Sunday, February 20, 2011

5 Things I Love About Myself

1) I cry.
And when I cry
it's with you.
Tears falling down
with the thought:
I'm with you.

2) I'm with you.
You wake up
in the morning
searching for meaning
and you realize,
I'm with you.
Meaning is with
other people
and that makes
you feel good.

3) That when asked
what I love
about myself
I think of
a poem.

4) That I don't
really know what
love means right
now, but I'm
willing to try.

5) Unique.


That I don't really love any of the things I said, but that I accept that they are part of me.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

When did you get your first boob?

do you really want an honest answer. well, i'll give you part of it, you've done enough creeping for that. I've never gotten any action. I think that much we could have all assumed. In fact, I've never even kissed anyone.

Whatcha wanna know?

Writer's block.


Sunday, January 30, 2011


Hope for tomorrow
comes with a price to pay: today.

Now is filled with empty moments.

Soft Icelandic music
plays while I stare at the page,
the wall,
your eyes,
the window,
the door,
your eyes,
the screen,
the keys,
your eyes,
my hands,
my feet,
your eyes,
my phone,
my pills,
your eyes,
the light,
the fridge,
your eyes.

You could say I'm obsessed with beauty.
Her beauty, his beauty, our beauty,
and the beauty of your eyes.

It's like being restless, looking anywhere else.

So I look again to remind me
of when you were near.

Then, I tear out the page
and let my mind clear.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Glitter in the Snow

It's a quiet night for a walk.
Each step takes me farther past my lies.

A step for fear.
A step for courage.
A step for hating myself.
A step for love.
A step for drugs.
A step for pretending that I'm not.
A step for jobs.
A step for doubt.
A step for everything I'm not.
A step for death.
A step for life.
A step for inviting you in with open arms.
A step for a step.
A run.
A sprint.
A leap.
A jump.
A landing to the person I am.

I take a handful,
throw it in the air,
and watch the glitter in the snow.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

I'm still Patrick

The rapid succession of breaths
masks the tears streaming down his face.

I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.

He mutters to himself as he sits
curled in a ball on his floor.
He rocks back and forth as if the motion
will somehow make him forget his emotion.

I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this anymore.

His heart pounds and he feels it in his chest.
His mind races, looking for a solution.

But he can't do this.
He can't do this.
He can't do this at all.

New failures and new disgraces,
a new year filled with old hopeless
mutterings of his old mantra.

I can't do this.
I can't do this.
I can't do this.


No more failures.
No more fuck ups.
No more hatred.
No more racing.
No more tears.
No more faking.
No more masking what I'm feeling.

Fuck this panic.
Fuck this crazy.
Fuck this emotion that I'm feeling.
Fuck the old year and its meaning.

I am learning.
I am growing.
I am making myself earn it.
I deserve it.


I can do this.
I can do this.
I can do this.

Let's go.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Things to Work on


These eyes are dammed--
built up from the weeks of unfeeling

My eyes are brown.
They have been for years.
It's all the shit they hide.
You think that's a smile.
You think I want to laugh.


I want to cry for every person
who ever learned
words can always hurt me.

These sticks, these tones,
they scar and burn me.
These words cut me
like razors across the soft
skin of my wrists.

I want to cry.

I want to cry for mothers who will never see their sons,
and fathers their daughters.

I want to cry for custody battles.

I want to cry for the soldiers on the fields.

I want to cry for anyone suffering,
for mental disorders and psychopharmacology.

I want to cry for Zoloft and Paxil and Ambien and Prozac
Abilify and Lexapro and

not feeling a FUCKING THING.

I want to cry for you ripping and pulling and shredding my heart.

I want to cry for the God that disappeared on me.

I want to cry,
and this long sigh,
this is me knowing I can't.

I can't cry.
I cannot ever, ever let these tears fall,
because I have to be strong.
It's a promise I made.
A man says forever,
and I won't walk away.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Dear God, Remake Me

I sit in my room listening to the music of my friends
and I notice that I want to be different.
Not from them, but from myself.
There's so much music on Tumblr today.
There's such a need for music today.
In my head there's a void to be filled.

Do you remember when I was BRILLIANT?

It's hard for me to reminisce

It's hard for me...

I want to dance. Do you understand?
I want something to occupy my whole being.
I hate when people ask if that makes sense.

Does that make sense?

I hate myself, but you can't save me.

You, tall, redhead, and freckled cannot save me.

Neither can you.

No one can save me.

Do I need saving?


18 and hearing me
without any chance of sound
to be alive without a doubt
he'll be the best that he can be

self confidence from years of doubt
means that he knows what he's about
and that's a smile, a silly joke,
a heart of love behind a mask

but still you see if you try
that someone cares when you cry

Monday, January 10, 2011

my writer's block interrupted by a back spasm

Next to Normal plays as I lay
on the ground of my dormitory box.
The music is slightly sad and picked
for the purpose of an angsty mood.
The scene includes past and present
journals strewn about the floor.
I read the old and stare at the new.
The snow is heavy and there's nothing to do,
like there's nothing in my head.

There's nothing in my head.

I move to stretch my back
and pain shoots down my spine--
neurons telling me that was a bad idea.
I wish they would warn me first.
Like, when there was a knock on the door
that I could have ignored.
But I opened it and you walked in.

I opened it and you walked in.

And now you need what I can't give.
There's music playing in your head.
It says love will come, but it's not here.
It says pain will end, but it is here.
This is pain, shooting through you,
and I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

untitled 1-5-11

I want so much to feel right-- to be in love and have a purpose.
I want so much to feel right.
I want it to the depth of my core.
I want it like brittle bones want milk, like writers want words, like lovers want each other.
I want it so much that I'm rocking back and forth in my chair.
back to the undefined emotions and destructive mood swings.
forth to hope filled days and emotionless nights.
back to drugless parties and sober minds.
forth to round white tablets and oblong green pills.
back and forth I teeter totter on the edge of meaning.
I'm so close to finding myself that it's like I've already lost just when I've begun to win.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Syllable Soliloquy

Lonely candle in the night
burning quickly burning bright.

Passion consumed passion pursued.
Passion for the words unused.

Hope for the better. Hope for the right.
Hope for lovers holding tight.

I'm trying to hold on
to keep searching -- to find my way.

You promised I would make it.
You promised the stars would shine.

You promised the clouds would clear.
You promised there would be light.

I promised to try to fight
but I'm burning quickly. I'm burning, right?

I'm fading quickly
I'm out of sight.

Believe Me

I stare her plainly in the eyes
honesty is the placement of the syllables shared.

She looks back on me hands
in her chin and eyes twinkling.

The night is early but feels so late.
The stars are hidden but burning within.

Burning as brightly as the hair she bobs,
the passion she fails to recognize she owns.

Tomorrow is for dancing.
Today was for talking.

Where from there? I'm unsure.

Surely everything has a place.

Believe me and we'll get there.