looking back

i.
impulsively
I retrace.
meticulously exploring
then feeling
now chasing
the unreachable.

ii.
ah! the exhilarating newness of the first snow!
our group of three, so near tonight
it’s cold. so cold.
little circles of reflected light make the dark lake less threatening
undulating silliness
pulls my toes to the water
we link hands: a wall,
unbreakable.
one step deeper
and we’re in.

iii.
it’s so near.
it’s so far.

guidance

I should form a plan
a life plan
one that looks good typed up
one that a guidance counselor wouldn’t sigh about

I had two guidance counselors in high school

the one knew my name the first day
of my freshman year
it was weird (but comforting)

the other talked about SATs and ACTs and career paths with us in English
my English teacher made sarcastic comments about this one
when she left the room to get some important papers
printed on pink paper

well that one, the last one, saw me in the post office
she gave me pity eyes
I wonder if I deserve those?

I never really liked her, though
so maybe when I go to the high school
to take that career test she was talking about that will tell me my interests
I’ll snag the other guidance counselor,
the one who knew my name.

choose

picking at old scabs
an incessant echo of the new and old
and me
bound between.

reformed
reopened

I need more time

the mental process illogically

love is feelings
and sometimes i don't feel them

if i only love you when you wear your hair up
does that make me a terrible person?
i mean it's just those curls

i know i'm depressed
which makes me better
i'm poised to swoop in and save myself
from this self-evident fate

love is a vacuum
it's a chore and it sucks

love is romance
but eventually that new smell goes away
and your sweet voice screeches
and you don't wear your freaking hair up any more

i know i'm sick
but i thought if i became as superficial as you
maybe you'd love me as much as yourself

love is a choice
and were i a better person
perhaps this would work

banana phone. ring!

yellow cardboard box of cheerios and a banana
this morning
breakfast is my favorite and you’re along
to share.

mugs as bowls; cheers to that.
catch up
about nothing and everything and something
or other.

go back go back go back
to ease
this weight lifted with a simple pinky
promise.

to people at church who never talked to me before now (oh, it's so emooo)

I relied on pieces of things categorized in little boxes
to guide me.
they were mine.

Alphabetized
Compartmentalized
Concealed & Labeled.
All mine.

I’m not depressed now that those silly boxes are gone.
I’m just a little lost.

I don't need more labels about what I've become.
I don't need you to tell me my future.
I don't need you to spell it out for me.
Maybe you should try walking with me.

we know

flash of a smile fragment for you and me and
for, according to you, whenever you’re “around”
forcibly reserved for Christmas and special occasions
basically we have to eat some sort of bird
or maybe a pig

I’m okay with miles and trees and houses and lives between us
just as long as we can pick up from where we left
each other like time between isn’t real
while we secretly bask in each other's smiles
as insecurities are undone without a word

Emptied to be Filled

I choose you and not me
I choose to be free
I want more of this love
this mystery

pouring out my heart
for you to pour in

I must have more
so I’ll give more

only you define me
create me

dance with me
whisper to me

love is what I’m looking for
and you are love
lovelier than life
so that’s what I’m giving
to find you

Forward in a Backward Way

I’m moving forward
momentum gaining
no slowing down
can’t change directions
I’ve lost control

so I guess this is the coarse
(did I even have a choice?)
of course,
and I decided to rip out the breaks
and loose the steering wheel
not even a seatbelt for some security

I feel like I’m flying downhill
but I know it’s still forward motion

Time Slipped Away

there’s a certain meter to this exchange:
I’m trying for 4/4,
exaggerating confidence and normality.
you clip at a 2/4 pace
2 word responses
eyes darting, snatching an escape

I’m sorry we’re not in sync anymore.
Maybe there's too much time
between us.
Should we catch up?

It's for me and you.

syncopated rhythms
anticipated harmonies
it’s deep within me
this song

swept away,
flowing words and melody
a part of me
I can’t deny

Messages

Just dropping off
a message that I’m
still nearby
in the form of the Time

article about cattle
being pumped with steroids and stuff

wasn’t aware
until I hit the familiarity
of the dark halls and awkward
teenage faces
how raw this is

and you caught the tear
dang-it .

and gave me a lesson
about talents being buried
and reminded me who the bad guy was

“What does God want you here for?”

walked past the math rooms
unstable emotions ruling
my feet.

thought I had a plan. where
to go from here?

(I went to the café
and wrote this crappy poem
and also peeked over my laptop
at the worker who smiled while he
made me my tea.)

but why not love before the loss?

I.
wide eyes inspect this change
as he tries to face
his new face

smiling, the barber prattles about
what a mangy mop of
hair he had 30 minutes before

he had agreed 30 minutes ago
frowning now, he speculates and
calculates the length of time to reach his old hair length

II.
squishy tar greets his soft, white
toes scampering for the nonchalance
of summer’s evenings

golden sunlight of late August
never so inviting
trees and fields promptly greener

hurried, ravenous, senselessly
sensing the last of summer
before his first semester back to school

III.
desperately clawing for
the remnants
of love he finds her

in smells and nouns
in bad radio songs
and in the middle of his 8:00 history exam

sleepless, breathless, unwell
nothing matters
now that he can’t have her

conscious of who I wasn’t; unconscious of who I was

I woke to
the stabbing pain of nothingness
and I filled filled filled my time
with empty motions

I searched
and found a torpid world
and followed suit
and fell asleep

Change

So here I am (again)
making this decision.
Will I embrace newness
or dig up the old?

I guess the digging process
should be a reminder
that my old life
is in the grave,
dead.

Wearing grave clothes
is more comfortable
than being stripped naked.

But not more liberating.

So I suppose I must change.

new season

clinky sounds of your lemonade
kinda convince me that summer's not over
that life's at a standstill
that I won't have to face
this.
but I know
that a new season's coming.

The Problem is the Sin, Not the Wound

Here,
Take my heart
I ripped it right out
For you

Funny
I’m surprised
That I can’t seem
To control it anymore

And now I see
That the problem
Isn’t that you took a needle
Digging into raw flesh
Tattooing false messages
All over it

The problem
is that I gave it away.

But I've found something
that gives me back my heart
and rewrites those messages.
And it turns out that this new power
is perfected in weakness.
I'll never be lost again.

Dance

Like a river
I’m tossing and turning
The weight of the year
In my shoulders
In my chest

Freefalling
In the midday sun
Leaping
Kissing the sky

Fragments of identity slip away
Exchanged for freedom

Spin
Surrendered
Flinging off reservations and worry
With each twirl

Unfazed by past and future
I’m consumed with here and now
Submission
Yielding joy

I toss away my ashes
For beauty

Placebo

Vibrant blue hues
of your eyes
flicker
as you explain
that she hurt you,
but you make it into a silly story
and try to hide the pain,
using laughs for medicine.

Tear off that mask,
that farce of a bandage,
and let someone beyond the surface.

Wait Wait Waiting

remember the time
I left my cherry flavored chapstick
on your dash
and it was late July
maybe early August
and it melted into a globby mess?

well the point was
that I was in your car
sideways glancing your calloused hands
on that steering wheel

anyhow, I put the chapstick
in my refrigerator’s vegetable crisper
and put the streaming thoughts of you and me
on freeze too.

I guess I’ll just give it some time.