Reflections of Truth

Self-reflection is somewhat skewed for me
It’s as illusory as a mirror
I find that the lettering on my shirt is backwards

So quick to judge others
Yet unable to adequately judge myself

My perception is only an interpretation
I want the truth

Heals

Girl in black high heals
Makes her way through Cleveland's freshly fallen foot of snow
Beauty is painful
Stupidity is painful

Old, Musty Quilt

Alone
Alone
Running alone
And it was a long day
No, a long year
Alone

That word is never far
But never admitted
Why utter what you cannot fix?

He left me that night
It was March 9th
Perfectly still I sat in our wretched apartment
My sons were in the next room
Two and four years old
He was done
I didn’t fight him
Just crumbled
Wrapped in that quilt on the puffy love seat looking at the dark wall
Watching his shadow throw the ring and take the keys
As he angrily freed himself from his life
My life
Our children's lives

Our love will last forever and ever
Even when we die we’ll be best friends in heaven
Isn’t there love in heaven?
We were oblivious to life
Sitting under that big sycamore tree by the pond
Eating our picnic lunch
My grandma’s quilt underneath us
Eyes looking up into the bright blue sky

It’s hard not to look back now

Bridge for Two

We've got the playing cards out again
They certainly pass the time
But aren't you tired of bluffing?
Let's break convention
Show our hands
A practice game, for clarity
We might have learned it differently
I forget some of the rules anyway
Okay. . . flip!

Hey, we both have hearts
I knew it

Great Things

I met this lunch lady in my school’s cafeteria
The sorta tired variety with little light
—the cafeteria, that is
I always get a wrap because I like this one lady who makes them
I don’t know her name, and every time I talk to her she asks for mine
I like that about her.

The other day she made a comment,
“I could never be doing great here, you know. But I’m okay.”
She smiled but that space between her eyebrows crinkled

I gave it some thought while I munched on my turkey wrap
She had surgery the other month and was in a lot of pain at work, standing
Withstanding for her son
So he can go to this college to study biology
Not making a name of her own
Just wrapped up in her son’s dream
All the while spilling light into this dingy cafeteria
Plopping down tomatoes and piles of ham
With smiles and stories

No, I decided
She is doing great here.

Wait

You stole the piece of my heart
That I cautiously protect
I put up a fight
The battle was between my insecurities and your stubborn charm
Insecurities, though, are quickly shot down by your own honest admission

You stole the peace of my heart
That, I cautiously protect
I put up a fight
The battle was between my expectations and our sensible decision
Expectations, though, are quickly shot down by your own honest admission

I Grieve the Fallen Mustard

His name is a bird
Fitting, he’s flighty
I ran into him at Sparkle Market
Literally
And the mustard in his hand fell
We both stared
Simultaneous resolve to pick it up
Instead, naturally, we fell into each others arms?
No, no.

Weather Channeling

I am the lightning
Indecisive
Taking the path of least resistance
and quickly forgotten

Now I am the thunder
Startling and harmless
Making a big scene
and quickly ignored

Suddenly, I am the storm
Raining the hell I held for too long
You will all notice me now
and quickly

Vulnerable

I have this unruly desire to purge all these secrets
and be free, finally

But fear rises
and grabs that nonsense and shoves it right back
and I’m numb again

I’m on the edge:

Looking down I realize I’d fall
I’d surely be a mess
splattered out there for the world to see
Looking up I realize I could be flying
light, floating

Common sense tells me that flying will result in falling
But doing nothing
Staying in control
Not feeling
Maybe hasn’t been a fall
It hasn't hurt, true

But self-protection is losing its reason
There's that slight possibility
That I can trust you and let go



So I leap and tell you
Everything

Pick Up That Newspaper

stop looking for problems
you don't need pity
you're not miserable
pick up that newspaper
and pick up yourself
stop being so deliberate
it's retrograde
selfish
you're inaction in action
don't lie, you know what you want
your tank's full already
turn the car around
and face her

It's a Jungle Out There

It’s time I made a scene of my own
Everything’s perfect (too perfect)
We’re at the beach
Our kite whirls past picturesque cumulous clouds
I’m thrashing inside—a syncopated rhythm
Juxtaposed to the perfect waves
Sun shines down
And finally I decide to tackle the burn
There are bubbles of puss gathering on my right shoulder
It’s ugly
This day isn’t what we’d like to believe
We didn’t take precautions
Two minutes and sunscreen would’ve been fine
Two hours a week and counseling would’ve been fine
But now you simply decide everything
And behind the scene,
Our made up, beautiful scene
Roams an elephant
It’s over there by the hotdog stand
I hate that it’s so natural
To blend into the scenery
I’m the fly on the wall
So I don’t have to address this elephant in the room
There are sharks in the water
Don't you know that it’s dangerous to ignore the truth?
It's time to make a scene

Stress

I wish stress could be stored in my fingernails, toenails, and hair
that way I could cut it off.

Nope

White room
Blank page
Tick tick tick of the clock
Tap tap tap of my chewed pencil
Fluorescent light buzzes dimly
Too bright
Sigh
November skin seems even more sallow
Under this clinical lighting
"Winter dreams,"
I begin
"fluttering like snow fla"
SNAP, pencil tip breaks
I flick it
Crinkle yet another sheet
And throw it
Missed the trash can
Look at it
For five seconds
Glance out the window
Distractions
Oh, there’s a dog
Pooped in the neighbor’s lawn
They won’t be happy
Back to the blank page
No,
No more writing
Thoughts would be trapped
Not freed

Your True Intentions Don't Matter

I'm tired of your ill-conceived advice.
Your words are clinical and sterile.
The blanket statements just prove
you don't know who you're talking to.
Your true intentions don't matter,
because it's impossible to see
past your condescending tone.
It's hysterical that you believe
your words will have any sort of impact.
You're not really concerned.
If you were, you'd develop some sort of relationship
instead of this tactless annual letter.
Get off your high horse
and try confronting at eye level.

Change

I really hate change
It just happens too often
I want to exchange
it for bills just to soften
the impact it has
on my mental health
I can't take the noise as
I jostle my wealth
Most change is useless
Take this for example:
Soda's made progress
A buck's no longer ample
One fifteen I paid
just the previous night
Inflation has made
buying cola a plight
That eighty-five cents
quickly fills up my car
That small change is immense
(Though I could buy a jar)

This One Is For You

Uncommon November air
Full moon
The yellow cushion of leaves turns into snow
Eerie, warm, snow-filled path ahead

one two three

The moonbeam circles our clumsy waltz
Recorded accordions aid our turns
Outside, free-floating, Fall

one two three, one two three

The morning's here!
Class at eight?
Scurry home
Unaffected, buoyant, spontaneous dance

one two three, one two three, one two three

I Had That Dream Again

I had that dream again
Where I'm standing in a meadow
A flawless meadow
And a violent wind
Whips grass into the sky
An uncontrollable sky
And the only other sight for miles
Is that egg
That colossal egg
Towering, yet auspicious

And on that giant's egg
Lies a wooden door
The tiniest door
Just big enough for me
So I run
And I run
To avoid the inevitable storm
And I run
Run, run, run
But that egg never gets closer

Exhausted, I collapse, cowering
As the clouds get dark
So impossibly dark
And then I wake up
And now, back in my bed, I wonder
Can't stop wondering
If there's something different I could've done
Anything to get to that egg
That elusive, unconquerable egg
So I can finally feel safe

The Riches of Life

The rant:

Excuse me

for not having the opportunity to discover the world as you do,

but unlike you in all your cultured ways,

indifferent about the world and its glory

because you’ve seen it all, done it all, experienced it all,

all the while wearing your prepish sweater vest, gallivanting across “the pond”

—well your blasé attitude sucks,

and at least I still have love for small moments that you’ll never appreciate even if you try because that familiar bored gaze of yours cannot pick up on intricacies of life after all your gluttony of this vast world,

and you’ll never be released from such apathy because your sophistication cuts you off from the thrill of a swing or the feathery frill of the wind across your face or simple things

like good wallpaper.



Calm response:
Your jealousy leaks through your jumbled mess of words;
for it is apparent that you wish to have the affluence I possess,
so that you,
too,
can summer in Spain and enjoy the fine cuisine of France.
But well done for making the most of what you have.
Bravo, dear.

In My Khaki Pants

I built a great time
hyped up and perfect
Started and ended
without any regret
But I was entitled to more
so I undermined it

Had it all planned
Every step tenderly placed
I'm spotless, pure
She's the one to blame

So I press in, throwing rehearsed accusations
There's no way she can dodge them all
and she doesn't even try
She's not as malicious as I hoped
yet I don't stop the barrage
Too proud
Too hurt

Masochistically bent on destroying what I love
I ruin her night
and poison our memories
Her admittance should be a victory
but it feels like defeat

We had something real together
but now it's a twisted game
and forever corrupted

Stranger Things Happen

I entirely entertain insidious incidents
Pertaining to pestered people
Namely you and me


First you fiercely fix
Your eyes on me

Second, secretly, seductively
You corner me

Third, thirstily, thoughtlessly
I dive in your attention

Dangerous, damaging, delectable
Inappropriate, indifferent
Saucy, seductive
Insatiable, irresponsible
Intimate strangers