There is a wall and this wall is drawn to scale.
A bug saw the floor.
This is my new perspective.
Gravity isn't always as it appears
Your right and my down are one and of the same.
Nothing's falling,
But still sends shivers down my spine.
The glue holding everything together
Is yellow at the tips.
A couple on an altar
The domain never-ending
Eyes on a jellyfish: New Orleans.
Run for the peaks
Drooling out of both sides of the mouth.
A loss of a leg, means a loss of a wing.
Sonnet rhymes are child's play.
Blocks as bricks with the support slipping out.
Six feet and falling.
Nine stories,
Why must 5 parallels intersect?

I still remember how you looked that January afternoon
The way your hair was after the snow.
The briefest of split seconds- as it landed, before it melted to nothing.
Bitterly cold but suffocatingly warm
The start of something was crisp in the air.

Unfamiliraties and awkwardness melted away with the snow
And something else came and replaced it.
Something infinite and permenant.
Something beautiful.

In that solitary moment we could never have thought it might not quite last forever.

That's why the snow always makes me think of you.

After it all.

They have spent their
content of simpering,
holding their lips this
and that way, winding
the lines between
their brows. Old folks
allow their bellies to jiggle like slow
tamborines.
The hollers
rise up and spill
over any way they want.
When old folks laugh, they free the world.
They turn slowly, slyly knowing
the best and the worst
of remembering.
Saliva glistens in
the corners of their mouths,
their heads wobble
on brittle necks, but
their laps
are filled with memories.
When old folks laugh, they consider the promise
of dear painless death, and generously
forgive life for happening
to them.

I can’t sleep,
Thinking of your face.
It keeps me up nights,
When my body aches
And all I want is
Sleep,
Escape.
I can’t sleep,
Thinking of you.
How we used to be.
How we fought,
And I’d be angry.
And I’d grit my
Teeth and swallow
The words like a bitter
Pill you have to take
In the mornings
But really don’t
Want to.
How I refused to
Hold your hand
Or talk or look at
You.
I can’t sleep,
Thinking of that.
Of how you’d gently
Pull apart my fist
And hold my hand in
Your big fingers.
How you would hold
Me even when I didn't
Want you to.
How our bodies fit
Together like mismatched
Puzzle pieces that
Really shouldn’t fit with
Anything at all,
But fit with each other
Somehow.
I can’t sleep,
Thinking of you.
How I hate myself
For missing us.
For wanting all
We had before,
All the madness
And anger and
Hurt.
But all the love
And happiness
And good-feeling
Stuff, too.
I miss that.
I miss you.

Dear Pickle,

You are making my face sour. Mom is mad at you for skipping school and I have to talk her down again.

Maybe next time you can write me a 1200 word essay on "How stupid your decisions are", So I can mark it up with red pen before you lose grades on your ribs.

Sister, you need to calm your *** down, because the world isn't a race and the underdog doesn't always come in first, or even second.
But take a second to stop breathing that smoke you call air, everybody is choking on the smell of teen-spirit.
The tattoos not yet ingaved in your skin will serve as a reminder of how you took last place in a family full of sharp broken pieces of glass.
I tell Mom "Don't worry, it's just a phase, she just needs a second to find her place, in this world" But, at this rate, I'm not sure you will.

Because, people will knock on your door and hand you bottles of quick fixes and Novocaine, and I hope that this poem isn't in vain to serve as a reminder of that little girl that still caught fireflies in her teeth.

And I am sorry I left for 3 years without watching your molecules multiply, but I wrote my times tables on the back of my diploma for you to study.

That 6 year old girl with woodland creature cheeks hasn't been forgotten.
That 6 year old girl who never failed to puke in the car after a glass of milk hasn't been forgotten.
That 6 year old girl that cried every time we told anyone you are cat food under the kitchen table hasn't been forgotten.

I am sorry, can you bring her back now?

And for me, could you stop making Mom cry, she has watered so many Forget-me-nots that I am afraid her roots are drowning.

Don't get me wrong. I appreciate all the time you bared swords and shields to defend me against the stereotypes that threatened to staple them themselves to the inside of our cheeks, but come on...get your **** together.

We are blood-brothers...with vaginas.
Don't you dare break that bond because if you do I will lock you in the closet, turn the lights of and leave you in there screaming and crying until the rebellion leaves your bladder.

I'm your sister, not your mother. I will not birth any more brother *****-ups for you to father.

Love,
Vinegar.

Because the cost of a soul is the price of a moment.

Because time had no beginning, but ends at forever, hanging helpless from the corner of the sphere.

Because the light will still find your brain, hidden at dead dark midnight, tickle your eyelids, and dance in a place you don’t dare mention by name.

Because darker is biggest and most beautiful, and the light men stood as the last link in the chain, the whip in the right hand of god.

Because the blood on the meter is a narcotic brew of Pacific, Atlantic, and flaming Arctic waters, set ablaze by giants who lived in the age of wine.

Because the sound of a tree falling in an empty forest rings out once, but is heard in two ways.

Because the wind cries the song of the living.

Because the sun sets and the moon rises.

Because the river water is cool.

Because the cost of a moment is the price of a soul.

Because.

Around the world swinging my hips, A hula hoop queen
Wrapped up in our nation’s flag I’ll be your American dream
Microphone miss superstar, shake the feathers in my hair
Honey you’re my favorite audience, you know I love it when you stare
Late night rooftop philosopher, tell you everything on my mind
Lover archeologist, boy you’re the best thing I’ll ever find
Little baby human canvas tattooed up my wrist
Turn into a woman fast when you grab me for a kiss
Vroom Vroom Racecar driver when I follow you up north
Lit up your sky fire works on our first July fourth
Princess of the gas station, buy me cherry gum
Lighting up my cigarette, won’t forget to spark you one
You lived a world of black and white, and that is not a lot so
I’ll bring in my vibrant reds, you got yourself Picasso
I know I scare you at most times, but never should you quiver
For my king at his request, the queen is sure to deliver
Apache chief rain dance girl, my tribe calls me brave heart
But I’m not always so courageous; I’m just trying to be smart
I’m thinking with my heart so fast the pumping blood’s still blue
But it beats, and I do all these things, I do them all for you.

Light is more important than the lantern,
The poem more important than the notebook,
And the kiss more important than the lips.
My letters to you
Are greater and more important than both of us.
The are the only documents
Where people will discover
Your beauty
And my madness.

Caffeine, sugar, dairy fat
Chemicals made in a vat
Hold the threat of sleep at bay
Keep me sane for one more day