Welcome Back, Stranger

Cancer does a lot to someone’s appearance.
Everyone can see the new wrinkles you wear,
The hint of sparkle in your eyes you once had,
That is lost, lost with your identity.

I can’t help but realize how it wore you down.
Now you don’t have the motivation anymore.
It’s harder to get out of this bed nowadays.
What is your motivation, anyways?

But you don’t realize the truth of this lacking.
Your lack of strength is just a renewal of hope.
It’s the reason I can still get up every morning,
Even when I know things can fall apart.

It’s a light, guiding those without that hope
To find a reason for the pain you went through,
A victim to avenge, a suspect to get revenge.
All in the efforts of your losses.

Sure, it’s at your expense, but look at it now.
Look at how many people you have changed.
Look at me, and how I’m still holding on.
Hold on, because we’ll hold on with you.

Point One Finger, Get Three Pointing Back

Wake up.
Wake up in my bed.
Look down and see not what you know.
But what you’ll see is me.

Get up.
Get up out of bed.
Look around and see my room.
What has happened to you?

Walk out.
Walk out and live.
Live my life and see what I have to do.
See what it’s truly like from inside.

Open up.
Open up your eyes.
Find that not everything is what it seems.
That my challenges are true.

Come back.
Come back to yourself.
What have you learned from being me?
Has your perspective changed?

It will.
It will change us all.
Just understand what daily pain I endure.
Stop pointing fingers.

Especially when the person you’re pointing at,
Could be the person you needed all along.

If Only

If only you knew the way he looked at you.
If only you saw what it did to me, too.
If only it was as easy as you make it look.
If only just a glance was all it took.

Yes, I have my own relationship to love.
But what you have, it’s something to talk of.
I’m happy with what I have, I promise.
But this pain is something I know I won’t miss.

If only I had something to envy like that.
For someone to even envy me back.
Is it love if no one else sees it?
Is it love if no one else believes it?

Don't Look Down, I'm Holding Your Hand

Love cannot be comprehended.
It is a way of life, concealed
From all who dare to learn it’s ways,
From all who dare to say “I love you.”

Love is an emotion, not an action.
It can be verbalized, and seen,
But never truly tangible by humans.
The Way is learned, not taught.

No human can ever teach to love.
Love is an act within itself.
An act of unselfishness, compassion.
It demands and punishes cruelly.

Any brave soul that dare to try
Will not be allowed through today.
Love will not be sought out.
Love will be stumbled upon.

It is the most unlikely of events,
That two people may realize that
The second hand that holds yours
Belongs to one that reciprocates love.

To reciprocate love is to love unconditionally,
An act to be tested by most.
Unconditional love is merely a test
Of your willingness to sacrifice for love.

Is it love if you would rather hear
The beat of one’s heart over
The beat of a band’s bass drum
More than anything else in the world?

The Perks of Masochism

It’s like reverse psychology.
A mistake is made, I blow up.
With ease, you turn it on me.

How do you get away with it?
How can you do this to me?
How do you make it look so easy?

I become instantly miserable,
A reaction uncontrolled
In this Chemistry experiment.

Don’t play with my emotions
Just to prove that you can.
We all know how you work.

I’m just a time bomb,
Waiting for the perfect moment
To cause a scene, a tragedy.

They call me crazy for this.
Going crazy over you, of course.
They don’t know what it’s like.

It’s like watching your favorite soap.
You always criticize the dumb one
For crying over a break up.

Screaming at the television,
You tell her getting back with him
Is the biggest mistake of her life.

But you aren’t in her shoes.
You don’t feel what she feels.
She unknowingly walks on cloud 9.

You are still here on Earth.
You can’t discover the wonders there.
But you blame her misery on her actions.

It’s not something you can help.
Trust me, I’ve tried.
And it’s worth it, I know.

It’s worth crying your eyes out
And ruining the perfect party.
Because the after party is better.

You come for the party.
But no one ever stays for it.
You stay for the rush afterwards.

It’s a form of masochism.
Except it has more perks.
It’s so much more rewarding.

A Dose of Regret

You are so smart.
Intelligence and common sense beyond belief.
The ability to see through people that are fake.
A true sense of what life is.

But you have your flaws.
The inability to read one’s true feelings.
A dramatic sense of superiority above others.
You seem to think you know me better than I do.

I hate to say it, love,
But when you can’t stop and listen,
Stop and truly listen to someone and feel
And understand rather than criticize.

You need a reality check.
Just a fix of compassion, paired with a diagnosis.
It’s the perfect concoction to change this.
Just an intervention too overdue.

It’s a problem.
A problem that roots from the depths of hell.
It corrupts from the inside out.
Then there is no way to escape it.

If this was the way.
The way to tell you how this feels,
How much this affects not only you, but me.
And how close it could cut this,

Then maybe,
A dose of regret is all you need.

The One Problem the Plumber Can't Fix

An exchange of unnecessary breaths
In exchange for a few tears again.
Follow the routine, it's all I know.
Why can't we pass a sunrise without it?

After a bitter goodbye, we'll part as usual,
Broken, understanding this torn feeling.
You've left with no regrets, no sympathy.
Tomorrow, broken is but a myth for us.

But these pieces, they don't fix themselves.
A steady hand and voice are all we need
To prepare this act you plan to ensue.
You're too great an actor for this cynic.

"Save the drama," that's your motto,
But I can't save this unfinished business
For tomorrow's reenactment--it's too much.
There's only so much I can do for you.

Leave this untouched, it will perish soon,
Then you'll regret this, you'll regret me.
My metaphors can't save a dying flame.
Can they save a freshly lit one?

Keep your files, they'll come in handy.
Just when the hurricane diminishes our
Any hope, you can get a rain check.
Then maybe, I'll stay until tomorrow.

AA is for Quitters, So Where do You Go?

Choke on the words then spit them out.
There's no cure to this flourishing addiction.
To you, quitting just isn't an option.

It's the scent of your late night words
When they confuse me and make me agree
To this problem, a vile monster in the making.

I've come to a controversial conclusion--
We could fight it, but no one would win.
This demon could be the end of what we know.

I could never blame this on you, however,
Only to the extent of your self-inflicted addiction,
But keep me in mind, don't blow it off.

Too deep into this for medication or therapy,
The doctors can only treat the sick, not this.
They'll grimace and pretend they don't know.

We know, they're lying through bloodstained teeth.
Just keep this between us, under the wraps of
Tomorrow's conversation, and I'll lie for you, too.

Never mind the sighs, you knew what they meant.
Keep this to yourself, things won't change soon.
The broken quitter's promise is for my ears only.

We Play Games, but This Time I Win

The game is over--I can show you the score.
Seven days, zero passion, I think I've won this fair.
I'll show you what it's like, though you've no care.
This time we can't lose, in the end I'll gain more.

Though that bit of you remains, I don't believe
The rumors that spread; my mind stays, you go.
Let me have this glory, you'll pay no mind, I know.
I know in the end that we'll both pay a fee.

Let me brag, just one night, reciprocate the pain.
You won't feel a thing, just smile till it ends.
I won't blame you for the loss your grin send
Down my spine, your words wash out like hell after rain.

Scream until your lungs give out, don't understand
Why I've left you no note, no trace of my heart.
Next time you'll see me, we'll shake from the start,
Back to square one we go, you know it's all planned.

No more misunderstood, no more late night cravings.
I'm done and I've left you to dwell in the dust
Of what you made me--a mess, and you're the must-
have of the summer, but this time, you're losing.

You Want Publicity? You'll Make Headlines When We're Through

Doubt.
A word that crosses the mind,
A word that hexes the heart,
A word that stains the lips.
For once, don't let it stop
You from what is right.

Far-fetched.
A cliche word that hurts,
Scars like the realization
You might never get to where
You truly want to be in life.
When did this affect you so?

Never.
A time period beyond me,
The possibility of never
Getting there, getting to
The place everyone else said
You would never ever reach.

Persevere.
A true verb to take to heart,
Something I know you know
Will get people far in life.
You say you want to make it.
Will you stay long enough?

Us.
A pronoun that never meant
More than a collective term,
But now it stands for fate
Of where you can take this
With us right beside you.

Unsent Love Letters

Dear stranger,
It seems that I must introduce myself.
I am your latest nightmare, it's true,
But I am not your worst. That's you.
I am sure you have met me before,
In a place that not even I remember.
All I know is how we relate, and how
Our two circles share a common point.

Dear stranger,
We've yet to talk formally, casually,
About the wage at stake for your hand.
Every card is on the table, no regrets.
Let go of everything you knew before.
There's only two choices left for you--
Pick me up, or let me fall back down.
Either way, you know you'll win the bet.

Dear stranger,
It seems that we should meet someday,
For a cup of coffee, a card game or two?
Discuss the future, or ours, your pick.
I just don't think I should let this go.
I always thought there was something.
Let's clarify our current relationship.
Was there even anything there to start?

Dear stranger,
I'm sorry if I've rushed into this.
You don't seem comfortable here.
Neither am I, if you aren't either.
Let's start from the top, if you will.
I am your latest problem, biggest mistake,
Something you'll want to take back.
But I know you won't because neither will I.

VIP Passes Never Sounded So Sweet

I've never been good at waiting in line.
Never for something I've wanted so badly.
Occasionally, I'd let someone skip me,
The courteous kind, but not with you.

You were different, you were something
That even if I stepped out to get popcorn,
I had a feeling that the wait would be
More than worth what I had paid for.

I guess that's the reason for all this.
I've created a mess of my own fault.
My selfishness once again the cause to
Argue, to forget, to live without this.

I didn't think you'd ever get to the
Point in my thoughts so vitally thought
Of that you'd seep into my fingers.
You're all that's on my mind for now.

It's the pattern of weather that nears
Every time a hurricane forms offshore,
The tropics just giving me an excuse
To build up my heart for the heavy winds.

I want to hesitate, but I don't want
To wait for you to come around anymore.
It's caused a one-sided battle between
Two best friends. What have you done?

So I'll give you all the time you need
To answer the letter I never got to send.
I don't expect a response anytime soon.
But don't keep me at my mailbox forever.

And Then There Was You

Closely-knit from the seam to create a stitch
too tight to break, too close for comfort.
You are the best friend I'd never have again.
Our odds from the start were slim to none.

The pick me up on those Wednesday nights,
Where my first instinct was to rather hide
Than face the hell ahead of me come tomorrow,
You painted a permanent smile that would last.

Just like the old story of the good girls who
Became the "in crowd" and suddenly, cool was
A matter of name-calling and rumor-spreading,
Why have you become another one of them?

This is not the person who could obsess over
His idol for hours and never think of another
Or sing songs that he wished he could write
Even though I knew he could do it himself.

This is not the same person who told me that
One day, no matter what, he would be the one
On stage, singing and doing what he loves,
But now he doubts what he has, what he wants.

You have become a different person, an identity
Unknown to my system, unwelcomed at the least.
The in crowd has corrupted someone I love.
This is not the first case I've seen, however.

I'll give you time to reflect on this new
Choice you've made, this changed person who
I used to adore absolutely, because I know
You know better than what you're up to now.

You're changing, I know, and I can't keep you.
But I want to hold on to what I can just to
Remember that at one point, there was you,
And there was no problem with that.

Mercy

We'll spit into our sweaty palms and shake hands,
Money on the table for whoever wins this time.
Flip the coin, it lands on your call, heads.
I'll sit back and grin with too much confidence.

You grab my arm and twist, the hair on my neck is
Raised by the pain this game of Mercy lends me.
A sudden flashback of everything you've ever done
Spins through my head, and I cry Mercy yet again.

You let go, that smirk is on your face once more.
Take your winnings, my summer's savings, look away.
I've lost for what seems like the billionth time.
I've learned to stop fighting for what I can't have.

Can You Regret Wanting What You Still Don't Have?

Slip into a trance-like state.
Lose me to a blank letter
That might mean more to me
Than you ever could.

It'll show more affection
Than you could accumulate
From your "relationships."
I don't have the right to this.

I'm calling you out on my
Own problems, all your fault.
But I won't back down from it.
It's all your fault again.

I'll put down my pen like you
Put down my feelings.
But don't forget how you felt
When she left you with nothing.

Forget it, I'm done with you.
For months you've gotten
Under my skin and I don't
Feel myself anymore.

I'm infuriated by you, I think.
Is it just a temporary storm,
Or will it hover just like
The luck of eight shattered mirrors?

Maybe the blame doesn't fall
On your shoulders, where I say
It does, maybe it's just all on me
For ever realizing you exist.

Glassy Eyes and Cloudy Skies

Chronic time wont let this pass me,
but the way I see it, we're just barely
filling in the space you left so empty
for us to replete mistakes worth making.

Thousands of breaths fog up this glass.
The white wash of memories in my past
will not reveal itself too fast.
So stay in tune and maybe you'll see.

Glassy eyes wont let this slip.
Not this time.
Not now.

Will this whole thing hit or miss?
I won't this time.
Not ever again.
Not this time.

I no longer touch the heart but rap it
so hard it'll shatter to pieces fit
to only your puzzle, your body vacant.
If you could exchange for another, would you?

My words are not what they used to be.
The effect is not perspective-changing but drowsy.

Glassy eyes wont let this slip.
Not this time.
Not now.

Will this whole thing hit or miss?
I won't this time.
Not ever again.
Not this time.

We'll hold on to what we have for now.
Can I hold you to this vow?
I'm not ready for your insensitivity
to keep me from keeping faith.

Glassy eyes wont let this slip.
Not this time.
Not now.

Will this whole thing hit or miss?
I won't this time.
Not ever again.
Not this time.

Time Flies, Can You Teach Me How?

Fixed on the scalding black asphalt,
the sun fuses its rays with raw skin,
trying to teach me a lesson.
Make me aware of the plight I'm in.
I hide the time from this very spot.

We can't continue to just lay here.
The progress we've made is wearing thin.
Pedestrians, our friends, ask how we've been.
The look on my face confesses to chagrin.
The look on yours is one of pure fear.

Can we get out of this ghost town?
Can we get past our past and move on?
I'll spend time on this plan, start at dawn
and work til we've synthesized a battle won.
I won't go til we've gotten around.

We've wasted time for too long.

Anticipation Doesn't Kill, it Scars

There's a party I'm not invited to,
but I'm crashing it with pride.
I'll count down the days til I
break my heart for the sixth time.

I'll waltz in, unannounced and unashamed,
just to watch you with the girls
I know you'd rather have in lieu of me.
It's not news to me when this unfurls.

The host of the party won't even know
the reason for crashing when I've
no business to be in their home,
no business but what I don't have.

Another few hours I'll merely waste,
dancing with guys but looking at you.
Crashers aren't welcomed in your presence.
But I'll do it; these boys are easy, too.

Mind if I introduce myself to your friends?
Of course not, the others occupy your body
while I casually pretend I don't want you.
I'm not forward, but my moves are shoddy.

In the mist of my scheming for this bash,
I'll count down the days only to discover
that the closer I get to my destination,
the more the pain seems to hover.

Each day, I'll mark off with an X,
another nick on my calendar and heart.
And at the end of this soiree,
I'll have twice the amount from the start.

Mirrors Don't Lie, Especially When Broken

Staring into the clean glass bowl,
my own reflection is distorted
as am I, but no one can see it.
I can't believe I've done this.

I look through everything to the
darkness of my past mistakes.
As clear as the ocean's waters,
I don't like what I am seeing.

I had never been so utterly disgusted.
So repulsed by something to the
point that sickness takes control.
Does your stomach churn like a washer?

Maybe it's the flu, or the messages
that reveal who I hate the most.
When I see this, it's legitimate hate
for what I've done wrong.

After all this time of pointing fingers,
blaming you for the hurt I feel,
I can finally turn it around and say
I am completely repulsed by my reflection.

I've Done the Limbo; How Low Can You Go?

When you don't find what you're looking for,
do you settle for less when there's more
than you'll ever need right in front of you?

When is it that you completely let go of
everything you've expected because what
you got just gave even more disappointment?

What is the maximum hurt you are allowed to
endure when all you've known is pain?
When the speed limit is surpassed and lapsed?

Questions go unanswered til someone comes along
with the capacity for hurt of a thousand lost lives.
Who will be the one that changes the standard?

TVs Aren't in Black and White Anymore, So Why Should Love Be?

Nothing is ever distinct anymore.
There are no right or wrong answers.
But, at times, some can be favored, right?
It's on a case by case basis we decide.

One this I know for sure is about love.
It's considered to be in black and white--
You love someone, or you don't, fin.
But doesn't it have it's shades of gray?

How about the times when you love someone
and your destiny is inevitable?
Or the times when it's so beautiful to
be loved, and everything is in technicolor?

What makes love so defined by two people,
to the point where no one else is significant?
Those two people define a concept too strong
to stand without explanation, or confirmation.

Love is not black and white.
You can love but never feel it reciprocated.
Or fall in love with someone so unexpected.
Sometimes love is not a desirable thing,

But a mere punishment for what you cannot have.

Where To Next?

Miles and miles of road.
Empty, lifeless, hell-bound.
I look back to the cold
atmosphere of the last town.

I've left behind a memory--
Scarred, broken, faded.
It's one of just you and me,
our relationship, degraded.

Every time it happens,
I run on days like today.
Scenery is misshapen
when I chase the pain away.

Now fifty past the limit
I've forgotten your face.
My plan works too legit
to believe I can erase

what happened not long ago.
Was it days? Or hours?
For now I'll lay low.
This time is ours.

Well, it used to be.
That's what I remember.
Maybe I just dreamed
of late nights in December.

The cold ones that you held
like me, wrapped in your arms.
Of warm fire you smelled,
You did me no harm.

At least, that's what you said.
But you said a lot of things.
Like, "Let's go ahead and
fly to Colorado Springs."

Little did I know we never
escaped the cold like we meant.
Now without you, I can shiver
and pronounce you hell-bent.

I left loved ones
just to make this with you.
But these are just reruns
of the show you hated, too.

We went places, lots of them.
Invisible towns like Fort Worth.
But where you're heading,
has no compass marking North.

The moral, I guess,
is something too simple to
have taken long to press.
Just do not pursue
what was never there in the first place.

Dogs Have Cleaner Tongues Than People

I don't mean to be a nit picky bitch,
but his pants hang a little too low.
His kiss smells of cigarettes and lies.
He's been hanging with that chick next door.

It's hard to see because he's hiding
behind the six stringed ballads he writes.
It might be a punch in the face you need
to realize that he's never wanted you.

His affection will continue to addle you
and get you to think he's something he's not.
I can't believe a girl so smart, so sensible,
entails me to tell her about a boy.

Can we call him that? Is he truly qualified?
Or maybe he's just a pig, rolling in his own dirt.
So thick on his cute pink skin you can't tell
what's what anymore, and it's true.

You're Exactly my Brand of Bic Pens

I guess it seems like a pretty peculiar thing to ask,
But I feel obligated with our mutual interest and all.
You write poems, the kind that make a girl swoon.
I write stories, the kind that make you reassess your "morals".

It's not invasive, I promise. Just an inquiry for my benefit.
I already know your daily grind--squint, pout, inquire.
Make this interrogation less tedious and answer me--
When you pour out your heart and soul, is it in pencil or pen?

It sounds mediocre, I know, but there's meaning behind it.
I can tell the type of person you are by the utensils you use.
Just like you can read between the lines of symbolism,
I'll tell you everything there is about who you truly are.

If you're a pencil kind of person, you are precise and cautious.
A step forward could just as easily be a step back in your mind.
Mistakes aren't easily identifiable with an eraser in hand.
You can hide them before anyone else sees what you've done.

But with pens, you must be spontaneous and adventurous,
Never caring of the outcome of what may be a bad move.
Living life is not an option for you, but an obligation to fulfill.
Whatever happens happens, and your philosophy is set in stone.

I can respect your conception on whether I'm erratic or rational.
This is just something that aids my analysis on your suitability.
Either you can sipher this in pen and go forth with my inquiry,
Or erase this in your mind and pretend like I never happened.

Don't try and be sneaky if you're using that pen for this poem.
I'm not easily forgettable; in the end, you'll just scratch me off.
Just another lottery ticket with no prize, no dollar redemption.
That's why I prefer pencil--you'd just be a faded memory.

Heartaches in the Shape of Sleeping Bags.

The sun bakes her skin like a scorching basketball court.
Her body is shaky with the silent pain she suffers.
Just climbing into the car is enough to cause collapse.
Nestled against the door, she acts the part of composure.

In the rearview mirror, her pain isn't visible to the chauffeur.
He's oblivious to her salt-stained face, her broken pieces.
"How does it feel? Is it throbbing?" He asked, her leg the subject.
"No," she says, replying solely to tell another truth.

"It doesn't throb." Her hand was over her heart. "It just hurts."

Simulate My Sentiment; Depict My Despair

My fingers shake as they move to meet the misted glass.
I can't tell if this is worth taking the chance.
The rumors are overwhelming and they tease me to believe.
But I'm completely resolute on disclosing this truth.

I don't understand how you see me through here,
a hidden portal to the depths of my personality.
You're not afraid to scrutinize this glass for any traces of life.
And I admire that from someone who can't see the clear.

This figure stands before you, a pure representation
of who you thought you molded into the ideal being.
I'm sorry to admit that what you believed before was all wrong.
I shake the mirror to get you to feel how she feels inside.

Frightened at the prospect of falling into the mirror,
can we act as the old ritual which the dramatists performed?
Like two opposing poles of a magnet, attracted but held back
at the very thought of being connected by the moon's force.

Don't expect to believe we're anything more than pertinent,
not more than two contrasting heartbeats emulating the same action.
Don't take this to heart and believe I'm writing this for you.
This is for me, though you can probably see it, too.

I'm Sure I Don't Need My Medication Today

Maybe it's the angle of the stage as I look to see you staring at me
or the glare of the lights in your cherry red Fender.
I'm pretty sure the flashing effects are just giving me epilepsy.

I can't help the way the speakers play tricks and your eyes deceive.
I'm sure that the color fakes a story just like Barbie's boobs fake Ken's attraction.
Don't blame me if the darkness reminds me that I'm alone and
when I see you there I can't help but think that isn't true anymore.

Whatever it is, there's no resignations for this career.
You can't walk back to make progress, or strum
backwards to make a beautiful chord.
So, as much as I hate to admit it,
I think I'm in love with a rock star.

Dirty Laundry

Days have gone by since I've moved from this spot.
Alone on my bed, the ceiling fan mesmerizes me,
as do your eyes, as I stare, content with the time
never moving past now, stuck at five past two.

But my closet stays open, calling for me to wake up.
Wake up and realize, the time spent looking in your eyes
is wasted time, useless while my dreams disintegrate.
Tell me it's too late to go back, no time to erase mistakes.

These are mistakes not even Wite Out can correct.
The stains on this tshirt are too much for OxiClean.
They'll accumulate until they've become one with the fabric.
Mistakes that become who I am, never to be forgotten.

One of these days I'll pick myself up, decide that my
mistakes are too much of who I am, I can be better.
I promise I can be better, and you know I'll stay true.
One of these days I'll decide it's time to change.

Fall

A rush of wind whips past me.
I feel weightless for a moment,
but it never seems to satisfy
my devoir to feel solid ground.

Falling into God knows where,
I never seem to touch the bottom.
Never sense the relief of knowing
I'm safe where I belong.

I plunge but never feel the ground.
Why is all the pain on the way down?
It seems too masochistic to admit.
I want to hit rock bottom, just once.

The terrain is rough, I'm so close
I can see the ridges of rocks
so sharp, threatening to kill.
I almost lust for the affliction.

Let me fall to the depths of desire.
Let my actions take me where they may.
I need to feel the warmth of earth
even if it leads to a certain, unsought fate.

Which, we all know, it always does.

'Assume' Makes an Ass out of You and Me

"You're not looking within the writing, Joseph," the instructor said, rapping her hands against the table, "It's clear that the character had a reason behind killing his father. He must have some psychological deficiency to do this. No one kills their paternal family members without reasoning." The man next to her, apparently named Joseph, sighed heavily and slouched, defeated at his own game.

"Now, who else has interpreted this work? You can tell by the heavy symbolism the author uses in the first line how he feels like a fish deprived of water, gasping for air, unable to find the right source of life. How can he, as a person, feel deprived of water or air? Now, in the next line he describes the suffering of the fish as the gills "move in an out as if the currents would continue to fill his lungs". Come on people! You have to see through this nonsense. You have to make it sound real. Does it sound like he was really writing about a fish?" The bell rings, signaling the adult group that the literature discussion session was over. Everyone exits the classroom and the instructor strides over towards the chalkboard, hands furiously scratching against the surface, scribbling analytical notes.

But not everyone has left the room. A man, sitting in the far back corner, a pen tucked neatly behind his ear and a cigarette between his teeth, simply laughs at their naivety. At the sound, the woman turns to look at him, a piece of half gone chalk still intertwined with her fingers.

"You're over-analyzing it," the man says, tossing the cigarette to the ground and putting out the slight blaze with the ball of his foot. "What if things are exactly what they seem?" She raises a hand to interject. "I know." He doesn't allow her to speak. "Your book says that poetry is never what it seems to be. But what if the author felt like writing about a fish because it was better than writing about a dead person, one without feeling?" She looked slightly stunned at his proposal. He did not reply to her reaction, merely walked to the door and pulled the pen from behind his ear, using it to gesture towards the teacher. "Put that in your book."

Hey man, long time no talk.

I kind of miss talking to you and giving you advice about where to get a job. You're a really nice kid; I remember the last conversation we had. You asked me how my benefit concert was going and I asked you if you got your bass fixed since you last slammed it up against a wall. Yeah, I'm telling you, a lot of stuff has changed since we last chatted. I bet you're girl problems have finally worked out; I haven't told you about my current "relations."

But as long as it's been, I feel like this conversation could go on as normal. No awkward pauses, just staying up til four in the morning and not giving a damn about school the next morning. Wait, what? You've graduated? Wow, I don't even know where to begin about that because last time I checked you were seventeen and still halfway through your senior year. I guess times really do change. But hey man, it's been a long time since we've talked and I don't want to make you suffer through one of my speeches.

So what's up?

Endurance

*Found this on my MySpace blog. Sort of forgotten, but I love it.

Can you fix me?
The doll on the shelf, her stuffing hanging out.
The guitar in the corner, three strings broken.
Repair the damage
before the foundations crumble at our feet.
We are the factors.
Are you the cause?
I can't distinguish between the two anymore.
Just blurred figures in my peripheral vision.

Pick up the pieces
Multitask; break them, too.
I've seen it all done before. You're nothing new.
Your lies are cliches, the movie played too many times.
The song overplayed on the radio.
Make sure to water the plants
before they dry out, too.
My temperature rises with your temper.
I'm sick of you.

But maybe, just maybe,
I'll give you a second chance.
Can you pick up the slack
for the years of your worthless killings?
I'm indecisive on you trustworthiness.
But I'll fall just one more time.
Just make sure you catch me
before the world opens upand swallows us both.

The hell we must endure
proceeding your wrongdoings
is nothing compared to this.

Serious Writer's Block

Yeah, this kind of sucks.

Pinky Promise.

Sprawled like turtles unable to move,
we lay on the floor, thinking, waiting.
The smoke swirls just above our bodies,
not quite touching us, but taunting
with the threat to kill.

"Please, don't ever cut again," you say.
Your tone is serious, the smoke grows nearer.
I promise I won't, shying away from you.
"Pinky promise," you say, as our fingers intertwine,
a ritual long since practiced by me.

But you didn't know that my promise,
one woven together by a kid's game,
is my freshest wound.

Don't.

Blank pages. Empty words.
Meaningless sentences.
Nothing to say; nothing to mean.

How could I stand here and lie
right to your face? Spill emotions
that don't exist onto a canvas
all too passive to handle this.

Listen closely, for I won't repeat--
I can't cope with all that you want
me to. I can't divulge the secrets
of years ago because it's a game for you.

Don't expect too much from me.
My lips will remain sealed, my eyes
fastened tight for I will not trust myself
even if you say you do.

I'm not the friend you need or want.
Just a stand-in, a decoy til you find
what you really need. So don't expect
too much. Don't wait for me.

Fade.

I'm tired of long, drawn out stories.
The ones that illustrate everything,
every person,
every action,
every single irrelevant detail.

Let me fade into the background.
Just keep me from being in focus.
I don't need to see or hear.
Or feel or smell.
Let my lack of sense inspire.

But if you really feel the need,
maybe you can convince me
to get on the dance floor
and for once, just once,
be the center of attention.

Dance around me as if we're
the only two on this damned earth.
Know never to follow my advice
or you'll end up like
someone I know too well.

Claritin Clear.

Tangled in the sheets of a dream some other girl is living,
I lay here, entrapped by these four solid, unbreakable walls,
wanting you more than I ever thought was possible.

Wrapped up in the words of your sweet poetry,
I sit here, captured by your melodic lies, by your bittersweet cliches,
waiting for you to realize that I'm here for you and only you.

How long must it take for you to take a step outside
of the perfect world you live in for a brief sense of reality?
There's too much out here for you to miss. To miss out on me.

But I can't help it if you're hardheadedness gets in the way
of thinking clearly. Darling, there's no medication for that,
no "Claritin clear" to rid you of your cloudiness.

I can't resist the temptation to just sit here and wonder, wonder how I fell for you.
Wonder why I still stick around when there's no hope left for "us."
Wonder how I could ever think there could've ever been an "us."

But don't take these words too close to heart, as they are just
a matter of my own opinion. It's never counted too much.
Just remember me when you're writing that new poem of yours.

Because I've never forgotten what it feels like to forget.

Cinderella

I've always been the kind of girl
to see those sappy movies and wish
I had my own prince to fawn over.

Now that I've been rejected of my
petition for some company, I despise
such far-fetched fairytales.

Then you came along and made everything
right again, as if the world had been
designed for you to redeem it.

But you need to convince me that all my
superstitions can be dismissed as my
exhausting and unreasonable lack of optimism.

Remind me that there once was a
Romeo and Juliet, a love strong enough to
keep looking to live and to die for.

Remind me that after a sunset there is
always a sunrise because those hours in
the dark are hard to get through alone.

Remind me that even when it rains,
two people can still find love in the
dark clouds that hover above them.

Remind me that I don't need a
poet to realize that there's still a
little magic left in love.

Change.

Many have seen you transform drastically
from the national anthem of our troubles
to an unfamiliar melody I can't follow.

But I'm starting to let the clouds of prejudice
drift from my view, unveiling your identity.
They dwell on your ghost and refuse change.

Now what I see is a whole other side.
One that was in you since the fog thick days,
but only shown when you chose to do so.

There has always been the second chapter
to the story your timeline has illustrated.
It took some time for you to see what the inquisitive saw.

I'm proud to say that though your critics disapprove
of happiness you have long awaited and deserved,
you continue to be what you lost in your agony.

Boys, I know of your suffering.
How your days were so alike
in the sense that all they provided was dreariness.

I know that those days are now behind you,
nothing but mere dust in the mountains you've overcome.
I could not feel more ecstatic for you.

Don't let the nonbelievers discourage you.
They fight for nothing but a memory
of a reputation long and happily discarded.

Pushing Weeds.

Someday, you'll be walking
down the street of some
old, beat down neighborhood.
You'll trip, lose your balance,
and land face down, flesh broken.
But only for a minute, of course.

Because you'll find a tiny,
barely visible weed, growing.
Making it's way, like a strand
of lost hope. Of lost dreams.
Of everything you can't recall.
And realize that crack,

That miniscule, broken thing.
Was a reflection of me.

Unsaid Goodbyes.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that we didn't spend enough time together when I got older, because all I cared about was spending time with my friends, even though I knew how old you were. I should have not called my dad when I got bored of being at your house. I should have taken advantage of the fact that you could remember my name without my father's assistance. When Carolina didn't have to help you from your bed to use the bathroom.

I remember a lot.

I don't know if you do. There were days that I would spend all Sunday afternoon at your house, building forts with your furniture, eating cream cheese straight from the container. Then my dad would come home from work and I'd beg to stay for a little longer because I hadn't quite accomplished frisbee-ing with the yellow thing I had no idea had a real use.

I almost didn't go.

To your funeral, I mean. The night that you passed away, I knew it had happened before my mother had even explained to me. When my father calls at four o'clock in the morning to get us up and out of bed, something must be up. I couldn't imagine you, however fragile and tired you had become, another to be buried amongst so many, including grandma. My mom tried convincing me to go, to see you. People would be there for me, but I just kept crying and saying I didn't want to go.

They tried.

They really tried to keep me away from the sight of your lifeless body as you got pulled away in that hideously white van. But I saw them. They don't know how conspicuous they really are. I didn't cry that time. The thought of my father even allowing a tear to escape his eyes was impossible to me before that day. He trembled so hard, you fought so much. I don't know what you ever did that made them take you away like that. So unexpected, without warning, without a proper goodbye to people you loved.

I'm sorry.