it is grateful, anyway
some days the rain pours and it’s like tears
streaming down your face
around midnight when no one’s around.
those times you can’t keep pushing but
deep down there’s a light inside of you brighter
than times square at dusk
or the northern lights in brisk winter.
when the street lights dim and all you have is yourself,
the moon, the stars
will you remember that you are worthy
of existence and of pain and of joy?
create until you can no longer
write down those ideas until
the very day they stop coming because
you will shine
people will see how shiny you are
you will see how sparkly you’ve always been.
let those tears stream because one day
there won’t be any left
and where will you be left?
the pain inspires, so let it.
one day someone will come along
who loves you a thousand times more
than you love yourself,
who sees the you
that you can’t even see.
the real you.
the one that gets in the way of you.
don’t be scared.
and you’ll hate them.
you’ll scream and cry and get angry
at their praise, you’ll be scared
that you’ll lose the one person in this world who
protects your heart like their own,
in the way that you never did.
they won’t fill a void, no, they won’t perform miracles but,
to you, they’re the world you never had.
treat them right because maybe one day
you won’t need them, but you’ll want them around forever.
try your best to crawl out of that little treasure chest
tucked inside your mind because
while you feel like it might keep you safe,
it’s holding you back from uncovering
the other buried treasures out there.
those treasures, the ones that let you learn
and grow and keep.
maybe your mind is cluttered,
maybe even worse than your apartment.
and at least your apartment can be cleaned.
your mind can’t–but maybe
if you can find the time to do a little dusting
or swiffer sweeping you’ll find something
you’d been looking for, for a long time.
maybe you’ll find your star, and
maybe your star is just a hunk of concrete
you found on the sidewalk.
a dust bunny you found under the bed.
hold it tight.
like you never did your heart and
like you never did your soul.
one day that star will set you free.
and sometimes your spirit
will be broken like the rungs of that old chair
at your moms house,
but the beautiful thing is…with a little glue
they can be fixed…
at least for a little while.
one day you will accept that life is far from perfect,
it is ugly and ravenous
and it is up to you to fight it
with the grace the dignity, and the strength that you have
and so deserve.
the world does not deserve you.
but it is grateful, anyway.
As she gazes through painted panes,
porcelain eases in and out like
the splintery swing;
the see saw with no rider
down by the rippling pond.
She stumbles, shatters,
suds smatter black and white
Recklessly inverting rubber gloves
wrist to finger
splayed on the floor alongside
shards of my heart and
of her dignity.
Bounding toward the phone–buttery,
her perfectly polished
10 o’clock to 4 o’clock
6 o’clock to 4 o’clock…
And through flowing florals
hung with force and
knotted with rage
I watch my mother pull away
punchy in her ‘54 Skylark.
Her scarf waves farewell to me,
snaking around her décolletage
flirting with her negligée
a powder blue trench.
“Bye dear, I won’t be long.” she says
She returns with a man in a fedora,
a hound’s tooth jacket
snarling at me
as it grinds her against
the polished hood of the car
that my father loves to drive on Sunday’s.
A cigarette through pursed lips
Smoking away any guilt
found on her slick red lips.
His pipe tickles his mustache
captivating a craving
as large as the lusting diamond
on her left hand.
Heavy dew licks pavement’s
leathery film, slick
as infinite drops descend,
striking matchboard blacktop
sparking electric dreams of
near and far.
He stands in an alleyway
illuminated by a constant hum
of glowering signs
angered by moon’s glow
wondering what’s next?
in his incandescent dream:
a midnight reality
of smog filled skies,
and torturous eyes.
The world, tinted by
cellophane glasses: not
clear, always shiny.
Days linger; cars hover
announced by glazed headlights
greeted by synthetic eyes
that could kill.
In a place existing
as dark matter
void of time and space
lurks particles of humans
who know nothing but
of mind and body
and call on those who are weak.
consuming you is my favorite thing to do
clawing mind to the high heavens
that’s what I was made to do.
seated to the right
at the table where we first met
you had long hair then,
eyes full of glass beads
that we’d string binding
our loins forever.
perhaps you didn’t want them bound…
you blinded me.
Slashing worlds, I know
to mirror yours
in perfect harmony
fingernails dig waning crescents,
crying blood to match sobbing faces.
millions of dendrites pace,
shooting nerves down my spine
in a finale of paralyzing
pins and needles
bloodshot eyes eclipsed by fear.
did I catch you off guard?
Please, carry on.
I am light casting through
I see you,
but you don’t see me.
Small, but mighty, I am.
a rolly polly carving
dug depths deep
beneath the breeze
awaiting discovery by delicate
pinched fingernails full of dirt.
If you asked me, I’d say
I’m in a safe place.
shielded from your world
as free as my fugitive pet caterpillar.
If you asked them, they’d say
I’m in a dark place
Lost and never found
Like the memories we made
and never kept.
and me, cheek pressed cool against clay
waiting for rain to come
wash me away and
bury me like those burrowing bugs.
I live each day.
watching you, watching me
can you see me?
Why, oh why, must
birds sing songs of
Perhaps we should learn from them.