

to bring home

became the ones

I panic over

misplacing

and use to scribble

poems in the margins.

Graffiti Poetry #8 - 09/09/12

I guess you can call me 
metalloid
because I’m both
brittle and ductile,
shattering when pounded
but drawn into wire
when pulled and stretched.
I guess you can call me
metalloid
because I’m slipped in between
the tough, practical metals
and
the fluid, brilliant nonmetals
but do I take the
good qualities of both
and make them bad,
the bad qualities of both
and make them good,
or some combination
thereof?

I guess you can call me
Socrates 
because I do not
know.

Graffiti Poetry #7 - 09/07/12

The week always seems
to drag on infinitely,
then Friday arrives

Graffiti Poetry #6 - 09/06/12

Mother Sky looks over her brown daughter,
Earth,
barren and lonely,
cold and dry,
and lifts a thick blanket of ocean
over her land,
soaking the cracks of the desert,
filling the holes of the plains,
trickling in the seams of mountains,
until the two inanimate
grow life.

Graffiti Poetry #5 - 09/06/12

Each human being
is burdened with
the seeds of creativity,
the building blocks
of beauty,
the framework of elegance,
the blueprints of perfection,

which we use to build bombs.

Can't you imagine
a world where those tools
are used for creation?

Graffiti Poetry #4 - 09/06/12

I should have known
that it would eventually
come to pass
that I would start
to dream in math.
Not about
doing problems for a class,
but thinking -
dreaming -
in terms of math.

A friend of mine
who studied Spanish
would occasionally
dream in it.
Those who think
in pictures and colors
must dream more brightly
than others.
Those who think
in words and phrases
have nightly visions
that look like pages.
So it makes sense
for on who thinks
in numbers and equations
to come to dream
the same.

Graffiti Poetry #3 - 09/05/12

Through the jungles of equations
and over mountains of facts,
I have stalked
the ever-leaping chalk,
seeking the meaning of life,
the answer to all that is,
and what will be
on next week's quiz.

Graffiti Poetry #2 - 09/05/12

I think that I shall never see
a sight as lovely as
a PhD,
an image that gets
me through each lecture,
knowing the outcome
will make it all better.

Graffiti Poetry #1 - 09/04/12

Have you ever watched
a ribbon of chalk
cascade down blackboard
waterfalls,
louder than the high school halls
we've finally escaped?
It's never too late
to return to the lesson at hand
and watch the ribbon of chalk
move in your professor's hand . . .

Morning Haiku - 09-04-12

Earl Grey, Batch Number

T-400108

Cream, Sugar, Honey

A Veces - 09-04-12

A veces

el mundo

parece

como

una película

que usó

demasiado luz.

Todos los colores

se rabian

con los ojos.

Especialmente

en las

mañanas.

I've Never Met Anyone as Creative as a Physicist - 09-04-12

I’ve never met anyone as creative as

a physicist,

and I’ve met a lot of people

who called themselves artists.

I've met sculptors

who could recreate the figure of a man

in marble

and ones who could stimulate

the feel of the wind

in the folds of stone clothes

and ones who sparked chaos

in the hearts of viewers

with the combination of colored glass

spheres and spikes

on black marble,

but I’ve never met anyone as creative as

a physicist.

I've met poets

who could change childhood memories

into political allegories

and ones who made screams

sound like the lullabies

your mother never sang

and ones who made you taste

their potent lyrics,

some shoved down your throat

like medicine

and others slipped in your drink

when you weren't looking,

but I’ve never met anyone as creative as

a physicist.

I've met painters

who turned three pigments

into all the colors of the world

and ones who lathered brush strokes

so thick

you could see them come out of

the canvas

and feel the peaks and valleys

of the landscapes

and ones who gave a physical form

to the deepest feelings

I've never known how to put to words

in poetry or conversation,

the kind of feelings that when people ask,

“Are you alright?”

you just cannot answer,

but I’ve never met anyone as creative as

a physicist.

I've met musicians

who found the resonance frequency

of the human heart

and ones who could turn a melody

into a memory

without ever uttering a word

and ones who wove so many

different sounds together

to produce one simple harmony

that makes me shiver

every time

it flirts through my ears,

but I’ve never met anyone as creative as

a physicist.

The artists use that which we

see or touch or hear or smell or taste

to speak of all the things

that we can't

see or touch or hear or smell or taste.

They create new ways to

understand love

and life

and pain.

They create

that which we feel

in that which doesn't feel.

But a physicist

takes that which we can

see or touch or hear or smell or taste

and all that which we can't

and organizes it

in ways no one else has imagined,

no one else has fathomed,

no one else bothered to look for.

But a physicist

sees that which it is physically impossible to see,

touches that which has no mass,

hears frequencies over your ears' capabilities.

But a physicist

puts it all together.

But a physicist

creates everything

from the smallest particles

to the biggest galaxies

in equations,

turns patterns into predictions,

makes meaning from madness,

creates coherence in chaos.

But a physicist

fathoms all that is -

not limited to

that which their mind

or their heart

already knows -

and forms it such that

we all can comprehend it.

But a physicist

finds ways

to simplify the cosmos

while the artists

try to fill it up with

meaning.

I have never met anyone as creative as

a physicist.

A Plant is Not an Individual - 09-01-12

One small church in North Portland

had an unfinished mural

in a basement that hasn't been used in six years,

and a Sunday School teacher

who wrote a lesson each week

for a class of only herself.

But we thought to fix it

because a plant is not an individual -

one blade of grass

connects to its kin -

as you can see by

hacking ivy to the ground

only to watch it refulrish,

the raspberry vines

clawing up from the dirt

only a few days later,

the rose rooted deep

in the cement.

Something more lurks

beyond berries,

beyond leaves,

beyond vines,

beyond what what we think of as a plant.

But a plant is not an individual;

it would not refer to itself as I,

but as we;

it will not whither when bits die,

does not bleed when leaves fall.

Yet even when

the hoe overturns the earth

and the ivy have been tugged

and the raspberry vines have been cut

and one persistent root has been extracted

from a its encasing of a chunk of cement,

all I find are hidden garlic clovers,

growing wild under the ivy.

Escribo - 08-30-12

En los suenos

de día,

en las tazas de té

y café,

en puertos abiertos,

en ventanas brillas,

en relojes con alas como

un pájaro,

en cuadernos sin escriba

y lapices preparados,

en libros en libros en libros

y en leyendo

y en tarea,

en las esperas del futuro,

en las dudas del presente,

en cada cabeza

y pregunta

y palabra,

en cada acción y

toma de té,

en cerebros

con luces de cada color

y otros más,

en los sueños

de día,

escribo.   

Orientation - 08-23-12

All the girls here
look just like girls
I used to
almost know

West - 08-23-12

Big stone

marker in the grass

points the way to

D.C.,

points the way to

shipping freights,

points the way to

different paths.

You stop at the last bench,

in a mossy nook

outside the science building,

to write this.

Because the marker

brings him to mind,

but the quiet cove

and the green cave

and the physics posters in the window

bring him to heart.

The Hardest Part of Packing Up - 8-12-12

It's like
plucking a memory
from the
soft tissue
under
my bone.
Pulling sounds and songs,
twisting whispers and words up
to be piled neatly and sorted through.
Which to keep,
which to leave behind,
which to recycle.
The synapses that hold
them together
all shoved in a tiny tack box.

It's like plucking a memory,
pulling down my posters from Cross Fit,
cards from birthdays and valentines,
invitations to parties,
paintings and doodles
by me and dear friends,
withered flowers from ex-boyfriends
and neighbors
and parents
and friends,
trinkets,
Pokemon cards,
awards for math and science and poetry,
schematics,
blueprints of spaceships,
images of the cosmos,
hearts, brains, photographs,
magazine clippings,
membership cards,
album covers from old LPs,
clocks, stickers,
and the model of an atom
that I nicked from my chemistry class
in Sophomore year
on the day Mayer didn't come to class.

The Last Word - 5-22-12

What I want most, though,

is to set those words free,

to speak that poem to open ears,

whoever hears is fine with me.

This is my lonely soul

and this is the way it's always been

so give me my sweet misery and negligence

because Lonely and Miserable and Neglected

were the best friends that

ever could have been.

So, Miserable, my darling, I love you,

and any girl who won't have you

is a monster,

by which I mean to say that the one girl

who won't have you

only won't because she wants all of you

and all of them

and never to have to chose.

So, Neglected, mi carino, I love you,

now please accept my arms

and praise and love and affection

and know that I will be able

to have fun without you

but I do not want to.

So, Flighty, who has flown from me,

I love you.

So, Repressed, who has roared triumphant,

I love you.

So, Worried, who has wandered off,

I love you.

So, Giddy, who glides towards brighter days,

I love you.

So, Pretty, who awaits her thrown,

I love you.

And Baby if you hurt my friend one more time

I'll hurt you

but until then, I love you too.

My sassy, southern belle,

I love you.

My beautiful angels, left in Heaven,

I love you.

And Lonely,

and Lonely,

and Lonely you pathetic girl!

Get out of your head,

get out of the marshes,

get out of the caves

and the maze

and the nightmare

and say all the words

you've been dying to say

since they first popped into your head.

There is So Much Left to Do and Say - 5-22-12

“I sincerely hate you.

That is not to say that

I don't still want you,

nor that I wouldn't give anything to have you,

nor that I haven't already,

only that I hate myself for it

as much as I loath you.

For your brains,

your body,

your cruel, beautiful smile

that passes right through me,

I hate you.”

1. Visit every room in the school.
2. Meet every teacher
3. Graduate
4. Finals

“I have no idea who you are

and every time you ask for my help on

your homework,

your project,

your love life,

your friendship,

I want to walk away with a laugh;

but I stay and allow the continued abuse

because I think,

one day,

it will have been worth something.”

5. Kip a pull-up
6. Finish a short story
7. Write a poem
8. Go to a party

“You hurt me like you always do.

I work myself into thinking

the bright flowers are beautiful,

not poisonous,

and the bite gnaws into my insides in the end.

I tried everything

to reach you,

to be near you,

to slip beside you like one of the flowers,

but you always pluck me like a weed.

On a cold breeze the next time around,

I hope I will pass right by you

and all the other flowers

who bare your mark.”

9. Kiss
10. Dance
11. Bake twelve cakes
12. Get a new dress

“Everything I am and know,

I owe to you.

There is nothing of more importance

or value

than each memory

and magnet of wisdom

you have given me.

There is nothing I will hold tighter,

keep closer,

or love longer

than each thoughts you inspired me to think,

than each neuron you light on fire,

than each string you plucked

to the melody of brilliance.

Thank you.”

13. Sing even though my voice is terrible
14. Give her my clipboard.
15. Inspire
16. Breath

“I love you.”

17. Say everything I need to
18. Smile sincerely or don't smile at all
19. Love
20. Say Goodbye

Remember - 05/22/12

Remember three seconds ago

when you breathed?

Remember three minutes ago

when we laughed?

Remember three hours ago

when you thought it

would be so difficult?

Remember three days ago

when the present seemed

as far as the sun's explosion,

when every second was years

until the ceremony,

when each thought

could be put off

over and over and over,

when a day was a lifetime?

Remember three weeks ago

when a month was a week,

when time ran slower

as we sped through tests,

exasperated, anticipating this moment

that now we want for tomorrow?

Remember three years ago

when you stepped

through new doors,

thick halls,

bright classrooms,

with no idea

who anyone was anymore

no idea who you were?

Remember that second

you became the present

or has each second of future

become now

as each of now

becomes past?

Allegra's Theme - 05/14/12

In twenty years, I won't remember you
But you probably weren't that great
So get off of you high horse
And come and dance with me

Somehow we made it
Through trying not to survive
The end of the line and here we are
Somehow still alive

We've got battle scars we don't want to show
We've got heartaches we don't want to know
We've got pretty legs and ugly veins
Torn up thighs and broken brains

And tonight
Under graduation lights
I'm going to act like
I never knew how to
Pretend to be alright
I'll never be brave
I'll never be sane
But at least I'll never
Have to see you again
Tonight
Is the last night
Of this life

The girls and the boys don't matter
They were only reasons to breath
The girls and the boys don't matter
They were only reasons to bleed

In twenty years I won't remember you
But you probably weren't that great
So here's one last chance to make amends
Before I call it too late

I know that I'll never compare
So I'll stick to the freaks
And the nerds and the geeks
I know that I'll never compare
So I'll stick to the silence


We've got battle scars we don't want to show
We've got heartaches we don't want to know
We've got pretty legs and ugly veins
Torn up thighs and broken brains

And tonight
Under graduation lights
I'm going to act like
I never knew how to
Pretend to be alright
I'll never be brave
I'll never be sane
But at least I'll never
Have to see you again
Tonight
Is the last night
Of this life

Little Lightning Bug - 03/15/12

She sits on a thumbtack stool,
Perched on a pinprick
Waiting to hear the rules
She keeps her lips tight
Opens her ears and eyes
To every sounds and sight 

The moment passes
Past long eye lashes
When she can’t even breath
Just one right word
To one right chord
Quick, before he leaves 

Little Lightning Bug
Where will you run?
Where will you run to now?
Keep your mouth shut
Just listen up
You’re the wrong word, anyhow
Lightning flashes and lightning dazzles
But you look timid and nervous and frazzled
Keep your mouth shut
Just listen up
Where will you run to now? 

She sits by the light of the moon
Watching and waiting
The lightning’s coming soon
She’s hoping to learn
By watching the lightning
How to sparkle and burn 

The moment passes
Past long eye lashes
When she can’t even breath
Just one right word
To one right chord
Quick, before he leaves 

Little Lightning Bug
Where will you run?
Where will you run to now?
Keep your mouth shut
Just listen up
You’re the wrong word, anyhow
Lightning flashes and lightning dazzles
But you look timid and nervous and frazzled
Keep your mouth shut
Just listen up
Where will you run to now? 

Little Lightning Bug
Where do you get your name?
How could you ever
Hope to compare
To the lightning’s fame?
So small and fragile
So sweet and docile
So boringly tame

Darling, you’re nothing
Darling, you’re nothing
Nothing but a bug on the wall
No one would notice
No one would notice
No one would notice your fall 

The moment passes
Past long eye lashes
When she can’t even breath
Just one right word
To one right chord
Quick, before he leaves 

Little Lightning Bug
Where will you run?
Where will you run to now?
Keep your mouth shut
Just listen up
You’re the wrong word, anyhow
Lightning flashes and lightning dazzles
But you look timid and nervous and frazzled
Keep your mouth shut
Just listen up
Where will you run to now?

Well, Fuck - 03/12/12

So it is that under March snow,

over thick puddles in potholes,
under dripping street signs,
over sticky tiles,
under encroaching gloom
over the first sunny day in just
over a month -
 
so it is in math class
that joking comments on
torn flesh
find ringing laughter
and applause -
 
so it is with veil
of clouds,
of long hair,
of minimal sleep,
of skipped meals,
of dark thoughts -
 
so it is masked
behind vacant eyes,
behind pursed lips,
behind crimson cheeks,
behind monotones,
behind pencils
and papers
and poems -
 
so it is in love,
in giddy feelings crushed
by annoyed realities,
in hopeful flying
proving only falling
without style,
in over affection
peeling back only
cruel intentions,
in selfish
whorish doubt -
 
so it is beside generosity,
next to welcoming,
beside compliment,
holding hands with kindness -
 
so it is only Monday
and the week is off
to such a fantastic start
I think I'll slit my throat
to celebrate.