Jake

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

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.

Mountains

for Mike

Butterflies...

blue butterflies over gray hills

make me think that life is worth the climb.

We are not so lucky to soar.

We climb, some steeper than others,

up cliffs of broken hearts and dreams.

We belay over piles of promises

and take rests at indifference's peaks.

You're like a piton,

holding me up.

You're like the clear view

after a stint in depression's valley.

You're a friend,

someone with a clear mind.

You're a song telling me,

"Everything is alright."

And I believe you.

I believe in you.

Somehow,

after every talk I'm calm.

Like, you're a catharsis.

Like I reach a peak in the plot

diagram of my life and you make a resolution.

Somehow I'm fine.

I wanted to tell you:

thank you.

Everything is alright.

people like you

people like you,

people who don't judge

for a little summer fun.

people like you,

people who don't mind my crazy,

who think it might be a little normal.

people like you,

people who have seen me cry,

people that knew i wanted to die.

people like you,

people that listen to me whine,

and people that invite me to dine.

people like you,

people who are true.

people like you,

people that keep secrets.

people like you,

people that I can trust.

people like you,

people that I love.

I Dance with Daniel

We live in a world of pretense.

You expect something of me.

When we walk,

when we talk

we are judging.

We love categories.

But not with him.

With him I dance.

I know the steps,

like they've been there all along.

The steps are me,

something so familiar but frightening.

And when I'm with him I don't think

of which steps to take;

I feel,

like when I feel the music I dance to.

With him I do not pretend.

He knows who I am,

and that is refreshing.

This is not a tango we dance,

it is more like a pas-

it's slow and entirely open.

If he places me in a category

it is not to tell me that category

is somehow unacceptable.

When he judges me,

he deems me worthwhile.

He won't read this,

for that I'm happy.

But I wish I could tell him:

thank you for dancing.

to the person who bought me a thong

Thank you.

Although I do not know what to do with it,

I had been wanting a gift.

You see, Daniel promises

he bought me something,

and although I can't find

it he insists it's hidden

somewhere in the rubble of my

crumbled heart.

Underneath my sweaty sheets where

I toss and turn in the summer heat

and my mattress that has yet to see action,

are the remnants of hope

tossed aside like a pair of old gym shoes.

Filed between my chemistry notes

and Spanish folder is my joy,

neatly stored for future use

but gathering dust as we speak.

Beside my Moleskines and tubes

of watercolors are brightly colored

pastels of peace of mind, waiting

to be rubbed and smeared

on the blank sheets of

my future, their tips still whole,

unused.

And there, encrypted and saved

in a secret file on my C drive

are my dreams, waiting to be unlocked.

You know,

I don't care that he has lied to me.

You see, I searched my room.

I found no iPod or fancy hat,

but I did find a map

marked with Xs on all of my treasures.

I think I'll find them soon.

I think I'll use them too.

a movement to normalcy

My greatest fears:

abandonment

and feeling weird.

Last night, I faced both.

We went to the bridge.

Blue candy mixed with Mountain Dew

made the lights magical.

My friends made them real.

I almost didn't go.

I left my room to find them

gone, but my fears were

unwarranted. "We never

left you, and we aren't going to.

Now, come back here; we miss you."

And so I went,

to hop a fence and sit and watch

bright lights reflect on moving water.

We talked of home and crushes,

embarrassments and favorite music.

We laughed and listened,

stayed silent and felt the wind on our skin.

You know, I'm not normal,

but that's okay.

Daniel says to ride the weird.

I'm interesting and exciting,

and that's ridiculously good.

I'm interesting and exciting...

the thought of it is pleasing.

Life Lesson

I'm needy.

Like a cat, I howl

until you pay me attention,

and then I bite when I'm done.

Ken's gone.

He's leaving forever

and I'm not sure he'll say goodbye.

Daniel's busy.

He needs to talk

to more important people

of more important matters.

Life lesson:

you don't matter.

You're an

insignificant,

forgettable,

whinny,

little,

brat,

and no one wants you.

But, you're their amigo,

which means you pretend

until pretending isn't enough

and something has to end.

Feeling Scared

When I get home

I need to be alone.

Something's off

and it's pretty clear

that alone won't be enough,

not to fight this fear.

Yesterday I told a secret

and now I have to live with regret,

not of the telling

but solely of the waiting.

Bill's in another land

and my letter is in his hand.

What did he think?

Did he read? Will my heart sink?

My soul knows something's aloof,

but it can't quite find proof.

My mind says use logic,

but then I would not be neurotic.

So fear is what I live with,

knowing I won't be normal this year.

But, bi-polar is good enough

to stay near to in the clear.

Sunshine

for Laura

Birds sing in the glow

of what could be a summer's

sun. It's Spring,

which means I still worry

about grades

and meetings

and social gatherings.

As I wake today,

the first thing to my mind

is what did I miss?

What did I forget?

But you don't worry.

You're sunshine in golden-yellow.

You're enough to make me a smiling fellow.

untitled 2-28-10

Bill and Ken have gone

and I use their room to doze off.

Lots of stage 1 this week- vivid dreams.

They come to deal with the stress;

my life is a thorough mess.

I didn't call Paul.

For whatever reason some friends

rely on me for strength I do not have.

I'm sorry. I am sorry.

I should have been there for you.

I shouldn't have left you to gloom.

I shouldn't have rhymed and I shouldn't let you cry.

more please

last week I wrote poetry like my tears

were words dripping onto pages.

My eyes are dry tonight.

I knocked twice.

For my double effort I received zero response.

We had a good thing going, you and I.

Daniel says he bought me a gift

and I do not deserve it.

I am a little kid.

I tease and prod and thoroughly annoy.

Why do you put up with me?

It can't be for my laugh-

high-pitched and rarely real.

It can't be for conversation;

I make poor small talk.

You must feel sorry.

I'm sorry I suck.

Still, tonight I knocked.

to Daniel with care

to Daniel with care

I finished my journal-

a year of thought in a back pocket.

Its end is the dusting of February flakes.

I leave footprints.

In this and the next,

both bound in black and seeped with blue.

Blue so dark it's mismatched black.

Because I stare out windows

to diamonds covered in snow.

I welcome the cold.

It's familiar and comforting,

but I want you to see.

We are but manifested emotions

and I am most assuredly freezing.

Support

Support

to Bill

the shaking of fingers over obsidian keys

reminds me of my inadequacies

my caffeinated jitter is not the result of the soda,

but of the jolt of emotion I felt when my phone vibrated six times.

his call to me was a heightened emotion

that gave credence to the bull ring attached unnaturally to his nose.

Reds surrounding, my steam was all but visible when I began to sob.

You were a hug.

You were blurred jade eyes full of unwarranted  concern.

You were not understanding but understanding I need.

I need, when bloodshot eyes confuse city lights for fireflies,

to feel something is still solid- the proper combination of atoms

making mass. That something is solid, and carrying

me through the mess.

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.

Getting Low

for Cassie

When you showed me those scars

on your wrists, I was too young

to understand their significance.

That your pain is my pain

and that pain is what we live with.

I spent the day in my room

listening to music scream

I'M ALIVE. I am alive.

I am alive to sit in dark

rooms with you. To show

you how to find

stars that haven't reached us yet-

sparks of happiness in future instances.

green snowflakes

Fake snowflakes of green let me know

it's time to vacate my spot in the hall.

I went outside to be a part

of something I wasn't invited to.

To be a wallflower

when winter killed them all.

facade

Daniel says we're just a facade.

Well, that's just what you want of me,

to be okay for your own sake.

How do you deal with a kid willing to kill

himself on a daily basis?

The draft moves me toward Laura's voice.

Her tone a contradiction to the mask she fakes.

Thank You

Daniel's "Thank you" made me wonder what people think of us. Why does it matter to who we are? I spoke to Kevin about how I felt, but was sure not to cry too hard. Does he need to know? No, he doesn't know. Like my dad doesn't know and never will. Who are we but real-life movies? I would really like a happy ending.

Heart to Heart

If it's not my head that's spinning,

then what is it that makes
the mirrors a funhouse?

Andrew dances after class

to a sad tune of creation.

His kicks are a fan

brushing air in a wave

of confliction emotions.

Like the anxiety I felt

in the warmth of my green suede

and the hardness of Daniel's stoop.

I told him my life's

more than you need to bear.

I'm folding towels to low tide-

uncrested tears beating

the banks of my brown eyes.