Monday, January 25, 2010

winter break woes part 3

here I am
again without the words
to describe what I'm feeling

John Mayer sings
a craftily created
pop soul song about something.

I can't hear
it while I am thinking of
suicide on Christmas Eve.

a thought worth remembering

I'm struggling to hold on
to the sense that there is something
worth writing.

The sky outside gives way
to snowflakes and breezes
while inside Mitchell screams
at the tv.

I sit in my room running
my hand repeatedly through the afro
I'm currently calling my hair.

shallow breaths and closed eyes
suggest something worth remembering:
this heart is heavy and light

worthless ramblings about worth over break

I sit in my room listening to poetry
thinking this could be my life
but what does it mean to be a receptor of poetry?

I know that I am
but I don't have misery to compare
to the black men living in the poor of their era.

I know that I am.
I am I am
I am alive
but is my story worth telling

in the makeup of this universe
who cares about the struggles
of collegiate life
when my parents lived on the streets
on the run

I know that I am
but what does it mean to be Puerto Rican
when my mother and father lived strugglin harder
that I can imagine

I know that I am
but I am not a child solder in Nigeria
I am not starving in Indonesia
so does my story really matter?

I know that I am.

open doors and nights spent alone

Something tells me to leave the door open, although I'm unsure what I'm waiting for. I've been invited out twice already, and it isn't as if I'm being productive here. Yet, I stay. I stay in a room with the door open. Alone, but not quite closed off to the world.

I cried vodka last night.

He fidgets when he talks
to me. Like he has a million
other things to do, and I
am just a check-mark on his list.

I stare into eyes.
When I speak I want you to know
that my heart is in your hands
and that this moment could mean something to us.
I guess that means the ball is in your court,
and for that I'm sorry.

She's thin.
She eats whatever she wants,
whenever she wants
because she can. It's a
genetic trait that gives her
an advantage over us- over me.

I'm fat,
and not because I don't deny
myself the unhealthy things.
I'm stoic in that sense.
It's because my body stores
interactions in the most unsightly
of fashions. Her rejection of me
hides my six-pack. My broken
heart is a double chin.

Hey's gay,
in the sense that he likes men.
He's laying unhappily on that bench
and I get the feeling that somehow
this is my fault, as if
I gave cause to his obsession.

I'm straight
and not because I'm not unhappy.
I spend my hours reconciling who I am
with who I want to be.
I have a feeling I'm missing something
and for that, I cried vodka last night.

it starts with a remembrance of skin

It was a cold night-
Frost accompanied by fog.
But we stayed in.
Tim sat along the wall
explaining universes with paper.
I only wanted to discuss
the meaning of life-
a verb that is God.

That was Tim's answer
to a question I meant
to ask of stories-
each moment a frame
making the stop motion
that is life.

Heavy & Light

if this one goes out to
the fat girls and wimpy boys,
and everyone in between,
then this one goes out to you-
and... this one goes out to me.

He demands that we shake
the dust, and that is what
we do tonight. It is in
their energy that we can laugh,
and in their pain that we are silent.

Jamie apologizes for his awkward
title. I know in doing so
that we are not alone.
Because, we all worry about
paying the bills, and we
all want to fall in love when
the weather is just right.

We all want to scream the words
and stomp our feet. And that,
that we did tonight, when the
sky was heavy and our hearts were light.

it's like an angel dancing across my tongue

Jamie's eyes speak wonders to his heart-
I almost forget I'm not important
to his story. His history of broken friends
and ocean weekends.

When I remember where I am,
I know life should be a celebration.
But-- this fog I'm in
places me in Jack Mannequin's Dark Blue-
a place so deep not even Damion's Dreaming
could bring me to believe in love.

Happy New Years Mr. Taylor

if there is one thing I've learned of alcohol, it is that the consumption of it allows people to behave as if every action contains the importance of the end of the world.

well tonight is an end of a world of sorts. On this eve people count down from ten to one to the start of a new decade.
I'm not sure if this celebration is

  1. useful

  2. happy

  3. necessary

  4. time-honored

  5. universal

  6. intact

  7. relevant

  8. good

  9. news

  10. imaginative

but maybe I'm just backwards. Anyhow, Happy New Years, Daniel.