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.