And Then There's You

There's not an abundance of things
that make me very happy.
There's my poetry, some songs,
and you.

There's not a whole lot of people
that I use to confide in.
There's my family, my dog,
and you.

There's but only a special few
that I think that I can trust.
There's my best friend, my sister,
and you.

There's probably just a handful
that I would give my life for.
There's Sharon (cancer killed her),
and you.

But there's only two that exist,
that I say I truly love.
There's me, and myself, and I,
and you.

Proof

I told you I was going to eat,
and then I left. The night air
was extremely cool
and I unfortunately had only a shirt.

It was an enjoyable cool however,
if not slightly foreboding.
Instead of turning back,
I decided to face fate that night.

I walked down to the Taco Bell
while listening to Hikaru.
Her soothing Japanese voice
was warning me to go back.

The lights of the parking garage,
behind where I lived, were like
bright warning lights.
But I didn't notice until later.

I ordered a chicken quesadilla,
even though the last one made me sick.
I was given order #13.
Then I got my food and left.

On the way back I noticed
that there were no stars in the sky.
Thinking it odd, I stopped,
and before I knew it, there he was.

He told me to freeze,
then held a gun to my chest.
He said to give him my wallet,
so I raised my fists to fight.

He insisted he would shoot me,
but hadn't done so thus far.
I thought of you for a moment.
About how sad you'd be if I died.

It was odd - that little moment.
Part of me wanted to die,
just to see if you'd miss me -
just to see if you really loved me.

Well, I do really love you,
so I did as he said.
I reached in my back pocket,
to grab my wallet in surrender.

I put out my hand,
and punched him straight in the jaw.
Walking back I smiled and thought,
about how hard you were going to hit me
when you found out what I did.
All because you really love me.

Dream Before A Dream

Even though you don't like it,
I still enjoy kissing the pearls
of sweat that form on you
while we work out together.

You lean over and ask,
if I'm ready to stop.
But I'm out of breath,
so I just keep going.

A while ago you told me,
that you weren't quite ready yet.
And so I waited for months,
just so you wouldn't fret.

Now it's never pressured,
something that comes and goes.
We don't have to say a word,
speaking with knees and elbows.

My favorite part of it all
is when you're lying on my chest,
breathing deeply in and out
as we soundly sleep and rest.

Glomp!

I'm sitting on the edge of our bed,
and you're sitting in a chair.
With the television droning,
you look at the ground and stare.

It's coming. You feel it,
and I feel it too.
It's coming. Tension.
Our hearts pump faster.

You crack a smile -
like a track pistol.
I begin to dart full speed
straight towards you.

You manage to turn half-way
before being smothered
by my arms, as they wrap
delicately around your body.

That is what I love,
That is love.
Glomp.

I close my eyes...

And there she is.
In an oversized blue sweater
with her unpainted fingertips
barely peeking through the sleeves.

Her movements are very quick
to get her ponytail tied,
and done with perfection
from nothing but memory.

There isn't a single flashy thing,
not even a pair of earrings.
There's not a dab of makeup,
just beautiful, wholesome skin.

She motions me over
and I realized then,
that she was mine -
and screamed of beauty.

Butterfly Sestina

It's not the first time I've been all alone.
Nor is it the first that I've missed you,
and the moments we spent together.
I spend this lonely day inside
watching over a single butterfly,
floating around outside in the air that's so cold.

I wonder if the butterfly is cold
from the weather, or from being alone.
How I wish to embrace the solemn butterfly,
and clutch it tight as if it were you.
It would be warm by the fire inside,
and at last we could be together.

My mind churns as my hands rub together
to keep my blood from getting cold.
I try to forget the feelings inside
that make me feel so alone.
I glance towards a portrait of you,
my last remnant, before going back to the butterfly

sitting on the window. Suddenly, the butterfly
is joined by a friend, and they sat there together.
I look a little more at the butterfly, then the visage of you,
and suddenly I don't feel so cold.
Perhaps, like the butterfly, I'm not really all alone.
Perhaps there's a piece of you still inside

of this room. Your smile emanates inside
my living room as I notice the butterfly
is now here with me. No longer alone,
I smile as we sit by the fire together
and let the warmth of love thaw the cold
thoughts that once surrounded my memory of you.

Now when my thoughts turn to you
I do not weep, but look inside
of my heart, where sweet, cold
pearls of memory blossom like premature butterflies.
I know we may no longer be together,
but that does not mean that I'm alone.

It isn't a bad feeling having those butterflies
fluttering around on the inside.
It reminds me that I'm not alone.

Things Go Bump In The Night

It's way too late
for me to be writing this.
There's no stopping
of my thoughts and feelings.

Here they come,
pouring out of me.
I would just as soon
hand you my diary.

What's on my mind
tonight?
What is it that you all
seem to want to hear?

The secrets, the love,
the betrayals, the drama.
Oh - it's happening,
I assure you.

And under no other circumstances,
would I ever dare tell you.
Even now I'm out of my right mind,
perhaps possessing a different one.

So what of my love?
Are you really one to judge?
I'll continue doing it,
because it makes me feel good.

What a sensational feeling it is
to know you aren't alone.
Sometimes all it takes
is bumping in to someone,
in the same darkness
that you are trapped in.

For The Best?

I want to apologize
for lying to you.
My insides are on fire
from breaking your trust.
Tears fill your eyes
and intensity rises.
You look at me like that,
like it's unbelievable.
We're simply too far apart
for this dream to come true.
We live in two separate worlds
that not even love can combine.
I hold you in my arms
and say 'Sorry' over and over.
If only I was born
in a different time and place.

I would have never had to say
that I didn't love you,
even though I do.

Sorry, But I Can't Help It

"Scoot over a little", she said,
"I'm smaller than you."
"That's all right", I replied,
"You can stretch out."

The crack in our window
which we've never had fixed,
allowed the cold winter air
to creep across our sheets.

I lend her most of my blanket
and her chest heaved a sigh.
"It's getting cold", she said,
"I'm fine, take some of mine."

So I took half of her blanket,
on top of all of mine.
At the sound of her sleeping breath
and the feeling of her shivering,
I wrapped both blankets around her,
and kissed her on the forehead.

Forced Emotion

It hurts me to see you
love that man. That man
I call a friend, and
who I could never betray.

If it was any other man,
I would take you far away.
My secret love for you
is growing by the day.

Friendship and love - Oh,
how complicated it's become.
To fulfill my heart's desire
I would have to stab a friend.

So incredibly difficult it is
to call you a simple friend.
I want it to be much more.
I want you to love me too.

I'll follow you wherever,
even if you're with him,
because I cannot help
but love you dearly.
I want you to love me too.

満月をさがして

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I was awake all last night
watching you sleep silently.
That was the last chance I'd get
before you left me forever.

The next day you said to me
that it wasn't goodbye at all.
But the waver of your voice,
and tears, said otherwise.

I have never cried as hard
as the day you left my life.
I know you cannot help,
where your adopting family lives.

I've found a family too since then,
but my feelings haven't changed.
I still remember your words
just before boarding the bus.

You held me in your arms,
soaked with the sorrow of my sobs,
and told me you loved me,
to which I had no reply.

From the moment the bus vanished
in to the infinite horizon and beyond,
I knew what it was I felt.
I loved you more than ever.

I've been desparately searching since,
so I can tell you what it is I feel.
If love was meant to exist
I know you will be waiting.

You not only filled the void
that fate stripped from my life.
You gave me hope, and love,
and courage to go on living.

Late at night, you used to point
towards the moon in the sky.
"We'll never be far from each other"
you said, as I gazed with all my heart.

To this day the only sight
that seems to soothe my soul,
is a full moon hanging in the sky,
and the hope you see it too,
and are thinking of me.

There's Nothing Else Quite Like...

When you're sitting warm and cozy
while rain beats down outside,
everything takes on a special glow
while the pitter-patter of water,
juxtaposes your calmness within.

How about while it is so cold
that a bear could freeze,
you lie snugly in your bed
with a fleece blanket wrapped
around you while you doze.

Remember those times when
you'd cry so hard? And,
do you remember the friend
whose shoulder you drenched?
There's nothing else quite like it.

Nothing at all can compare
to the sensation of holding
that special lover in your arms.
There's nothing else quite like it,
and there never has been.

Read You Like A Book

We sat in the same loveseat,
reading the same book,
about the same romance,
to the sound of a storm.

I admit that a few times,
I was reading you,
and not the book.
Please forgive me.

It was getting chilly,
and you leaned in to say,
it was my turn to get blankets,
and make the hot chocolate.

I left that warm loveseat,
and departed to our freezing kitchen.
I shivered as I made our drinks,
wishing I was back reading you.

Returning I saw you sitting,
covered by half of a blanket.
It wasn't the drink, or the blanket,
that warmed me in that moment.

It was when you glanced up,
and smiled.

I Woke Up Late

Monday morning - moody,
arising already annoyed.
Blurred, blaring broody,
diurnal doings destroyed.

Planned precursor perhaps -
Goofy God's game.
Cloudy conscience collapse,
Dearly dreaming dame.

Nothing, no noise,
Lazily lying - late.
Thoughts turn to toys,
Darting dreams deflate.

Going, going, gone,
feelings fading forever.
Yes - you yawn,
silent sentiments sever.

No, it's because I love you

I delicately form a cocoon,
with my arms,
around your body.
Is it because you're sad?

I gently rake your hair,
with my fingers,
so I can see your face.
Is it because you're sick?

I form a roguish grin,
with my mouth,
when you try to hide.
Is it because you're self-conscious?

I hold on to your waist,
with my hand,
until you're used to my touch.
Is it because you're passive?

No, it isn't anything like that,
and it never will be.

Jihad

He bides his time at the bus stop,
the one he's always used.
He looks around but when,
he doesn't seem them, he boards.

He goes to the middle,
where he always sits.
He greets his neighbor's child,
who is only ten years old.

He listens in to the driver's
funny jokes of the day.
They are the exact same ones,
he laughed to as a kid.

The bus stumbles along,
already on its final breath.
It turns down familiar roads,
the man has known all his life.

At a junction it passes a bus,
with even more people inside.
Explosion, fire, screams, death,
and possibly, for one, paradise.

Pending

This is all I have tonight,
the words on this page.
I'm alone in my own world,
as a good poet should be.

I write out all my problems,
hoping to feel better after.
'Tis still bittersweet, however,
I open my eyes and nothing's changed.

But just for tonight I wish,
I didn't have to write.
I wish that just for tonight,
my therapy was spoken aloud.

"Trust us."

She's flying so high in to the air,
free like a bird, high as a kite.
Something called an arabesque,
as the crowd ooh's and aah's.

Her arms begin to flail,
and her eyes widen.
She realizes on the way down,
no one will catch her.

She crashes on the asphalt,
breaking both hip joints.
Her legs flop around like jelly,
having lost their support.

Favorite to Forgotten

It's her favorite toy,
with those pliable legs,
and bendable arms.

She can style the hair,
in any fashion she desires,
only to get it messed up in bed.

Pulling on the invisible string,
she makes the toy say things,
like "I love you."

Like all the toys she has,
it goes on the shelf when she's through,
which is where I sit - collecting dust.

Get Back On?

I try to cope with all my problems,
and I assure you - I have lots,
by a phrase my momma used to say,
"You got to get back on the horse."

Well, my pants sure are dirty now,
stained with the mud of my failures.
But I know momma will wash them,
until they aren't dirty anymore.

There's nothing to ride now,
so what about what momma said?
And no one to wash my dirty clothes,
since momma and the horse are dead.

"Giddy-up! Giddy-up!", I yell,
to the motionless heap of carcass.
I guess since he doesn't budge,
It's time I learn to walk on my own.

My Roommate and I

It was so late, and so dark,
the night I became a rapist.
I sodomized his inspiration,
with noise, as my phallus.
He did not shed any tears then,
but his soul wept.

Committing an unforgivable sin,
I'm sure to him, I became a demon.
I persisted so very ignorantly,
until, abused, he submitted defeat.
There perhaps subsists a society of poets,
that would have me put to death.

That night it was as if I tore,
the stanzas straight from his heart.
He cries now, saying he could have created,
the most remarkable Full Moon.
Said he, "It would have evoked beautiful tears,
to passionate eyes."

Why Am I So Sad?

I don't know why I am so sad about the death of my friend in May. I hadn't contacted her in months, didn't know anything personal about her, and never even talked to her over the phone. Yet I am so sad. I feel as though my best friend has been taken away from me, yet she was nothing of the sort. She was simply a friend, a good friend. Sorrow is to be expected to be attached to such a relationship, but certainly not that which I am feeling. I feel as though a part of myself has died. As if a friend that once existed in my world, a piece of love that once filled my heart, has now been taken away.

I suppose this and more is what I have been trying to say with all my poems as of late. It's hard to explain, but I guess I can give the best example I know of. Do you have a friend who had a terrible accident on a certain road and lost someone close to them, and now they refuse to ever drive down that road again? That scenario has more or less happened to me, except it isn't just one road I can't go down, it's an entire world. Every corner I turn is another memory of us. These are memories I thought I had long since forgotten. It is quite queer how one can remember things when they are under emotional distress.

As I continue to go out in to this world, and continue to drive down that fateful road that so many people avoid, I am saddened each day. She is the first thing on my mind when I wake up, and always the last thing when I go to bed. I never loved her as anything more than a friend, but I can't help but ask myself when these memories and thoughts of her will dwindle - even if ever so slightly. Some temporary relief is all I ask for. Some moments of my day where I am not thinking about how she is gone. I do not have such a power over my mind to force myself not to think about those types of things. It does what it wants to, and I am its victim.
I will close this with something I wrote to Sharon in January of this year, on this blog. It is titled in code, which was originally a secret as to the recipient of this piece. Due to her passing, however, I will reveal the actual title of this prose. It is called: "Dear Fellow Watcher"

Mystery is probably the first word that comes to mind, but that is most likely only because you interest me. I rarely am unable to grasp an object I am compelled towards, and thus am baffled by your nature. An aura of mystique completely shrouds you, and hides any real clues as to what you truly want the most. There is wisdom in your years, as there are in mine. Believe it or not, in a way you are quite intimidating. Failure to produce anything that doesn't come truly from my heart in your presence afterwards leads me to guilt. I've no idea about those normal aspects of your life, but I do not need them to know who you are. It would be absolutely worthless for me to wish for your happiness, because you don't need me to. Such is the confidence I have in your ability to always fight the right battles, with your own moral strategies. You have been a good friend at times when there was no one else. You have seen me at my rock-bottom, yet did not save me, because you knew it would make me stronger. You instead encouraged me, and in the end, I am forever grateful.

Again, this is something I wrote in January to her (it is on this blog), and I asked her to read it, but do not know if she did. When I say she didn't save me - I lied. She did, by letting me find my own strength through encouragement and understanding.

Nostalgic Music Tortures Me

I can't really help it,
I'm an obsessor.
One who obsesses,
If there is such a thing.

I hear a song and remember,
She mentioned that band.
Then recall where I've ever been,
When listening to that song.

Then out of nowhere,
Is the urge to hear it with her.
Not that I ever have,
Or ever had plans to.

Yet I'm fancied by the idea,
Of spending time with her now.
Not like I could have anyway,
Even if she was alive.

Like I said,
I'm an obsessor - if there is such a thing.
I wonder how long I'll obsesses,
This time.

Ghosts of the Heart

For me the coping was hard,
But for him - a nightmare.
I was ignorant for months,
He probably knew right away.
My tears are but sprinkles,
Compared to his emotional storm.
The love we lost was different,
Which is perhaps why...

He went by himself,
To that grave where they lay.
The etched granite of stone,
Displaying a world in memories.
Maddening his love was,
So much so he wanted to stay.
To always be there with her,
The two pains were incomparable.

Just inches from death,
A rustling from a tree.
Withered with no leaves,
And solitary - lonely.
He saw her by that tree,
And she begged him to stop.
She promised him there,
That they would meet again.

He goes back to the dead tree,
Where he swears he saw her.
No one will believe him,
But the other day - I saw.
By the tree sitting, with a smile,
He was talking to the air.
And there's only one person I know,
Who could ever make him smile like that.

No Farewell Is Final When I Think of You

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You can say she is dead.
You can say she passed away.
You can say she's no longer with us.
They all mean the same thing.

You can say she's in a better place.
You can say she lived a good life.
You can say she's watching over me.
They all mean the same thing.

You can say that you're sorry.
You can say that it's a shame.
You can say that it's natural.
But they all mean the same thing.

You know what I say?
Or what I hope I can say soon?
That she isn't dead.
She isn't gone.
She isn't even necessarily in a better place.
She is no longer breathing, I admit,
But her presence is still felt,
Within the confines of my heart.
And that will have to be good enough for me.

Short Blues

Oh, how I love to go to the market, to see her once again.
Oh, how I love to go to the market, to see her once again.
She smells of angels an' roses, and I of tobacco an' gin.

So I wake up early an' go to the store, every Sunday 'bout seven.
So I wake up early an' go to the store, every Sunday 'bout seven.
Most people goin' to church 'round then, but I go to the market for heaven.

---

You have to sing it out loud like a blues song or else it just won't work...
I will explain this one later after everyone has a chance to try and get meaning out of it.

One Mistake

One mistake,
Changed my life.
Caused me pain,
Endured by myself.
One mistake,
Made me lower than low.
Shattered what they call,
A positive self image.
One mistake,
Is all it took,
To take away,
All I've ever wanted.
A simple mistake,
Such a silly thing really,
How easy it would have been,
To simply call you back.

Paralyzed

So many memories can arise,
From a small piece of quiet and a breeze.
As I stop to wonder,
Why they all make me sad.
Is it that they themselves are sad?
Or that my perspective is so?
A past filled far past full,
With "could-have-beens" and such,
I cannot help but think,
My life is not as good as it could be.
If only I had taken,
Some other road,
Perhaps the one not taken,
As one man put it.
And yet, it seems so queer,
For one would think,
That following one's dreams,
Would lead to their fruition.
Perhaps I was simply never taught,
How to correctly - and whole-heartedly,
Follow my dreams.

Eight Months?!

The world wasn't meant for "My Way",
It was meant for theirs.
Eight months, he said,
Does it really take eight months?

Does it really take eight months,
To create,
What I can do,
In fifteen minutes?

For in reality,
The majority,
Will never ever,
Tell the difference.

In Prison They Call it a "Cellie"

You demonic abomination from Hell,
Wreaking havoc to and fro.
Spreading your wings of black sheath,
Laid out for all to see.

I had such a perfect plan,
Such a beautiful idea in mind.
And you came and destroyed it,
With the roaring fires of the underworld.

Oh, how gorgeous that Full Moon would've been,
If only I had the chance to create it.
It would have evoked tears to passionate eyes,
Yet you could not just let me be.

Yes, you horrifying creation,
Of otherworldly descent.
Ye shall never know that for one night,
You were a devil in my mind.
For destroying such a beautiful thing,
That would have evoked tears to passionate eyes.

Et Puis...Après...Calme...Dans La Mort

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...with tears acting as the storm,
The calm proceeded to follow.

...with sorrow acting as the winds,
The reparations will begin.

...with memories acting as the weather,
The continuous cycle - continues.

I Wonder

I wonder if at some other time,
We could have shared a meal.
With laughs and smiles and living,
None of which happens now.

I wonder if at some other time,
There was a move I should've made.
Something to make it a little better,
But now can no longer do.

I wonder if at some other time,
I should've said "you're a loving friend."
It might have ignited warmth in your heart,
Now it no longer will.

I wonder if at some other time,
You were really holding back.
So that this moment in time I have,
Would not cause tears to fall.

I wonder if at some other time,
This time - in the future.
I will look back to you with love,
And thank you for changing me.

Regretful Remembrance

The day of,
Is simply shock.
And the ticking,
Of your clock.*

The day after,
Is pain.
And feelings,
Unexplained.**

After that,
Who knows?
Likely the same,
I suppose.***

Never a day from hence shall pass,
Their name will not cross your breath.
Placed in the far reaches of your heart,
Is lodged the memory of their death.***

---------

*This is a poem about having someone close to you die. On the day of, you are in shock so you don't really feel sadness too much (atleast I didn't). You are trying to figure out how to go on with your life without this person. You are trying to imagine your life without them being a part of it. Then you wonder when you are going to cry (the ticking of the clock), and have all of your emotions burst out. You question your own mortality and life's worth, and wonder if you've been getting all there is to get out of life. This ticking of your heart (the same as the clock) symbolizes your sorrow and compassion, but also your realization of the importance of living life.

**The day after you will most likely allow the emotions to overwhelm you. This day is pure pain for most. You wake up and likely the first thing to cross your mind will be that you are waking up in a world without that person in it. They are no longer here, and coming to terms with that notion is difficult. You cannot explain exactly how you feel, since there are so many things and emotions being mixed in with one another. You want to move on, but are still held back. You want to remember them, but it causes you pain.

***I don't know what happens after the first day, because that day has yet to come. Yet if I were to guess, I would assume not a day will go by where I don't think of them. Until the very day I die something about the world I live in will remind me of who they were, and how we shared our lives. I "suppose" that these days will also cause my heart to sag with heaviness as I recall how delicate their life was. I regret admitting I cannot let it go, and yet at the same time am glad I will never forget them. This mix of emotions leads me to the assumption that I will always be torn in matters of death. On one side, sad I remember them. On the other, happy they were such an influential person in my life to make me have such strong emotions.

So This Is What It's Like

So this is what it's like,
To lose a person evermore.
Like saying good-bye to childhood,
She will be here, nevermore.

Yet even the dead can teach,
Such as how to appreciate.
They preach how life is short,
And should not depreciate.

It's ironically funny how,
She already saved me once.
And - like Jesus - she comes back,
Saving the fool who jumps.

Scooping me up in her wings,
As one of the last of my friends.
Before disappearing amidst tears,
Swirling with the winds.

It's easy now to understand,
The belief in life after we die.
The heart is just too strong,
To admit to saying good-bye.

Likewise I now see how,
God speaks to people every day.
One must learn to love their life,
For in an instant it could go away.

Watcher

For the first time in my life a friend close to me has died. I didn't know her name until after she died, but she helped me through many hard periods of my life. I know she was around my age, and one of the most caring and helpful people in the world. I knew that she was sick, but I never knew it would end her life.

No matter who you were, or what you needed help with, she would help you. So many people knew her by this attitude of hers. She never did anything that only benefitted herself. She put her trust in to people only to be betrayed countless times, but continued giving her trust, and never stopped. We talked about many things, and she helped me with many things. She told me she was sick. I thought she was taking medicine, and that it would all be ok.

For a couple of months I didn't talk to her, and then I see a message about RIP and two dates. I thought that it might be her, but I didn't know. Earlier tonight I found out it was. I wonder if I'm going to cry. Then I wonder when. Or for how long.

I'll probably help a few people out for her sake. Continue her Mother Teresa-esque work in the world that we lived in. Maybe one day, someone will ask me why I help people so much. And I can tell them, "For her sake".

I still don't know if heaven exists. But if it does, I know she's there.

There is no other place for angels to be.

You've shown me how great a human life can be, and for that I will try to cherish mine.

Rest in peace Sharon.

Gravity

Solemn and wet hand's palms,
Cover eyes with all their might.
Desparate fingers reaching out,
Clutching hair and holding tight.

Two sullen and downtrodden arms,
Want something new to squeeze.
They've been perpetually wrapped,
Around two all-familiar knees.

The only company in bed,
Is the coldness of the sheets.
Holding things like pillows close,
Knowing they cannot give off heat.

Before the point of crying,
There's a giant, screeching halt.
Realizing Fate is no enemy,
But that it's your own fault.

Until you change - you'll clutch hairs,
Hug knees, hold pillows, and moan.
You'd like to laugh - but would it matter?
You know you'd be laughing alone.

They Want Out

Upload music at Bolt.


There's nothing to worry about,
Really...