Poetry

how to cope

2012-01-24T13:10:00.001-05:00

to call it a bombshell,
would be a misnomer.
for it causes prolonged anguish,
and not merciful obliteration.

indeed, i would much rather,
be blown to tiny bits
than suffer from within,
slow, and agonizing.

my head keeps spinning
as an imaginary vise
presses on my heart,
getting tighter with no reprieve.

it plays over and over in my head
like a song you can't stop singing,
a habit you can't seem to break,
a past you are helpless to change.

while i am a thinking man,
there is no logic here,
no hope of understanding,
just simple, real, hurt.

curse

2012-01-11T21:28:00.002-05:00

forgiveness can be so hard
with such a heavy price,
so i turn the other way
and bid another future adieu.

i've lost count how many times
this sinking feeling has emerged,
slowly unraveling the threads
holding my patchwork heart together.

i wonder if i'm the cause
since after all this time,
the common denominators
are my bad decisions - repeated.

to refuse what is good for me
time and time again,
in favor of something familiar
like pain and sorrow and despair.

to catch a butterfly

2012-01-11T21:19:00.002-05:00

to catch a butterfly,
can be a challenging task.
for, oh, how they flutter,
swiftly, to and fro.

chasing one is futile,
always out of reach.
wild, desperate grabs
yield nothing but air.

yet one can extend a hand,
motionless, like stone,
and, through patience,
attract the creature.

for that which is sought,
does not wish to be captured,
but to choose of its own accord,
the heart on which to alight.

2012-01-03T20:13:00.002-05:00

you've been fluttering like a fairy,
around and around my heart.
wondering if it might be worth it,
to have yet another fresh start.

to try again once more,
and play this dangerous game.
which has the power to heal,
and also the power to maim.

sensing this i proceeded,
in a slow, methodical advance.
for i was also a bit unsure,
if i should take the chance.

yet i am so very glad i did,
for it's been entirely worthwhile,
every time i hear your laugh,
and every time i see you smile.

the future can be a scary beast,
full of unknowns, it's true...
which is why i am so grateful,
i'll be taking it on with you.

i'd like to file a complaint

2012-01-02T16:59:00.003-05:00

by toy factory standards,
humans simply wouldn't do.
much too many imperfections,
with a large percentage of defects.

entire lines of humans
are oblivious to worldly issues,
stuck in their individually
wrapped, plastic boxes.

they turn a blind eye to
the baby doll models
that come into the world
skinny and malnourished.

meanwhile, others are created
with a sense of entitlement,
and will whine -- and whine --
long after their string has been pulled.

2012-01-01T00:24:00.002-05:00

sparkling wine chilled in the fridge
next to three filet mignons that
i bought earlier that morning
in anticipation of a celebration.

two new thermoses were for
the morning after, washed,
rinsed, and set to dry, for the
coffee for our early morning trip.

an hour or so spent cleaning my place,
placing candles in the bedroom,
setting two plates, two wine glasses,
and preparing the food we'd cook.

my unbridled eagerness,
a harbinger of disappointment,
when my perfect world,
finally met reality.

whisperings

2011-12-26T20:18:00.003-05:00

as she lay asleep in my lap
i whispered secrets in her ear,
things i'd dare not utter
if she were fully awake.

perhaps her subconscious mind
was able to record all i said,
and will reveal to her the truth
through intuition and dreams.

until that time comes,
i remain ever hopeful,
that she'll reciprocate my feelings,
and say them back some day.

h(u)ma(nity)

2011-12-20T22:12:00.002-05:00

a young man sits in his city loft,
worrying about a girl he likes.
a hardworking immigrant says goodnight,
kissing her four already sleeping children.

a rich businessman dines at a fancy restaurant,
complaining to the waiter about his meal.
a foster child cowers under his sheets,
hoping his new mom isn't angry tonight.

a pregnant teen worries about her baby,
questioning if he'll have a father.
a middle eastern housewife receives beatings,
for looking at a man in the market.

a troubled poet tries to find the words,
pondering whether to tell her how he feels.
a small boy clutches his stomach,
wondering if he'll make it through the night.

a very ordinary person looks for answers,
trying to make sense of their life.
a separate person lives miles away,
asking the same exact questions.

2011-12-20T21:59:00.003-05:00

the fog rolled in
like an obtrusive guest,
blanketing the harbor
in its thick presence.

lamps flickered
like summer fireflies
as their ship arrived,
just barely late.

its horn bellowed,
drowning out the
rhythmic sound
of water slapping the dock.

where this ship was going,
was not as big a mystery
as what they would do,
once they got there.

prompt: igloo bright

2011-12-14T19:54:00.003-05:00

Every year on the day after Thanksgiving, Mitch would head into the attic, grab a huge trash bag labeled "Christmas" and march into the backyard. His wife, Sandy, would hear him first, banging his way down the stairs, and see him next, the huge bag slung over his shoulder like Santa with a bag of toys. Rolling her eyes, she'd say "Oh for pete's sake, babe. Again? This year?" To which he'd reply "Of course! This year, next year, every year!"

Dumping his cargo on the lawn, which with any luck was lightly dusted with snow by now, he'd carefully unpack a giant, inflatable igloo. Patches of masking tape covered puncture holes -- accidents from when the kids were little. Now they were grown up. No longer asking for power wheels. No longer excited about an old, beat up igloo.

Shaking those thoughts, he proceeded to blow up -- all by himself -- the large igloo, which, despite his family's reluctance, he'd wager would still comfortably fit all of them. When he'd given all his lungs could muster and the sky began to spin due to his lightheadedness, Mitch sat back and admired his work. His wife decorated indoors, baked cookies, did most of the Christmas shopping. This, though, this was his.

He continued to reminisce as he adorned the fluffy abode with bright, fat, colorful Christmas lights. His wife, of course, liked white lights. Mitch preferred blues, greens, reds, and yellows. Even purple, orange, magenta. A shining beacon he bought after their second child was born. Each year they used to get a small tree, pack all their wrapped gifts beneath it, and spend the night inside in sleeping bags. When their oldest reached double digits and heard in school Santa wasn't real, he wanted to stay in his bedroom Christmas Eve. Not wanting him to be in the house alone, Sandy slept indoors, too. The next year their youngest followed suit.

Still, Mitch set it up, every year. Lights intertwined, flowed, and danced, their bright hues bouncing off the white snow and creating a smorgasbord of color. His work almost done, all that was left was to affix the family's guardian angel Christmas tree topper at its summit. While normally it would be meant for a tree, it had looked over his family since the days they'd slept inside the igloo.

Mere days from Christmas, tragedy struck in Mitch's neighborhood.

A family down the street, the Donahues, had lost their home when a faulty space heater started a fire in the middle of the night, which burned their house to the ground. Members of the community pitched in to help them in any way they could -- new clothing, food, gift cards to replace all their damaged housewares and furnishings. Mitch knew Daryl was a contractor and work was slow. The family couldn't afford to stay in a hotel for weeks, and the closest family was more than ten states away. Daryl couldn't do that to the kids mere days from Christmas. Mitch also knew he was too proud to stay for free at a hotel or accept patronage. Even at a time like this. There'd even been rumors they were sleeping in Daryl's work van.

Mitch hatched a plan. He invited the Donahues over for dinner on Christmas Eve, under the pretense that they'd host next year to appease Daryl. During dinner, Mitch jokingly mentioned the fun the kids used to have when they were little, sleeping out in the igloo on Christmas Eve night. Daryl's kids, while only a few years younger than Mitch's, still very much believed in Santa, and thus squealed, begged, and pleaded with their dad. "Please, dad! Please! Can we?" they asked him, their eyes full of excitement. "How 'bout it, Daryl? For the kids?" Mitch asked.

And so it was with a huge grin and a skip in his step that Mitch led the children, bundled in some old winter coats and sweaters Sandy had found that their own children had stopped wearing long ago, out to the fluorescent, shimmering igloo. The kids' mouths made perfect "o" shapes and their eyes widened, their pupils reflecting the light of the vibrant, colored bulbs. Scampering inside, they huddled into their sleeping bags, and, after being assured Santa could get into the igloo, they fell asleep.

Mitch awoke the next morning to the sounds of excited laughter. Donned in his pajamas and armed with only a cup of coffee and a quizzical look, he made his way to the backyard. The door to the igloo was open, but he could see inside. There, underneath the tree inside the igloo, were piles of presents. And from the look of his barren fireplace hearth, they were his own children's presents. That's when he heard: "Here, Santa left this one for you, too!" as he saw his oldest son hand over his own Christmas gift. A few tears began to freeze on his cheeks as Mitch stood back and admired his magical, brightly lit, inflatable igloo. His gaze lead him upward, to the solitary guardian angel, sitting atop the makeshift dwelling, as if to bless all of those within.

2011-12-05T22:11:00.002-05:00

evidence surely exists
of the love i felt for you,
though it is not the angry texts
or torn bedroom curtains.

it is likewise not my car,
with "whore" scratched in the paint,
or the hole still in my wall,
that at the time was inches from my head.

nor is it the scars on my arms,
the tattoo on my shoulder,
or what you temporarily put in my belly
late one saturday night.

the real evidence is on my cheeks,
and countless used tissues,
an unwanted physical reaction,
just when I thought the pain had stopped.

2011-12-05T21:58:00.003-05:00

when we were together,
i was always chasing her,
struggling to keep up,
and not be left behind.

so vivacious, and alive,
she did not slow at all,
forging onward like a hurricane,
while i was the rain in her wake.

after running for so long,
i worried she'd never stop,
to let me catch back up,
panting, out of breath.

and so, while risky,
i continued after her,
praying her outline on the horizon,
would get just a little bigger.

solitude by the window

2011-12-05T21:41:00.003-05:00

i stare out onto the street
as cars drive by, their lights
ever so briefly illuminating me,
solitary, like a ghost.

i lean my forehead on the glass,
feel the night air invading
through a tiny crack,
and close my eyes.

i pull my feet up
and hug my knees,
wrapping a blanket around me
like armor, for security.

i refrain from inner thought,
of the pain residing there,
and instead gaze out the window,
easy to see through, unlike my heart.

cafe acting

2011-12-04T16:34:00.001-05:00

she walks in the shop,
puts down coins with a clink,
turns to tell the owner,
"something strong to drink."

scanning tables she sees,
a man busy with work, distraught,
and another in the corner,
alone, with his thoughts.

she approaches this lonesome man,
trying to gauge the signs,
she asks if he is free,
to help her with her lines.

she says in just under an hour,
is an important casting call,
so if he didn't mind,
to just read the lines for Paul.

but he betrays no expression,
his lips don't ever part,
"here, just take the script," she says,
"I'm the lead, I'll start."

"Paul, I'm so sorry,
this isn't what I'd planned,"
to which the man replies,
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"It isn't you, I swear,
I've just become distant,
and that detached feeling,
is all that's consistent."

"Ok," says the girl,
"now I go to the Loo,
come back minutes later, and say,
"I'm sorry you never knew."

"I don't understand," the man says,
pain lingering in his eyes,
to which the girl responds,
as her character slowly cries.

the man looks on, perplexed,
as she wipes tears with her sleeves,
"I'm sorry Paul, I have to go,
a kiss before I leave?"

"no," the man utters,
as he blankly stares,
"and a wrap," said the girl,
easing out of her chair.

"well, I think I've got it, she says,
but I must jet, I'm late!
you were such a huge help, thanks,
like a natural, you were great!"

then a woman exits the bathroom,
and walks up to the lonesome man,
"I'm sorry you never knew," she says,
and still, he didn't understand.

"Listen, I've got to run,
a kiss before I go?"
but the man sat still, silent,
numb from head to toe.

2011-11-18T20:55:00.003-05:00

for young children in the middle east
gunfire is just like popcorn being made,
not something to cause great alarm -
just another sound in the night's cacophony.

for the school children in the cities,
tanks, not buses, now roam the streets,
a presence of great military life
looming over their lives each day.

exploding buses and marketplaces on fire,
constant chatter about intruding foreigners
from uncles and older cousins,
inevitable martyrs for a cause kids can't understand.

is it any wonder how, when raised in such a place,
with warfare corrupting a childhood
otherwise spent in school and with family,
hate and misunderstanding define their existence?

by our supposed action of freeing this generation,
are we in fact dooming them instead?
raising them in a culture of prejudice and violence,
and expecting them to be something different?

2011-11-18T20:55:00.001-05:00

with mostly excitement
and a dash of trepidation,
i visit the nearby flower shop,
hoping to find something i'll like.

greeted by aisles of blossoms
and hanging florets,
i realize making a choice
will not be so easy.

browsing, i find some i like,
some i don't, and some i might.
i take particular note of a few,
to which, for whose reason anyone can say, i am drawn.

then, with the ignorance only
an amatuer flower shopper can muster,
i lean in close,
and smell.

a thought

2011-10-31T20:57:00.002-05:00

when she's sick, he likes to take care of her,
but she really just wants to be left alone.
he'll get home from work and go lie down with her,
asking her how she's feeling, rubbing her back.
she secretly wants him to leave her alone,
at least for just right now, since she isn't feeling well
and would rather get through this by herself.
but, she lets him lie down with her, and spoon,
and rub her back, because she knows
it will make him think he is being caring
and giving her the attention he thinks she wants.
he loves her enough to want to let her know he's there for her,
and she loves him enough to let him, even if he'll never know.

waiting to be called

2011-10-31T20:42:00.002-05:00

something like thirty or forty guys
were crammed into that room,
all in nothing but speedos and robes,
waiting to be called.

"number thirty-eight!" a man yells,
and another dude walks behind the curtain,
leaving the rest of us to pick at the food,
left out on cheap tables like a kid's party.

some men are tweezing or shaving stray hairs,
styling their hair in the mirror and whatnot.
others just cross their arms and keep to themselves,
trying to keep it up using the stacks of pornos left out.

others apply a self tanner that inevitably
ends up creating an orange powdery substance
that, mixed with dorito cheese, coats the floor
we're all walking on, barefoot, waiting to be called.

"number eight and eleven!" the voice yells.
the guy next to me plops his copy of Jugs down,
looks at me, smiles, and says "guess i'm up"
before disappearing behind the curtain.

homecoming

2011-10-31T20:31:00.003-05:00

his clothes were folded out before him,
impeccable, recently washed, no creases.
a stark contrast to the dirty heap
he used to keep under his bunk overseas.

he began to dress with the type of precision
one can only get from years of service,
of being expected to drop everything
and do what one was told.

his shoes were black, shining, spotless,
not crusted with the blood of a local
whose head he'd been commanded to boot
because he'd tried selling gay porn to the C.O.

the gloves he wore now were white, immaculate,
covering the scars and calluses that mark
countless interrogations of foreigners,
of young boys and their mothers, innocents.

fully dressed, a man of honor, he draws his gun,
each part cleaned mere hours ago, also perfect.
he pulls it up to his temple, a sort of mock salute.
finally finding himself on the receiving end, he pulls the trigger.

at last

2011-10-26T08:47:00.004-05:00

as if refusing to put in the effort,
the rain fell lazily, slapping the house
like a defenseless person
trying to fight off a bully.

my sister called and said you passed,
while i contemplated a world
in which you didn't exist,
and how you were gone, at last.

that morning i'll always remember
as the day i finally realized,
that you loved me enough to die
and let me move on with my life.

whatever it takes

2011-10-23T17:16:00.002-05:00

you live a certain way,
subscribing to a way of life,
volatile and fleeting,
never fully appreciated.

but to care for another life,
to put such weight upon you,
changes you fundamentally
and alters your path forever.

to give up all illusions,
when nothing else matters,
your very purpose of life,
to do whatever it takes.

2011-10-23T11:58:00.002-05:00

when it happens, you first notice
changes in how you see the world,
the subtle effect of colors
or the beauty of the sound of laughter.

with time, you begin to see
the intricate strings connecting us
and become a master at plucking
them to produce harmonious emotion.

eventually, if you are lucky,
your entire perception of life
will morph into indistinguishability
from what you knew before love.

will you?

2011-10-19T20:01:00.002-05:00

there's two versions of you.

there's the person that you are, and the person that you want to be.

you might think that to go from one to the other is a fairly easy process. that you can make a list of all the things the person you want to be does or is, and simply accomplish those things.

yet who we are is quite often the result of years of patterned behavior and ways of living. disrupting such activity is quite the challenge.

in fact, trying to change in to the person you want to be is usually a very painful, strenuous process.

your mind will trick you into continuing old habits.
your heart will keep you tethered to ideas or people that are harmful.
your body will scream in pain if you break it down to make it stronger.

so from where, then, can the driver of change originate? the will? perhaps, if such a thing indeed exists. yet what it is, anyone can say. willpower is, quite notably, undefinable and varying from person to person.

for what do you do when your brain tells you stop, your heart tells you to keep going, and your body tells you no more? what force within you enables you to do so? logically reaching a decision is the easy part. acting on it requires mustering vast quantities of some vague, unknown force that pushes us -- compels us -- to keep going.

it is this capacity, perhaps, that gives us all the capability to reach our fullest potential as individuals. to stare our faults and shortcomings in the face and resolutely accept the challenge of overcoming them -- of refusing to be a slave to our own selves.

2011-10-19T19:51:00.002-05:00

i lie on my side, unable to move, while nat king cole's "unforgettable" plays over the PA system of the asylum.

the worst thing about straight jackets is the itching. well, one of the worst.

i'll hear this song at least five or six more times as it loops on the burned cd the receptionist puts on every night to calm us down.

when you can't move, the only thing you can really do is think. well, the sane ones that is. the ones like me. we can still think.

i don't really think much about how i got here. i think about the time i have left, and how i'm likely to spend it. i try and figure how many more times i'll listen to the song if i had to stay here until i die.

there's a bit of a running joke in here -- that if you aren't crazy when you come in, you sure as hell will be when you get out.

the joke being that you'll eventually get out.

why i hate sundays

2011-10-16T19:21:00.002-05:00

i've always hated sundays, but i couldn't tell you why. maybe it comes from my days of being in school, where sunday marked the last day before another week of class. or perhaps from working, where it marks the end of freedom -- another weekly grind looming.

but no -- even during the summer, or when i have monday off, i still hate sundays. it is usually a day i sit around and do a lot of nothing. and doing nothing gives me time to think. and thinking makes me realize what i don't like about myself, about my life. it gives me time to ponder where i'm headed and then realize i have no idea. it lets me mull over all the things i'd like to do and how i -- at least on sundays -- lack the motivation to do them.

i especially dislike mid to late afternoons on sundays. you know, the three to five o clock period. when the day hasn't decided if it wants to check out yet and night is just around the corner waiting until it does. sunday night carries with it heavy inevitability. monday will mark the beginning of normalcy. a return to work and/or school and the realizations of all the topics i had time to think about the day before.

i hate sundays because they shine a mirror inside of me -- forcing me to look at who i really am. whereas other days of the weeks i can preoccupy myself with life, or friends, or hobbies, on sundays a switch is turned in my mind and i am constantly finding myself in a never-ending sea of self reflection. a constant reminder that i haven't reached my full potential as a person, and i've got a long way to go, which really isn't that different for most folks, i'd guess.

i'm just constantly reminded of it.

and that's why i hate sundays.

2011-10-16T19:17:00.002-05:00

i close my eyes,
take a deep breath,
and say "i am me, i am me,
and that's all that i can be."

me -- such a tiny, fragile thing,
barely a whisper in the cosmos,
yet with everything to gain
and only my life to lose.

i keep my eyes shut
and ponder how small
my worries truly are,
how small i truly am.

yes, let it wash over me,
satisfaction from knowing,
that i am me, i am me,
and that's all i'll ever be.

a collection of first stanzas to poems never written

2011-10-16T19:06:00.003-05:00

i see it all around me
like some forbidden fruit
whose juice runs down
the cheeks of others
but must never touch my lips.

---

i write so i can forget
how much you mean to me,
how long i've desired you,
and how unknown you truly are.

---

each fall i scramble
to find warmth,
before all doors close
and winter comes.

---

i grow bored of imaginings,
machinations of the mind.
i yearn for something to touch,
real, and pulsing with life.

---

i can barely believe i've found it,
after searching for all this time.
it is true what they say,
that if you wait, it comes to you.

2011-10-12T08:13:00.002-05:00

i ran up to my apartment,
not wanting to keep her waiting,
grabbed the sheet off my bed
and hurried back downstairs.

i guess it was our third real date,
and after dinner i asked
if she wanted to go to the park,
and she said sure.

with the stars above us,
we stared, we talked,
we enjoyed periodic silence.
eventually i took her home.

i told her the sheet was
for ants and the like,
but really i wanted to smell her
as i went to sleep that night.

hazy

2011-10-12T07:49:00.004-05:00

suddenly, we're ballroom dancing,
and i'm spinning, twirling,
with a person i barely know,
but am already falling for.

when the song ends,
we smile nervously.
i reach out and tuck a
strand of hair behind her ear.

my chest explodes as i
realize this is what i've
been missing all this time,
just before i wake up.

chimera

2011-10-02T14:09:00.004-05:00

most my family calls me crazy,
my brother says i'm dumb,
and the doctors say i'm
a catatonic schizophrenic.

i'll go numb for hours
and not even realize it.
then turn around and
bounce right off the walls.

they -- the doctors, that is,
say i am really two people.
that in the womb my egg
swallowed hers up or something.

it confuses me -- all i know
is my hair has different DNA
than my skin and blood,
and that parts of me -- aren't me.

so i have a twin, living inside me,
occasionally making an appearance.
now if only i knew who is the fun one,
and who is the zombie.

red dress

2011-09-28T09:05:00.002-05:00

we're sitting on the plane, waiting for takeoff, and she nudges me with her elbow.

"look at this," she says, pointing to a magazine spread of models wearing, to my eyes, nearly identical red dresses. one of those "who wore it best?" pieces.

"which one do you think i'd want to wear?" she asked. i look at the photos. most of them are pretty short, one is strapless. all of them are red, and i have no clue what to say.

"come on," she teases, "just pick one."

she knows i hate these types of games. like if i really loved her i would know her particular desire for a certain dress. like i actually think before i point at one at random. like there's some facet of her that i have deep understanding about.

sometimes i'll get it right. others i pick the one she really hates, but usually it's just somewhere in between. i don't think it's fair that she does this to me. constantly reminds me of how boring and stale i am. how i desire to forge a deeper connection.

i don't say any of that. i pick the dress on the left.

"yea, that one's OK," she says.

"but not the one i love," i hear in my head.

happier than me

2011-09-24T12:26:00.002-05:00

she sits in her minivan
in the back of the parking lot
of the local chinese place,
eating her food alone.

she takes up the whole seat,
her stomach doubling as a
table for her Styrofoam tray
filled with unhealthy food.

i think she is the epitome
of loneliness and depression.
i wonder what her home looks like,
messy, barren, and small.

then i realize two things,
first, that while i'm fit,
and though i have a good job,
i'm just as lonely as she is.

second, that despite her appearance,
i really don't know much about her,
or what her home may look like.
indeed, she could even be happy.

struggle

2011-08-07T18:31:00.002-05:00

at first i had some hope
that they would know me,
utter my name, see my face
and ask how things are.

now, though, i have no
expectations, no hope
that they will recognize me
or even realize that i'm there.

the pain of this disease
is worse than that of death,
for it afflicts the living
yet takes life all the same.

and for me? i go out of love,
what little love is now left,
the small amount i muster
when staring into those blank eyes.

sleep eternal

2011-07-09T22:16:00.002-05:00

these past few days i've been visited
by old friends and family alike,
offering words, for what else is
there to offer to a dying man.

this -- the act of ceasing to be,
it's something we ponder about
in our youth, questioning what it
will be like to finally reach the end.

some of us older folk take to it
easier than others -- some, like me,
never really come to terms with it,
knowing full well there could be nothing after.

if you've ever fallen asleep,
and thought about the very act itself,
becoming aware of how you close your eyes,
drift away, only to open them hours later...

that is what i feel now, as i close my eyes
with my family all around me,
both of us with our questions,
wondering if i'll open them again.

adventure

2011-06-19T22:02:00.002-05:00

people look at me and think
reckless, wanton, foolish.
sprinting through a journey that's
apparently the reason for living.

yet i was not born this way,
nor did i change overnight.
it was a slight, gradual change
whose origin anyone can say.

others' concern becomes trivial
and the risk always outweighs reward
when you can't think of it being so bad,
even if something goes wrong.

why is it the young are
so eager to die, and
forsake an unknown future,
bountiful happiness unforetold.

2011-06-18T12:01:00.001-05:00

buried in a mass of blankets,
a giant fluffy heap.
it was just cold enough to make
wrapping herself in all of them plausible.

the darkness of night and
sound of rain's pitter patter
provided a tranquil haven
where she could feel protected.

the sound of cars and people alike
splashing through puddles was only
interrupted by the thunder following
the lightning that lit a largely empty room.

using streetlight from the window,
and with the calming rain
and warmth of blankets as companions,
she began to read.

sand castle

2011-06-18T12:00:00.000-05:00

he held a miniature sand castle
in the palm of his hand,
a tower shooting straight up
and magically held together.

suddenly it begins to crumble,
and all his efforts to stop it
are met with clumps of sand
falling through his fingers.

now damaged, he questions
salvage versus acceptance.
risk utter destruction of a thing,
or redefine beauty for its sake.

raindrops

2011-06-12T12:50:00.002-05:00

my chin rests on the windowpane
as i watch the droplets race down,
some in a fierce dive lasting seconds,
others in a slow, methodical march.
i reach my finger out to touch one,
and realize i'm on the wrong side.

2011-06-03T21:58:00.002-05:00

i reckon that i'm down to
my last couple of days now.
my bones, my heart,
everything feels heavy.

the tears are less frequent,
but they still fall on my
hands, wrinkled and sore
from a lifetime of use.

the good times dance
with the bad, happier times
intermingled with sadness,
an overwhelming nostalgia.

and so now i weep.
i weep because if
given the chance,
i'd do it all again.

and the waves roll in

2011-06-03T20:56:00.003-05:00

and the waves roll in...
and carry me away
to an island where i sit,
alone with my thoughts.

stranded, left to contemplate
how i ended up here.
memories plaguing me
amid tormenting silence.

then one day,
when i wake,
the island is gone,
a return to normal life.

sometimes a few days,
and others maybe years
i get some small relief,
before the waves roll in...

hunter gatherer

2011-05-22T17:02:00.004-05:00

we were much better off
dying to simple illnesses,
starvation, and wild animals.
such deaths were quick.

now we die slowly,
of stress and disease
from pressures and foods
that once never existed.

before we used adrenaline
to avoid being eaten.
now we use it at work,
at home, with no release.

the sun regulated our bodies
when we lived outdoors.
the cool air helped us
get a good night's rest.

now we sit indoors,
staring at monitors,
even in our beds,
before we toss and turn.

we have slowly, piece by piece,
created a world where we live
longer and longer,
unhealthier and unhappier.

freedom used to be intrinsic
with the human experience.
now we pay to get away for
a couple weeks of the year.

our group roles used to keep
many others alive, and
now our deaths go unnoticed,
a sense of community shattered.

we are all hunter gatherers,
living in a complex world
to which our very beings
have yet to adapt.

2011-05-22T16:55:00.002-05:00

we often forget our human capacity
for discovery and exploration is infinite,
and when we ruminate on better times,
we limit how much we can experience.

for while things right now may have been better
at a particular point at a particular time,
they may still yet be even better
in a future you are too blind to see.

yet resign yourself to a depressed state
and you close yourself to change,
accept a steady-state of stagnancy,
and spoil your gift of life.

cd nostalgia

2011-05-22T16:50:00.003-05:00

returning to this place of disappointment,
i reflect on how far i've come
and how i managed to forget you,
only to have the memories flood back.

the painful, self-destructive thoughts return
as my chest tightens and i recall
how i thought i loved you,
the warped reality i convinced myself of.

even now, when i know it wasn't real,
i wonder if you ever return here
and think the same thoughts,
or if you've simply moved on.

vilify

2011-05-09T21:23:00.002-05:00

they were the bad aftertaste
to an expensive bottle of wine.
the disappointing reality
of lofty expectations.

not a promising dream,
but the noise that awakens you.
the thunderclap that follows
every strike of lightning.

a favorite song played
one too many times.
a scented candle that
slowly makes you nauseous.

and yet i wonder if there was more,
something beneath the surface,
that even now, looking back,
is waiting to be uncovered.

exile

2011-05-09T21:11:00.002-05:00

i've searched for years it seems,
for that fundamental difference
that makes connecting to others
something more than second nature.

neither friend nor family can
fill the void created by a lack
of human understanding and
an unwillingness to try.

how seemingly unimportant
a single life can seem,
when we feel all alone
even while surrounded.

i would

2011-04-25T18:14:00.002-05:00

Let me start off by saying I do not know who you are, but I love you. Some unshakable part of me has always loved you. And it always will.

I would do anything in my power, and try my hardest if it were not, to bring happiness to your life. Whether as a result of my own actions or simply by giving you the space you need to discover it on your own. I would vow to fully support you in your pursuit of your own life's goals and dreams, encourage you when you want to quit, and be there if you fail.

For if life caused you to hurt -- physically, emotionally, spiritually -- I would be there if you needed me, or wait patiently if you did not. I would understand that some things in life are personal journeys, and would not force my own feelings of wanting to make things better on to you. I would simply be there for when you were ready, and trust you would find me when you were.

I would trust this and more. I would put my emotional and spiritual well-being wholly into your hands, and trust for you to tend them delicately. I would, in turn, treat your heart and love the same -- with loyalty, respect, and care. I would believe that if either of us broke that trust, we would love one another enough to forgive certain mistakes, learn to grow together from the wisdom gained by the experience, and be all the happier in the end for it.

I would be with you to the end. I would love you fiercely at first, coming to know all there is about you of the mind, the flesh, and the intangibles that truly define you. Later, I would realize there is much more to you than I ever imagined, and take joy in knowing the rest of my life will be spent unraveling the beautiful mystery that is you.

I would love you completely, yet without smothering you. I would always be there, trying my best to be exactly who you need me to be, whether that is a pair of ears to listen, a pair of hands to fix, or a pair of arms to simply hold. I would relish in performing those small acts of love that at the time go unnoticed, but then are later realized and thus made all the more special.

I would.
I would.
I would.

while you were sleeping

2011-04-20T04:00:00.002-05:00

i took a finger and traced it from her
chin, down her neck, all the way
across the curve of her breast
to just below her knees.

rubbing the goose flesh from
her arms, i pull her in closer,
as if to somehow protect her
from creatures of the night.

she stirred lightly, heavy eyelids
barely parting, mouth curving
into a smile before making
a contented "hmm" sound.

i traced the shape of her lips,
this time barely touching,
twirled a wisp of her hair,
and kissed her ... on the ear.

break the glass

2011-04-20T03:47:00.003-05:00

i wake up at 3 or so in the morning,
abruptly -- blurring the lines of
dream world and reality -- of
consciousness and sub-consciousness

i exist on the fringe ... unable to fall asleep
despite being mentally exhausted, my mind
sprinting without rest, as it does when i'm asleep,
flashes of images i cannot ignore.

the line separating real from unreal,
the veil keeping both worlds apart,
has ceased to exist in my head,
and i cannot stop its momentum.

i cannot shut the stream of sensory details
off in my brain ... cannot purge my mind
of faces, places, haunting and ethereal,
refusing to let me sleep.

not even writing about it -- acknowledging
its presence -- makes it go away.
the opposite of a dream you forget upon waking,
it is one i cannot seem to shed.

even now, the flow of subconscious thought
grows clearer, more detailed, making
my perception of real thought indistinguishable
from the fleeting scenes of my dreams.

click

2011-04-13T21:44:00.003-05:00

she cuddled up close to me,
burying her head on my shoulder,
letting out a few deep breaths
to mark the end of another day.

i clicked on the lamp.
"god, not again," she said.
"sorry honey," i said,
"you know it can't wait."

i turn on my laptop and
quickly hammer out the
poem brewing in my head
before it is lost like a dream.

i finish and click off the lamp.
"done?" she said playfully.
"yes, i should say so," i said.
she lay an arm across my chest.

her body is so comforting,
her quiet presence soothing.
and she is willing to share it
even though i make her wait.

i lie in the dark and think,
her patience, her caring,
that is true love, at least for me.
i laugh a little, and click on the lamp.

our father's house

2011-04-13T21:37:00.002-05:00

i sat in an empty pew
in an empty church,
fingering the cover of the
leather tome in my lap.

he came and got me
in his robes and all,
smile on his face,
he took me downstairs.

then i did things
in the name of the lord
that you never hear about
during sunday's sermon.

years later, i learned,
that he was no holy man,
just a sick, broken fool,
like oh so many others.

this is not a happy story...

2011-04-12T21:08:00.003-05:00

This is not a happy story.

In fact, it is quite the opposite.

Those seeking something of a lighter tone should look elsewhere.

In fact, I might highly recommend no one at all reads this story.

For it is not a happy one...

-------------------------------

The darkness surrounded him. He didn't know where he was, or how he got there. The floor felt cool, smooth. Stone?

Where am I? he thought.

Someone lit a brazier and his eyes adjusted to the scene. He was in a cell. Three stone walls -- the fourth a row of imposing iron bars. Someone opened the cell and gave him water. Then they extinguished the brazier.

Darkness. Again.

How long it stretched he could not say. Perhaps hours, perhaps days. When someone came by and lit the brazier again, they had another person with them. Or prisoner? They had a sack over their head at any rate. The "guard" flung the prisoner in the room and snuffed out the brazier.

Seconds stretched into minutes stretched into an uncomfortable period of silence. He was wondering if perhaps this other person was dead, their body unmoving. Yet he could hear their teeth chattering, and finally the rustling of their clothes as they moved to sit against the wall.

"Who are you?" the boy asked. He heard a sharp intake of breath, an indication he startled his cellmate.

"Where am I?" a quiet voice asked.

A girl, then.

"I don't know", he said. "Who are you?"

And they talked. At first about why they were there, which, given the circumstances and their general ignorance of the situation, quickly ended.

They sat in darkness, slowly growing to trust one another and talk more about their lives instead. While they slept a guard would put food and water in their cell. Even the light of the brazier seemed a lifetime away for the boy now.

Naturally, the two grew close. They huddled together at night for warmth, falling asleep to the sound of one another's breathing. When they woke, they had no concept of time. They would simply start talking once more. Their entire world, the darkness, the cell, and each other, went on for days.

One day, the guard did not come while they were asleep. And he did not have food and water with him. Instead, he entered the cell. Grabbing the girl by the wrist, he dragged her from the cell, the boy too dumbfounded to move or speak.

Where are they taking her? he wondered.
Wait! No! Sto--- But they were gone.

He cried that night in silent, racking sobs. When he woke, he was alone, save for the darkness.

A few days later, the guard returned with a prisoner who had a sack on their head. He threw them into the cell, finished off the weak fire in the brazier, and left.

"What did they do?!" the boy asked.

"W-what?" a meek voice answered.

It was not her. It was another girl.

And so they talked. She had many questions about why she was there, of course none of which he could answer. They sat in silence for as long as two people alone in the darkness can. Then she began to talk. Asking questions.

The boy relented eventually. It took longer this time, but he opened up, as he did before, and held her close at night to keep her skinny body warm. She was growing close to him...

Too close... he thought. And he thought right.

For one day, the guard returned, again with no food or water. The boy succumbed to a fit of hysteria, standing between the guard and the girl. Who were these people? Why were they doing this? These were questions he could not answer, and thus he acted on impulse.

The guard struck him down, took the girl by the wrist, and dragged her out of the cell. The boy, beaten and unconscious, at least did not cry that day.

When they brought the third girl, the boy was deranged. Broken within. The boy was not receptive. Indeed, for a few hours (or days?), the girl may have even thought herself alone in the cell. If not for a cough from the boy.

"Is someone there?" she said.
"Please, can someone help me? What is going on?!"

She, like the others, initially panicked and sought answers. Why was she there? What would they do to her? She had heard other girls screaming on her way in, what was going on?

Yet the boy knew what would happen if they grew close. His heart could not bear it. Not again. He remained silent and slept alone in a corner of the cell. Yet the girl would not comply.

"Please, tell me what's going on," she said through sobs. She begged him daily to speak to her. To give her the human contact necessary for people to avoid feeling like lost creatures.

And still the boy remained silent. The silence, the darkness, continued. Though the girl wept nearly every night, it was on one day that her sobs woke him from a faint sleep. Reverberating off the walls, it touched something inside him. Something he could not ignore. And so he crawled over to where she lay, and wrapped his arms around her.

"It's OK," he said.
"Everything will be OK."

The boy could not sleep that night.

He still did not speak much, only providing her the comforts of human touch, of knowing one is not truly alone even in such a hell as this. Yet, for all his silence, the girl was determined to speak enough for them both.

She spoke of her life before she was taken. Of her parents, her friends, her dog. Apparently, she really loved her dog. The boy smiled at that.

"And then, one time, my dad was looking for hours, only to find he was under my bed the whole time!" she said, a tiny giggle escaping her lips. A foreign sound in the darkness. One that was not a tiding of happiness, but foreboding. That night, the boy grew increasingly worried.

When he woke, the boy was breathing heavily, anxiously. The girl's head gently rose and fell in tandem with his chest, her ear pressed up against his heart. He began searching with his foot, trying to feel for the bowl of water or dishes of food. He searched desperately, hoping with what little was left in him that they would be there. That the guard had come while they slept.

And then he felt them with his toes. Relief hit like a thunderclap, then spread through his being like a flood overtaking the land, encompassing everything in its wake. The girl woke and touched his lips.

"You're smiling," she said.
"I like how that feels. You should smile more."

The pair would come to spend almost all of their waking days in constant physical contact with one another. Other than their voices, it was all they had to assure themselves they were not crazy. They were not truly alone.

Time in the darkness had reached a point where it was no use guessing how long it had been. Perhaps many months, perhaps several years, there was no point guessing. Every day the world to them consisted of three stone walls, a row of iron bars, and each other. Until, of course, the guard appeared one day, his face solemn in the flickering light of the brazier, his hands empty.

The boy woke with a start, sitting up. Shapes and shadows ... angles. Seeing the guard standing there, seeing the light of the brazier. How long had it been? His brain frantically tried to remember how to make sense of the images. He glanced down to the small lump of a person, rags wrapped tightly around her, her head in his lap, the light illuminating a tangle of brown hair and the side of a very fragile-looking face.

The guard took a step forward. Fear swelled through the boy, threatening to paralyze him as the guard made his way toward them.

No, the boy thought.
Not this time. Not this one!! Not her!!

He unceremoniously threw her to the ground and lay on top of her. Not in a warm, caring embrace, but roughly, reaching his arms around her waist and locking his fingers together. She started to scream, terrified of the light, the commotion -- an abrupt shift from her normal reality. Then terror overtook her, and she fell limp, and whimpered.

The guard tested the boy. At first a modest prod with his boot, then a swift kick to his side. The boy grunted, but did not relent. He would not. Not this time. Even though something within him had broken from his past encounters, it was slowly being rebuilt, and was now harder than ever. It was through sheer force of will he withstood the blows of the guard, determined not to let go.

The guard eventually left, but still the boy held on tight. The girl began to cry in earnest. She forced herself around, and with the brazier's light, turned to look at the boy. Their gaze met for the first time, locked on to one another. Eyes dancing madly in the brazier's firelight, they took each other in completely in that moment. All that they had shared until then was a fraction of what they learned as they gazed deep inside one another. They had, at that moment, found peace at last.

And a short-lived peace it was.

The guard returned with three others this time. The boy lasted as long as he could, but eventually he was separated from the girl, and the last he saw of her from his swollen eye and blurred vision was her foot as she was dragged down the hallway, out of his vision, before the light was stamped out once more.

The boy hurt. Physically, he was sore, of course, but he hurt on a much more profound level. He was broken again, and certain he was beyond repairing now. There would be no recovery from this. No more girls. He would not go on. That, at least, he could control. He crawled into the corner of the cell, and closed his eyes.

--------------------------------

The darkness surrounded him. He didn't know where he was, or how he got there. The floor felt cool, smooth. Stone?

Where am I? he thought.

Someone lit a brazier and his eyes adjusted to the scene. He was in a cell. Three stone walls -- the fourth a row of imposing iron bars. Someone opened the cell and gave him water. Then they extinguished the brazier.

Darkness. Again.

2011-04-12T20:10:00.002-05:00

a bit of suffering is good
every now and again.
a reminder that our lives
are not really about us at all.

for what is a life with no pain,
or hurt, or sorrow?
could we ever be truly happy,
amid constant gratification?

such events snap us back
to a world, a reality,
where our complaints,
our worries, are trivial.

yet care must be taken,
else the darkness consumes
all that we hold dear
and good in the world.

indeed, 'tis a necessity,
and yet, so is recognition,
of how a life not spent living,
is not worthy of living at all.

daddy's little girl

2011-04-11T18:57:00.002-05:00

a rogue strand of sunlight
fights through the curtains,
falling across my neck
as i lie face-down on the bed.

i hear the sounds of waves
crashing against the beach
and the huff and puff
of someone behind me.

i smell the ocean air,
mixed with cheap motel
and the scent of sweat,
alcohol, and other fluids.

i see people strolling
the boardwalk outside,
and the television reflects
a pair of thrusting hips.

i taste the drugs
still on my tongue.
and they are bittersweet,
filled with regret.

but i do not feel a thing.
neither inside nor out,
and at least -- for this --
i am thankful.

2011-03-26T16:51:00.002-05:00

she was always in love with other men
and came to me when they broke her heart.
i smoothed her hair and rubbed her back,
doing my duty, playing my part.

you could say i was her only friend,
the only man who didn't kiss her.
i didn't ask her out on dates,
and didn't buy her liquor.

perhaps that's why it hurts so much,
knowing deep down how i feel.
that she needs me more as i am,
and not as another heart to steal.

2011-03-26T09:54:00.002-05:00

i woke to a grey sky
and a rain that came,
then went, darkening
the bark of trees.

i lay with my eyes
opened, staring out,
my heart a mirror
of the scene outside.

i did not stir that day,
not even to eat
or pick up the phone
to seek comfort.

my eyes closed,
and i dreamt,
and i woke,
and the sun was up.

semester abroad

2011-03-24T19:35:00.003-05:00

our meeting was entirely happenstance,
the kind that happens in movies
that leave your heart aching, and mind racing,
"that never happens in real life."

but her smile was like a warm wall,
always halting me where i stood.
i would often get lost in her eyes,
and she would do little to help me get out.

and even though i was only visiting,
i quickly fell in love with her oversized sweaters,
matching colored wool socks,
and tea with her family.

we had lots of time to talk,
high "petrol" costs meant
everyone rode the bus --
unless it was a special occasion.

and it rains a lot there, you know.
but we didn't mind
being stuck inside.
we had each other -- in more ways than one.

afterward, the only sounds were
the soft sound of her breathing
and quiet noise of the radio news,
talking about pileups on streets i didn't know.

when it was time, she drove me --
yes, with her car -- to the airport.
my shoulder was ripe for crying on then,
i had done most of mine alone the night earlier.

of those final moments,
i do not remember much.
only the final words she said,
lyrics from her favorite song:

don't forget me, i beg,
i remember you said,
sometimes it lasts in love,
but sometimes it hurts instead.

2011-03-06T00:40:00.003-05:00

pressed up against me,
on such a cold night,
cocooned within my arms,
it's hard to tell her no.

and though embracing her
leads to complication -
and ultimately sadness -
i do so time and again.

perhaps it is the warmth
of another human body,
or maybe it's the comfort
of knowing i'm not alone.

2011-02-24T22:01:00.003-05:00

i will never be content
with what i have
or where i am,
where i am headed.

i will always want to be
somebody different,
with another life
that is always out of reach.

all i really want
is to stop wanting
a different life
and to accept the one i have.

2011-01-05T22:14:00.004-05:00

i told her it was my first real date
and could tell she was shocked
by the look on her face
and how she immediately glanced
down at her phone.

checking the time, maybe?
counting down the minutes?
i wonder if it's over before it started
when she changes the subject.
i'm nice -- i laugh, i smile, i be myself.

she says she has my number
from the dating site and will call me.
something in her voice tips me off,
and i know i'll never see her again
except in painful memories.

i try not to be pathetic, pitiable,
and instead to keep my chin up
and say tomorrow's another day.
if only i haven't been saying that
for the past 10 some-odd years.

every time

2010-12-10T00:22:00.004-05:00

probably the hardest part of our breakup
was the fact that we lived in a small town.
it wasn't the gossip -- although there was plenty of gossip.
no, it was everywhere we'd gone together,
and the fact that every time i went some place
i was reminded in some way of you.

every time i went to the diner,
by myself, with family, or friends,
i'd glance over at our booth in the corner,
recall joking how you no-so-delicately
smothered everything in ketchup
and remember the taste of your mouth afterward.

every time i'd go to see a movie at the drive-in
all i could think of was the smell of your car,
mixed with gasoline, popcorn, and smuggled beer.
i'd get so cold sitting there in the car,
and then remember the blanket
we used to huddle under to stay warm.

our old high school is probably the worst.
it's what i drive past every day on my way to work,
and is a bitter reminder of happier days.
i constantly ask myself what i did wrong,
only to remember those words you said:
"it's not you, it's me."

was it, really?

2010-12-08T23:00:00.002-05:00

it's always ridiculous looking back
at the heart-breakers, the what-ifs,
the could-have-beens and happily-ever-afters.

you almost laugh at the silly things
like first and last name combinations
or what you'd name your children.

at the time you're so engrossed
and often drowning in a sea
of potential love and harmony.

yet when you finally surface
it isn't despair -- but relief --
that the future is still yours.

even now

2010-12-08T22:36:00.002-05:00

even now, i enjoy the smile
that has changed so much,
yet somehow looks the same
as the day you were born.

i still can't resist you,
even though i try.
and gone are the days
when tickling actually worked.

seeing you hurt, inside or out,
is in some ways more painful
than feeling pain myself,
or having my own heart broken.

even now, as a grown woman,
with your head in my lap
and tears on your cheeks,
i love being your father.

2010-12-01T12:23:00.002-05:00

stomach and chest tighten
deep breathing to no avail
nerves and fanciful what-ifs
swimming around in my mind

i will them to pass, to go away
and leave me at peace again,
but anything worth having
often comes at a price.

it won't go away, none of it.
the feeling under my solar plexus,
the thoughts that belong in dreams,
the future i'll never have.

2010-11-09T00:45:00.002-05:00

half covered in blankets
with one foot on the floor
i watch the fan wobble and whir
and the bare light bulb flicker,
turning a coffee table of empty beer bottles
into a flashing display of color.
i rub the handgun across my forehead
like i've done so many times before,
contemplating a decision
i know i'll never make.

2010-10-30T22:32:00.003-05:00

it's nights like these
i remember all the
fucked up things about
my life and who i am,
why i'm still alone
and entirely unfulfilled
with the course of
where i'm going and
where i've been.
completely unsatisfied
with my life thus far
and wondering if
it's possible to erase
who i am and start
as someone better,
start as someone i
might even love.

italy

2010-10-28T23:23:00.002-05:00

we went to italy together,
both in our 20s,
wanting to see more of the world.

our hotel overlooked
the venetian canals
packed with tourists.

at sunset we'd stroll
through golden streets
bustling with activity.

we made love,
mostly in the afternoon,
when the heat made us lazy.

we enjoyed the art,
paintings, buildings, food,
mostly in silence.

it was in those moments
we shared something great
that we can never get back.

pieces

2010-09-19T23:59:00.002-05:00

as a young man he yearned for love
but was never blessed by its embrace.
not knowing why it eluded him so,
he slowly closed his heart to the world.

harbored behind stone walls
that served as a layer of thick armor,
he gradually forgot his loneliness
and the longing for the forbidden.

years and years passed by,
with never so much as a dent
in the impenetrable fortress
he built around his soul.

imagine a man who never thirsted
go centuries without so much as a sip.
then on a particularly warm day,
years of thirst crashed on him at once.

such was the effect on his heart
when his invincible shield that
he thought was his protection
shattered to pieces at last.

newlywed

2010-07-11T00:24:00.003-05:00

there's something about marriage
you can't quite explain to newlyweds.
so you let them learn on their own,
through the bad times and the good.

at first they aim to please,
as they desperately seek
to avoid confrontation
at every possible juncture.

but soon the dam breaks,
both figuratively and with tears,
fights and yelling ensue; scars form
that may take months to fully heal.

after a long while the wedding day
and subsequent honeymoon fade,
details become forgotten,
like the first words you ever said to them.

if that couple is one of the lucky ones,
then just when love feels humdrum,
something will come along to spark it,
even for just one night.

those are the moments
that define a marriage.
the squeeze of a hand
that says i love you.

2010-07-11T00:11:00.002-05:00

i really, really want an apple,
but i've never, ever tasted one.
it's not that i'm not allowed,
and in fact i can't really say why.

i've licked one a few times,
just the right amount of exposure
to show me what i'm missing
and leave me crying for more.

day after day passes.
how come everyone
is eating apples but me?
and when will it be my turn?

2010-06-10T01:28:00.002-05:00

how do you re-enter the normal world
after your wife kills your baby?
leaves them floating face-down in the tub,
its cries finally muffled?

they say it was depression
mixed with words I can't pronounce.
words with funny spellings.
not words like Aaron.

they tell me she's sorry,
that she couldn't control it
and she really did love him.
they tell me because she can't.

how do you move on with your life
after it's been all but destroyed?
from where does one rebuild,
when all the pieces are shattered?

anniversary on a sunny day

2010-06-03T01:36:00.003-05:00

things were already on thin ice
before she ever walked through the door.
today was their anniversary, but, like always,
she wasn't expecting him to remember.

so when she saw him sitting at the table
with just a blank piece of paper and a sunburn,
no roses or chocolates at all,
her planned silence failed her.

he tried to explain, "no, baby, it's..."
but whatever it was, was lost,
her words exploded like bullets from a gun,
much to the same effect.

"can't you think of anything to say?"
"do you really feel nothing at all?"
"why waste your fucking time, then!"
"just go and get the fuck out!"

glasses shattered, water spilled,
and a dog next door started to bark.
stunned and without words,
he left her alone in the tiny kitchen.

she picked up the paper, its blankness mocking,
and sobbed tears, some sad, and some angry.
she didn't know if he'd be back,
and that only made her cry more.

she finally managed to wipe her eyes,
and looked once more at the sheet and saw,
a "Sunprint" watermark and something else,
an "I love you" for every time he'd forgot.

the ceo health club

2010-05-16T23:04:00.003-05:00

living in a big city like this, the sex clubs aren't even a secret.
white-collar CEOs pay $60 by the hour to use some underage girl.
the bright, flashing neon signs of a massage parlor hide the truth --
vietnamese, korean and thai teens packed into secret rooms like the hundred dollar bills in their customers' wallets.

whenever i go to one of these clubs i always ask for their most experienced girl.
i pay the $120 for 2 hours and she leads me into a room where a makeshift curtain over the door provides our only privacy.
she takes off her clothes and reveals such a small pair of breasts i know she's not 18.
she reaches for my crotch and i grab her hand and say "no."

the thing you have to understand about these girls is that behind their perfunctory smiles
and fake orgasms there's really just a damaged soul.
when they aren't moaning they're crying and praying to a God other than the one whose name they scream during sex.
that's why instead of offering another penis to suck, tug and grind, i offer a shoulder to cry on.

life as a dining hall

2010-05-13T19:54:00.003-05:00

an enormously large hall
filled with numerous tables.
but i won't visit them all,
even if i was able.

i can walk through this place,
head to the exit at the end.
or i could stop and chat,
perhaps even make a friend.

so what's it going to be?
head down or chin up?
leave after the main course,
or have the waiter refill my cup?

i may just stay awhile,
perhaps i'll find a wife.
i can't even see the exit,
surrounded by all this life.

vision

2010-05-06T20:58:00.002-05:00

where i see large black
and white buttons,
a pianist sees melodic
rhythms and tones.

where i see a disfigured
face and crooked eyes,
an artist sees the tormented,
struggling soul within.

where i see a confusing array
of jumbled letters and numbers,
a genius sees pieces
of a much larger puzzle.

and where i see myself,
normal, ordinary and simple,
vying for a place in this world ...
you see so much more.

rock, paper, scissors

2010-04-13T13:03:00.002-05:00

he had to have been at least 80,
his veiny, shaking hands
tossing salads and flipping burgers.

i worked for him as a waiter -
low pay and crappy hours.
but i always got the days off i wanted.

one time i asked for a saturday
so i could go see a concert downtown.
the day was also his anniversary.

'let's rock, paper, scissors for it,' he said.
my rock beat his shaking paper,
and for a minute i felt guilty.

another waiter tried the same thing
when no one could fill for them but the old man.
rock, paper, scissors, shoot ...

i wasn't surprised he picked paper.

running away

2010-03-30T23:16:00.002-05:00

i stare into the night,
which always seems darker
on the outside looking in.

a streetlamp down the road
marks my first destination
on this harrowing journey.

a quick check of my motives
and a few deep breaths later,
i enter the dark silence.

never ending

2010-03-25T00:51:00.002-05:00

how does one find purpose
in a boring nine-to-five job?
there is no deep meaning
in an everyday commute.

depression begins to sink in,
for tomorrow will be the same.
and the day after, and the next ...
what is it all for? to what end?

dissect my life into simple pieces,
such as work and livelihood ...
with a few moments of joy
strewn like sprinkles on a cake.

few and far between they are,
not enough to consider happiness.
so i live in the here and now ...
trying to convince myself it's enough.

wipers

2010-03-24T00:52:00.002-05:00

the rain goes 'pitter-patter'
on the hospital room's window
as i wonder if the man in the bed
is scared of what comes next.

he's remembering his life,
which seems to be nothing but
one giant, momentary wisp
trailing throughout his mind.

driving home i can only blankly imagine
what must be going through his head.
it isn't even raining anymore,
but my wipers continue their tireless motion.

ride

2010-03-20T02:24:00.000-05:00

sometimes i stop and wonder
if they're truly the one
if these are just growing pains
or if we're finally done.

the sizzle's turned to fizzle
is this ride already through?
heart and mind tormented
what ever shall i do?

when i wake up in the morning
and see them lying there.
i lie and say i love you
for the truth i cannot bear.

far from normalcy

2010-03-20T02:15:00.003-05:00

i awake to my blaring clock,
and stare around my messy room
that i've promised myself i'd clean
about seven or eight times now.

i make a pb and j for lunch,
for the sixth time this week.
its taste loses something every day,
like a fading pair of jeans.

the hardest part of my day
is knowing i still have a long way to go,
before missing you isn't a part
of my normal, everyday routine.

sweet dreams

2010-03-06T00:30:00.003-05:00

she's just there before me,
almost as if she was real.
her mouth is something i see,
but never something i'll feel.

this is the place where,
reality succumbs to dreams.
this is the place that,
hopefulness reigns supreme.

some starving part of my brain
concocts this little charade.
but when the sun comes up,
i feel alone and betrayed.

when i realize i can't have her,
my chest swells with despair.
the sweet, innocent dream,
becomes another nightmare.

doomed

2010-01-29T03:01:00.002-05:00

petty, low, base feelings,
destroy us at our cores.
they cause us to fight,
and lead personal wars.

all lead down the same road,
to despair and regret.
remember how to be happy?
or did you just forget?

instincts shrouded in culture,
our nature hidden behind the glass.
shatter it and you will see ....
but you can't, alas.

fly

2010-01-29T02:50:00.002-05:00

only the pure of heart
can fly over the seas,
on wings of fearlessness
with courage for a breeze.

for they have something
we all go without.
where they have faith,
we have doubt.

a little nugget in our head,
screaming "no, you can't."
impossible is just a seed
growing into a full-fledged plant.

this attitude keeps you grounded,
forever attached to the floor.
if only you learned to let go,
then you, too, could someday soar.

an old crush

2010-01-29T02:38:00.002-05:00

a crush in 11th grade,
blonde, large eyes,
sat in front of me
in 3rd period history.

one day she asked me
'do you know when we get out?'
the clock tick-tocked,
but my heart was stopped.

i'd like a crush like that again,
even if i never did talk to her.
i'd like to feel alive like that again,
even if i get hurt in the end.

an actor's death

2010-01-27T11:36:00.002-05:00

he spent his entire life acting,
pretending to be happy or sad.
he even died a few times,
in war trenches and beds.

how tragic it must be,
to watch those movies now.
his name in the credits,
like a gravestone to his career.

(sac)religious haiku

2010-01-27T02:43:00.002-05:00

you live by god's words,
and you let him guide your way.
what if it's not real?

meth addiction

2010-01-27T02:28:00.002-05:00

a cold, dead, white husk
constantly crawling at me,
inch by inch,
and i keep on running.

i gain some distance,
however little, every day.
but when it's time to sleep,
it's back there, getting closer.

is it gaining? falling behind?
the darkness is impenetrable.
inevitably, out of nowhere,
a vice-like grip gets a hold of me.

i punch it in the face
until my knuckles bleed.
but still it hangs on
and i'm dragged under again.

mug

2010-01-27T02:17:00.004-05:00

a newspaper sits on the floor,
propped up like a tent.
its pages spilled everywhere,
like guts from a sliced stomach.

only the comics page lies
on the kitchen table.
one headline reads:
boy found dead in ditch.

on the way to the recycle bin
it slips and is blown away by the wind.
a circle left behind by a wet coffee cup
frames the mug shot of the boy.

I fucking hate grocery shopping

2010-01-25T11:25:00.004-05:00

The whiny little shits
in the cereal aisle
who don't get want they want
and need to get slapped ...

And the ones who trail
behind their parents silently -
even through the candy section -
They've probably been slapped today.

The waddling pregnant woman
buying a case of High Life.
Who's that white trash kidding,
we know it's not for her husband.

The black thug eyeing an endcap
of Chap-Stic and hand lotion...
He's really eyeing that old woman
whose purse is barely hanging on.

A 30-something dude with long hair,
cross around his neck, holding a Bible,
wearing sandals with socks.
Fucking born-again Christian.

Middle-aged blonde in a skirt
up to the bottom of her ass.
I wonder who she's fucking.
Personal trailer? Her pool boy?

Disgusted, I go to check out,
where a sweet girl rings me up.
She probably wants to kill me
for delaying her lunch break.

Walking out I pass the ice,
and see my reflection in the glass.
This guy - this guy right here -
He's just fucking pathetic.

A Different Kind of Pain

2010-01-22T01:55:00.003-05:00

Started smokin' when she left me,
Now it's one or two packs a day.
Mom says it's not good for me,
But I do it anyway.

Tradin' one hurt for another,
First my heart and now my lungs.
If only I was stronger,
If only I was young.

Like I'm lost inside a forest,
Surrounded by decay.
The sun is slowly fading,
I light one up to show the way.

Fake It

2010-01-22T01:46:00.003-05:00

There's this little thing I do,
with everyone I know.
I smile and laugh and joke.
I put on a show.

Happy and jovial and together,
that's what they think of me.
When behind closed doors I cry,
until about 2 or 3.

I know I'm not the only one,
who chooses to live this way.
I'm your average, sad bloke,
Trying to get through the day.

Pursuit of Happiness

2010-01-22T01:42:00.003-05:00

Chasing it like a dream
that slips through your mind
like sand through your fingers,
yearning to be forgotten.

Seemingly unattainable
like a gust of wind
blowing through your open hands,
never to be stopped and grabbed.

It scampers and hides
down the rabbit hole
that is your soul,
yearning to be found.

that feeling you get

2010-01-15T02:25:00.003-05:00

you know the feeling you get,
when you are so parched
you can't even swallow,
and then have a glass of ice cold water?

you know the feeling you get,
when you've been on your feet
for the entire day,
and finally get to sit down?

you know the feeling you get,
when you tell someone close
a big, fat, juicy secret,
and your chest feels suddenly lighter?

that is pretty much how i feel
when i watch you sleep,
feel your touch,
and hear your voice.

little flower

2010-01-15T02:09:00.003-05:00

she walks through the garden,
slowly, and with care.
seeking no particular thing,
just looking here and there.

rows of roses and beds of buttercups
extend in every which way.
but what this girl is looking for,
not even she can say.

humming, ambling,
dreaming all the while.
when suddenly she spots,
a mound of dirt in a pile.

a few defiant, withered petals
stared her in the face.
so sad and pathetic
in such a beautiful place.

so when she scooped it from the dirt,
held it close and hummed a song,
that little flower finally knew,
it had found a place to belong ...

2010-01-15T02:02:00.003-05:00

i can only truly see you
in the pitch black of night.
you're forever blind to me,
until i close my eyes.

'somewhere' is where you are,
a place unknown to me.
i quietly wait for you
to fill this void in my soul.

or perhaps you're waiting,
for me -
to rise up from the emptiness
and claim you as my own.

2010-01-15T01:56:00.002-05:00

you're never truly alone
when you live in a world like this.
others will always share your pain,
your loneliness, and heartbreak.

when it seems like all is lost,
reach out and make a connection.
remember you are one of many
going through this challenge called life.

the best thing about this life we live,
is we can make it whatever we want.
so fake it if you have to -
and eventually it may come true.

live like the next best thing,
is just around the corner.
no matter how long it takes,
because, eventually ... it is.

incoherence

2010-01-14T02:28:00.003-05:00

more than anything i miss being a child. i miss believing in santa claus and the tooth fairy. i miss being ignorant.

when the magic leaves your life, and you realize how cold and cruel the world can be, things start to change. your outlook on life starts to warp.

there are no miracles, only coincidences. good things happen to bad people, and bad things happen to good people. things happen for no reason.

the fact of the matter is most people live incredibly boring lives. they do nothing of real importance, nothing that affects a large scale of people, and then they die. that's why so many people cling to ideals like family, to give their lives some shred of meaning.

others are married to their work, to their visions. i have no such thing to live for. not right now.

all i have right now is the knowledge that, like most people, i am vastly insignificant. in a hundred year's time my existence will have meant nothing, like most people. what i do today and how i approach tomorrow, therefore, are only for my benefit, for how i choose to live my life.

life is too short for me to feel this way. a change is needed. one only i can supply. the only question, then, is whether or not i will.

2010-01-14T02:25:00.002-05:00

i have no direction to go,
so i float.
i drift like a fallen leaf,
streaming down a winding river.

i pass by others,
happy and content.
while i'm still caught up
and remain in the current.

a fog descends upon me,
blocking the view ahead.
this river could be long,
so i pray for a waterfall.

Decapitation

2009-12-07T02:05:00.002-05:00

Blood pools around me,
stretching to the ends of the road.
Lying on my side,
I feel weightless.

I hear horns honking,
feel the wetness on my cheek,
as slowly my eyes close
and I see dark.

A few brief seconds
are all I have left.
Regrets devour me,
as I think ... if only ...

History

2009-10-06T21:57:00.002-05:00

History is an unforgiving beast,
claiming the identities of all.
Stealing away those who have lived
and locking them in her vault.

For when a man dies - as surely man does -
it becomes only a matter of time
and numerous generations past
before not a soul knows them true.

A name surely lives on,
feats and deeds, too.
But who they truly were?
Not anyone can say.

Fret not about your life, then,
lest you be remembered as a 'fretter'.
For in time all men die,
whisked away by History.