newlywed

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.

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

meth addiction

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.