Things I learned last night.

vermilion truth
with cinnamon lies
brings sapphire seduction
and emerald envy.

clear cups of rose hope
don't mix with jade memories,
and Brian texting Steph
was more ugly than true.

My life needs more ginger,
and his needs some mocha.
So, why don't we settle
this honest onyx waste of time.

writer's block

the words are gone--
torn from me
like homes torn from the ground in a storm.
windows of poetry stained
with the blood of my heart
lost from the wells of its chest.

the tears come slowly,
like a funeral procession.

fingers shake as they
slide the pen across the page.
it's over.

it's done.
my madness has stolen my mind.
there is no hope for this hopeless boy.

I'm cold.

finding the words

is like pulling teeth 
when creativity is no longer in reach.
 It is like flying a plane 
 without any knowledge of the controls. 
 The only thing you know is that

you do not want to crash. 


 You want to soar. 
 You want to fly. 
 You want words to come to you 
 like wind comes to eagles wings. 
 Like church songs 
come to faithful prayers.


 Like you live in a freshmen dorm
and the constant door crashes 
and excited yells 
mean that you are alive. 
You want words to come like electricity-- 
in sparks and surges 
flowing through your body
with alacrity. 


You want finding the words to be easy, 
like it's easy to look at you. 
When you dance it is like

the world 
is conspiring to make beauty.

finding the words

is like pulling teeth
when creativity is no longer in reach.
It is like flying a plane
without any knowledge of the controls.
The only thing you know is that
you do not want to crash.
You want to fly.
You want words to come to you
like wind comes to eagles wings.
Like church songs come to faithful prayers.

Like you live in a freshmen dorm
and the constant door crashes and excited yells
mean that you are alive.
You want words to come like electricity--
in sparks and surges
flowing through your body
with alacrity.

You want finding the words to be easy,
like it's easy to look at you.
When you dance it is like
the world is conspiring to make beauty.

Community

I belong to brown skin

and Spanish accents.

I belong to rainbow flags

and matching outfits.

I belong to pointed feet

and pained arches.

I belong to dramatic exits

and center stages.

I belong to loving smiles

and pain filled hearts.

I belong to study groups

and the middle class non-identity.

I belong to faith

and to the currently faithless.

I belong to love

and every single.

I belong to crazy

and drug filling routines.

I belong to drinking

and liking to party.

I belong to me,

meaning I do not belong to you,

and therefore, we, all of us, are unique.

Three Students in a Room

The quiet scratching of their pens

covered by the cool Icelandic

music washing mellifluously over their tired brains.

They lean steadily over futures,

working readily into responsibility.

Their hopes augmented by caffeine.

Three students in a room

strain tired eyes by lamp light,

regressing uncomfortably from playing.

I'm cracking. I'm numb.

A September angel

whispered "espero,"

breathing eternity

scandalously.

I'm cracking.

I'm numb.

Her bare body

is smoldering sex

with the pull of her fingers

across her belly.

I'm cracking.

I'm numb.

Her invisible brother

could be insatiable

but is hiding underneath

a shell of a shawl.

I'm cracking.

I'm numb.

it's like I don't exist

when you don't talk to me

for what feels like

weeks, as if I suddenly

matter only in my dreams.

you haunt me the way

sharks circle shores,

the way a mailbox feels

empty- the feeling that I

feel as I fill this sheet.

empty save the coals

smoldering like words on a page.

untitled 8-30

"I want to believe... that a song

drifting on invisible waves still exists somewhere." Betsy Sholl

I want to believe you exist.

Riding woe the same way I do,

you're catching waves until we meet.

You're holding secrets that make blood-red sleeves

the way I'm holding secrets in my pockets.

You're catching eyes that drift right by,

but you've never found a fit.

Because you want to dance on moonlit shores

twinkling your stars with the beat.

Because your heart is pulling with the tides

the way mine pulls just for yours.

Because right now you do exist somewhere

sitting lonely on a pier.

And I want to meet you and be the

musical whisper in your ear.

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.