red dress

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.