'Fix You' - 05/28/16

Your sewing kit
isn't going to cut it
this time
so save yourself
a stitch
or nine
and use your fabric scissors
to snip me out
of your life.
Your steady, calligraphy hands
can't stabilize
this shattered system.
There is no quilting technique
or special yarn
that could mend
mental illness.
I am not a tattered pair of socks
for you to darn.

A Cold, Dead Place - 05/27/16

When all is said and done
what have I become

but a fragment of a human soul,
hardly indispensable,
hardly irreplaceable,
hardly unforgettable,
a shadow cast upon this world
by a glory unimaginable,
it left me shattered in this hole
with no hope of being fixed or whole.

I'm falling,
I'm kneeling,
reaching for stars on the ceiling,
screaming,

"Remember when I used to write?
Put pen to paper
and let words take flight?
Let worlds take flight,
bring worlds to life?"

But now I all have are funeral rites,
cascading chamomile trips through endless nights,
an exhausted homily
in eerie harmony,
begging to be set free from me,
be gone from me,
released from me
and this excessive misery
and the melodrama surrounding
every failed attempt at healing.

In each quiet moment,
these violent thoughts return,
berating:

"All you do is burn.
When are you gonna learn
that there is nothing in this world
undamaged by your flame,
no one who will be the same,
no memories left unchanged?
All you do is burn."

Tell me how to heal
and I will do it.
How many times
must I insist that
I am not a cold, dead place
before I believe it?
How many lines
must I erase
until I no longer
feel the guilt
of their creation?
Is there any penance
I could pay
to drive
the catastrophic thoughts away?
Is there any amount
of self sacrifice
that would suffice
to end this repetitive annihilation,
these oscillations
between "almost okay" and this?
I have tried to find
a villain I could blame this on,
a monster I could pin this on,
an enemy beyond my mind
that I could fight



but the only one out here trying to kill me
is me



and I have spent too much energy
tearing at my own flesh
and hating my own head
and destroying myself endlessly
and all it's gotten me
are scars
and fading Sharpie stars
where I have to see
and remember
exactly
how I betrayed me.

Dang - 02/08/16

I've been listening to
Alex Dang's
poetry all night
hoping his words
will inspire me
to write
the monster biting
bits of my soul away
into the light
and give my
quaking body
a fair fight
but this was all
the courage
I could find
in someone else's rhymes.
It's time that I
regained mine.

weak interaction - 03/19/15

heavy eye lids
are hard to open

heavy lips
are hard to speak with

heavy limbs don't want
to leave bed

heavy particles
mediate this
weak interaction

won't you break me down
into something
light enough
to just

drift away?

Resonance Frequency - 03/14/15

Just leave the pieces lying there.
I wouldn't want to hurt
a single hair
if you tried to rearrange
the splintered shards
that have disengaged
from this week
and began to seek
the state of lowest energy.
They've already sunk
too far into apathy
and won't be drawn out
by soliloquy.
But that's okay because
it doesn't take that much
to shatter me.
Apparently
I've got an all-too-common
resonance frequency.

inverted circles - 04/25/14

i feel so goddamn hollow
like there's nothing left of me
but tired
like there's nothing left of me
but empty
like there's nothing left of me

no momentum 
no energy
no physics math or poetry

like i could pass
right through me
but i can't crease or tear

i feel so goddamn hollow

ribcage - 02/15/14

but whatever
i was never
any better
or more clever
than the bitter
things inside
that control me,
make me hide,
turn my eyes,
keep my words
all locked behind
those angry things
caged in my heart

WhateverWhatever - 01/31/14

I've got no doubt
About my side of the bargain,
But darlin',
I wish I did.
I can be sure
That my part is pure,
But it's you
I doubt to to oblivion.

And, somewhere,
I know better.
And, somewhere,
I'm not here.
There has got to be
somewhere
I don't disappear.

Whatever, whatever
I still got the radio
And I won't give a fuck
As long as this song's on.
Whatever, whatever
There's still tomorrow
To let it all play out wrong.
Whatever, whatever.

Ariel - 01/15/14

All the words caught in my throat
broke on the hope
they might be free
to sing and scream
are wondering
what it might be like
to hear themselves
through the air
but they don't dare
to stay beyond
the cage
their guard has made.
And, I swear,
it's to keep you safe
from the things that I would say.
You don't want to hear them,
anyway,
you're better off,
better stay aloft
on the winds of
all the things
I can't say.

Blood&Bone - 01/08/14

I am the cure for the common cold.
I am a pot of coffee at midnight.
I am white blood cells.
I am critical mass of fissile material.
I am 30 hours, 40 hours awake.
I am complete the goal to eat.
I am weakly interacting massive particles.
I am color confinement.
I am so close to straight As.
I am decaying.

Tinnitus - 01/07/14

When the ringing in my ears
becomes mundane
and commonplace
and I don't jolt my head
around for bells
or a frayed cable
plugged into the television,
turning my head
like some anachronistic
ship's wheel
to see if one orientation
fades away,

then you may lose hope
that I will
learn to breathe clean air
and chase silver sunlight
without having to be
reminded.

There Have Been Times - 10/19/13

You should know
that there have been times
in my life
where I didn't want to
run and hide
when confronted with conflict,
when I haven't licked back tears
and kick back fears
to be calm and collect.
There have been times
when I have been loyal
but not to a fault,
when I have been polite
but not to a fault,
when I have been quiet
but not to a fault.
There have been times
when I have scream.
It's true,
I can be loud, too.
And I can laugh,
really laugh,
not
whatever way you described it,
"held back."
There have been times
when I couldn't contain my smile
and when I wouldn't
hide my glares.
There have been times
when I have been unapologetic.

I know there have.
I just can't remember when.

Maybe Death will stop for me

Maybe Death will stop for me and the two of us will marry.
I'm sure he has a poet's soul from all the grief he carries.
With the wisdom from his age, he must be fair at math.
Together, we could spend our days with Neruda and calculus.
Death will chase me, court me, follow where I roam,
until I concede at last and follow Death home.
With razor blades and sleeping pills will he kiss me goodnight
and so shall we fall asleep and never again see light.

14 Reasons I Shouldn't Own A Knife - 05/27/13

1.
While chopping plums for a smoothie,
I found a hard, sharp bit
of thumbnail
and paused for a long moment
wondering where it came from
before thinking to examine
my thumb.

2.
There was a red substance on the glass
and all I could think was
"Did I really just buy tainted glass?"
before noticing the red substance
spilling from my ring finger.

3.
Foam bubbles
on a beach,
the water washing out
and never coming in,
running and chasing
seaweed figures
until the return
that tried to swallow
all of me.
But I got some rainboots.
But Haylie doesn't like yellow.

4.
Heat wave in third grade,
but I was convinced
that I didn't need a sip of water
until the world started swaying
and I wound up
back in first grade
while my little brother's class
celebrated.

5.
I almost walked in to traffic
while reading.

6, 7.
Multiple times.

8.
My first worry
was the blood stains
on my favorite nightshirt.

9.
My second was that
my roommate might see them.

10.
2am is the best time
for a walk
and an adventure for ice cream,
at least in my opinion.

11.
Brakes on bikes
are unnecessary
if you're going downhill,
although I'll admit
that I should have brought
a helmet.

12.
Quiet hotel rooms
and walks in strange cities
at way too late in the evening
that start spirals
of too many bad things.

Like, 8 bad things.

13.
Everything those lead to,
each shudder,
each lie,
each safety pin
and broken plastic fork
and pair of sewing scissors
and fruit knife.

14.
Whatever is coming
tomorrow.

This Fucking Ballpoint Pen - 05/21/13

Lamor precession
of whatever spin down
state I've collapsed into
with the same songs
same equations
same lines of code echoing
27, 28 times
over and over
asking

"Why must you do this
to yourself?"

Second Things - 03/13/13

The second thing I think

when I pick up a pair of scissors

is what I'm going to do with them:

cut paper,

remove price tags,

free hair.

The second thing I think

when I look out over a bridge

is how beautiful the water is.

The second thing I think

when I see a piece of rope

Okay, that's not a good example.

I haven't seen any rope in some time

and I don't know what the second thing I'd think

would be if I did.

What do normal people think

when they see rope?

The second thing I think 

when I pick up my razor in the morning

is where I'll be shaving.

I'm waiting for the day

when the second things I think

will be the first things I think

and the first things I think

won't even cross my mind

because those scissors don't cross

my flesh anymore,

so why do those thoughts

still fall past my eyes

and drown heart beats

in nerves;

so why do those thoughts

still linger,

hung from the rafters

of old habits,

the way I still skip meals

not on purpose, 

but because I honestly forget,

patterns ingrained no longer in my veins

but parts of me

still think they are.

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

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.

What I Found While Wandering In The Cold - 01/13/12

Had I not been so blinded by searching
I might have stumbled upon
exactly what I needed
far sooner than I did.
 
It's like with love,
it comes when you aren't looking for it.
It's like with happiness,
it appears when you ignore it.
 
A gently bubbling fountain
in a deserted garden square at dusk
may lack the same denotation of
a zen garden,
but the experience here outweighs the old memory
by the same magnitude
as electric and gravitational forces.
Metal herring perch in metal reeds
and ask to be lulled
by amateur poetry.
 
My heart leaps as ripples mirror the figure of a man
and I hope my life might become a movie scene
for a brief moment.
A thousand ideas bubble in the time it takes to look up
and discover the illusion.
 
So love alludes me.
So happiness flees.
So what?
Search brought blistered feet
while wandering brought serenity.
Flirtation brings crushed hopes
while alienation sparks poetry.
So the sky is cloudy.
So the air is cold.
So what?
I find more comfort
on chilling granite
than in the sea of voices and warmth.
My body runs cold.
My mind runs cold.
 
Let me ice my heart.
Let me bathe it in this freezing fountain
while my soul escapes through forgotten tears.
For any tears that would fall
would ice on my cheeks,
and someone might ask questions.
 
And still I long for warmth?
For arms to hold me,
body heat to comfort me,
eyes to beg,
“What is wrong, darling?”
 
Warm, loving eyes
that expel heat wherever they look,
melting hearts of ice in their gaze.
And still I long for eyes to look upon me
and to warm my drowning heart,
let it bubble as a liquid in that freezing fountain.