take a breath before
you jump off the deep end,
child.
don’t you want to see
the canyons around you before
you commit
yourself to a cubicle?run, and feel the breeze
in your hair before
you put on your suit and
tie. your hands
have yet to touch
so much.the paper they give you
is only worth what you
let it be.
don’t let it boss you around.take your head out of your
computer screen
and put it back in the clouds.
write it all down.
pour your mind on the paper–
all of it:
every passing
thought
every hiccup
every mistake
every “i can’t believe…”
every disaster
every painful memory.
put it all on the lines.
and when you’ve squeezed your sponge dry,
take a wet brush and paint
the words into colors
shapes
noises
textures.
The rain paints
the world into
watercolors on my windshield.
Four lights shine
on the horizon just above
the hill where I went on a date once.
I remember him and I
had brought a blanket
to look at the stars that night.
We wrapped ourselves in it
and he kissed me and I felt
so loved then.
So in love.
With him? With love?
I don’t know;In love with something
In love with everything.
his hands made me drunk.
his hands made me really fucking
drunk
and his lips
his lips made me drunk,
too.
but i’ve never been
one for alcohol, really,
because wine makes me cry
and beer makes me angry.
when
his fingers strum you
all you can do is sing.
or wail.
sometimes it sounds more like wailing.
and whatever he’s feeling comes out of your mouth.
whatever he’s thinking.
whatever he’s saying inside
comes out of you instead and
your throat’s sore from all the screaming
he’s feeling; from all the anger
little peach pits in his stomach
and you regurgitate them and
your throat is bloody red.
i find the quietness i crave
amid the forest’s windy veins
where my mind can be at peace,
where my thoughts vacate with ease.
here my feet become my breath
and my mind one with the earth,
i come to realize my worth:
an atom in the universe.
When I was young,
my mother used to warn me
not to look right into
the Sun: I could damage my
eyes from the
heat.The first time I met you,
I could not look directly
into your eyes; I still
can’t.
I’d never expected
to find the Sun
burning
in them.
We as a species are always trying to find comfort in purpose, as if we need to justify our existence on this planet by having a ‘reason’ for being here. You do not need a purpose or a reason to be alive on this planet. You have a right to be here simply because you are.
Rather than seeking comfort in purpose, find freedom in understanding that you have no purpose, and that is okay. You alone are enough.
I. i saw your jar full of wrappers
and thought maybe you’d just developed
a sweet tooth recently. though
it never occurred to me that
white waxy wrappers
can carry
fun-dip powder and pixy stix, too.II. i knew something
was wrong when
clouds fogged your eyes (grey and heavy
with rain);
so heavy
they could not look straight.
so heavy
they kept sinking.III. at half past midnight you left
to ‘be right back.’
45 minutes later and i felt the thunder
shake the house; i knew
there would be rain
in your eyes.
At eight forty-five the next morning
(you normally never wake up before eleven),
you ‘stop at a friends’
before breakfast and return
empty-handed but eyes full,
veins full, blood full
of calm, full of ocean waves and
lullabies, full of
ice so cold you feel like you’re
on fire.IV. you are forgetting
more and more
about me these days. it seems
you’re drifting farther away,
farther into
your veins.V. i know that
i don’t know
how your mind rolls
on the tracks in your skull.
i never will
feel the hunger in your veins
for a needle that bites
so good. but every time a new
track mark paints your arm,
the train that’s riding them
runs over my heart.
my mother asked about you today.
i didn’t know how to explain
that your name
on my tongue is like
novocaine;
that i’ve been waiting so long
for the numbness to
fade.
Silenticel 