Sometimes I think
about somebody
that I've never met
and wonder

if they have ever thought about me

Staying up late
and knowing you're somewhere close
Dodging looks out windows
causing my neck to writhe
and my high hopes to plummet
when there's no one at my door.

Deserving of a whole heart,

Mine has been trampled by the graceful
and punctured by sinking fangs--
        oozing droplets of romanticism.

Giving out bite-sized samples
one-by-one.

Savor it.

I am the master of arts and crafts
I am a creater of everything around me
I'll design the architecture and paint the roads
and I'll erase the clouds with my finger
and I'll mold people of clay and I'll make them linger
and I'll draw thought bubbles above their heads.
I'll write up some thoughts of appreciation
of all things unnoticed and noticed by me
Then I will sit in corners and look and see
this simple world that was created by me
and I'll see beauty in the small things
and my people will too
because I painted their eyes green
and brown
and purple
and blue
I think I'll paint some yellow eyes too.

Don't awaken me to my failures
for they're my most dependable friends.
They never forsake me;
my baneful lovers until the end.

They're the sun that blinds me as it hovers
and abandons me in the twilight.
Why is it that the sun will always go down on me
but you never will anymore?

This is my ode to severence
so severe that I will bleed out
if you extract yourself from my chest.
So sleep there and keep me arduously alive.

I've been to every surgeon of a lover that loves to cut,
and none of them can fix this breach in me.
So I stuff it with rambunctuous patterns and accessories.
I wanted you to be a ravishing accessory for me,
but you're only an accessory to my spirit's assassination.

The coronet of my history still carves a hole in my brain.
With this hole in my chest
and this hole in my brain,
I feel eternally chained to the pain.

It's as if you pierce me just to see if I still can feel.
I can tell you without proof that it's the only thing that's real.

So now my molten emotions have erupted;
evanescing everyone I know away.
I'm lava that not a soul can caress.
It's not a fun game anymore.
I don't want to play anymore.

Tired of feeling like I'm ******* deranged.
They used to cheer my name,
now they whisper it,
as if my maudlin disease is contagious.

I wish I was the hero of my own epic,
but I was drafted into a tragedy
patiently awaiting my somber ending
that seems to never want to visit me.

I don't deserve

to allow anyone else

to feel undeserving

of me

I always have myself,
I'll never leave
I am my crowd,
now surf me.

I love the people when
the people don't love me.

And the worst part is
I have nothing to dress up for anymore
but I keep overflowing my closet
more and more.

For you, conversation is a one way sign
staked in the ground
showing what you know
You're the sign and I am the universe
I'm pretentious and ignored
When I shine a flashlight in your
already blind eyes
it burns but you wouldn't know
You don't even know
what a red-meated human being
smells like
but you know the contours of your
own brain

Now tell me,
What do I know?

My brain is a train that gets off track
I continue speeding on this rocky terrain
but this train has no end
I forgot to build a caboose
and the gears holding my cars together
are loose
And I see all of this and realize
my train is coming undone

At night my dignity leaves with the sun
as hoodlums come vandalize
my train's frail body
But I realize also
the beauty that now covers up
what's rotting apart
The destruction that molds
my train into a body of art.

Sometimes I see things
It's a rare occurance
because I don't mean to see them
I mean to look away from something
else.

Sometimes I notice
But only for a split second
but I don't usually remember
until hours later

Today I noticed something
It was a rare occurance
I didn't mean to see them
I meant to look away from something else

Today I noticed
But only for a split second
I didn't remember
until now

Today I shied away
From what was in front of my face
and I noticed from across the room
a pair of eyes
and what a sight they were to see
I wonder if they had seen
the pair of green
looking at their sky.

It's agony to see you creating memories with somebody else
but it's even worse to have to be with somebody else.

Your voice
is as if the pebbles in your mouth
are exploding with a citrus ocean,
Colliding with rocks
but falling through to nothing but
a lullaby about wishing upon stars.

and I like when it
sounds like you're crying
but it doesn't want anyone to know

I always thought we sang alike.

I like this a little bit but not enough to be sure of it and I can't stand for you to see me fall.
So I'll just lie to everyone and not admit that the world has won and I won't let them in at all.

Because this world is so much bigger than I and all I ever really do is try to find my mind but I lose it everytime just because I'm maddened by every sigh.

I get tangled in these sheets alone and get strangled by this dial tone and that is all I'll ever know.
Try not to mis-create with all this hate but I always make and relive mistakes and this all I think I can take

Because this feeling is so much bigger than I and all I ever really do is lie to find my mind but I lose it everytime just because I'm maddened by your beautiful sigh.

And these are my confessions on a canvas sheet in an exhibit for every critic to see and they can break me down to the ground just as long as I go with such a deafening sound and they can kick me down to the ground just as long as I crash with such a deafening sound.

I like you quite a bit and yes I know that I'm sure of it but I can't stand for you to let me fall.

Life is a foreign language


you can't understand it

you listen to it, dumbstruck

you watch the way the lips curl

you hear the tongue roll on the roof of the mouth

you are confused and frustrated by what's happening around you

However

when surrounded by this language

it slowly becomes familiar

you cannot translate it

but you notice ****** expressions

you feel the mood of the conversation in front of you

you start to recognize certain words

you can speak enough terms to make it through the week

your vocabulary expands, and weeks turn into months

and months turn into years

you begin to coast

ride the waves across the ocean

resting on your back, squinting into the sun

until sand scratches your back

and around you, everybody speaks a common language

a language you have taken in for years

a language you can now speak fluently

a language that suddenly makes sense

because you have become wise in your years

suddenly, everything makes sense.

They're attracted to me,
heels first
cheek scraping against the gravel.

I'm prone to injury
but not on purpose
I'm just clumsy and
don't pay attention

I let people in
but not on purpose
I'm just not careful and
I don't lock my doors at night.

I try to let
my blood run clean
but you have a mean tendency
to pour salt in my wound.

But I don't learn from mistakes
I just make them again
So I won't wrap it up
I'll let my wounds out at night

I'll let my blood run down my arm
and I'll hope that it can make it
down my *******
and I'll hope it will drip down
onto my leg
and I hope that it will trickle down my knee
and I'll hope that it will crawl onto the ground
without getting salty.

Maybe someday
There will be a pool of clean blood and
Maybe someday
Somebody will splash in it
Without getting salt on their shoes.

A place built for two with an eternally vacant cushion.

Battle your venomous creatures as I preach to the preacher creatures.

I look at the sky though my heart's been put to rest below the earth,
along with my conscience--- waiting for it's promised rebirth.

I know about forgiveness and how it's impossible to forget.
I know about mistakes, but somehow it's impossible to regret.

These are the days when my head can't find the clouds
and my batting lashes can't even black out my troubles anymore.

I hope that next year
you talk to your girl
about last years girl
and how crazy she was
and you make her feel so special
by telling her she's better
than last years girl,
like you told me
about last time's girl
and how crazy she was
and how you made me feel so special
by telling me I'm better
than last time's girl,
like how you probably told last time's girl
about how crazy last season's girl was
and you made her feel special
by telling her she's better
than last season's girl.

You've serenaded me into a comotose slumber.
I'm continuously sensing lullabies whilst paralyzed.
I'm too terrified to speak; too timid to even mumble.
Your intonation is so soothing; a banshee in disguise.

I'm stuck asleep in this in-pain asylum built of thorns.
Dreaming of the agenda I've never been capable of.
So turn the lights out in the tornado haven in my insane and in-pain brain,
and never admonish the fact that this pain is a continuous refrain.

The fires of my desires are cornered and defeated,
smouldering beneath the timber of my emotions.
I know you could never be lighter fluid for me,
but with our incandescent splendor blown out we can still go blindly through the motions.

My reveries never used to be this empty, and now they're becoming hollow with my conscience;
and these hollow empty chances are drying out as I continue to discouragingly pursue you.

You'll never envisage your face as I see it, and you'll never envisage why this bliss makes me weap.
I'll never have the most alluring face to you,
and my cold shoulder only monotonously lulls you peacefully to sleep.

And now it's to everyone's amusement that I can't manipulate my liquor anymore.
I'm so messy hahahahahahahaha.
So they prevail, standing as if they're boulders upon my shoulders,
compressing my heart deep into my intestines.

So now my love is growing slender
as yours becomes a pretender
and my whispy love surrenders as I surrender to this alcoholic ******.

The grains of my affinity rest in your palm and you spread your fingers and let them fall.
I could beseech you to clench your fist, but I won't.

I'm your lover you don't have to love
as my heart is left hanging above.
It's high and dry;
too weak and too shy.
So tie me to this clothes line
and hang me out to dry.

Tremors are endless
and my heartstrings
play a double-dutch
symphony--
-- Smacking against the pavement.

You think that now
It wouldn't be the first time it happened
So how do I know that in a couple of weeks or so I won't be worth respecting anymore?
but trust has gotten me into some nasty places
I don't. I just have to trust you.
So how do I know this isn't one of those times?
and you said, "Guys say that **** all the time. I've said that ****."

It's the karma--
It has me by the neck.
It's alarming--
Screaming in my ears... deafening me.

love: to have a strong liking for, take great pleasure in

I love you and I love french toast too,

Maybe I don't love anything at all.

I hear in my head
voices calling my name
Some of them are familiar
But they all say the same
I could plead that I'm insane
but all the same
I hear in my head
voices calling my name
Because I secretly want to be noticed
by nobody and everybody
all at once.

I find it kind of funny
          that everybody thinks I am happy all the time

And it's really kind of funny
          that I find myself happiest when I'm feeling deep about life and events and people
          and that the only way I know how to feel deep about these things
          is through sadness

And I find it really funny
         That everybody thinks of happiness as something so simple
         ' I like this a lot. It makes me happy.'
                    If it's all so simple... then why am I still only happy when I'm crying?

And it's a little funny
          That I love to write about things. It makes me happy.
          But everytime I write a word, everything goes dark, and nobody can really see what I mean.
          and happiness is so simple, but all of my thoughts are so complicated.

And I find it kind of funny
         That the only reason I sat down to write this poem
         Was because it makes me happy, and I'm always looking for ways to be happy.
          But this poem about happiness... is my least favorite thing I have written.

And it really is funny
         That I have realized
          ...
         That I'm only happy when I'm sad.

I'm the sun behind the clouds
when all you know is shade
So as you search for a lamp
to enlighten your darkness
I'll just wait for these clouds to drift away
so you lay on your back
and blades of grass tickle your arms
You imagine shapes in the sky
that try to hide
The rays that make up the shape of a face.

Is my perception becoming coherent now that I barely recognize you?
Is my brain becoming coordinated now that I realize I cannot hypnotize you?
I still spend my darkness delirious, longing for you to crave me,
and analyzing all the misread clandestine messages you gave me.

I'll be a liability until the time I am too old to lose;
until I choose for you to no longer be my shameful muse.
I'm no longer amused, just bemused and confused about how you could choose a sharper muse over my bitter heart which is drenched to the core in shameful *****.

I apologize for not being the durable woman you thought you appreciated.
The casket I built for my heart is too small for it to grow into a durable heart to be appreciated.
I wish I could be the new damsel you stumble into, but now you're wavering with a new damsel crew.

Is my perception becoming coherent now that I barely recognize you?
Is my brain becoming coordinated now that I realize your eyes told more lies than my empty hole, which only stubbornly cries?

I wish I could settle inside an insignificant casket with yellow birds and albino rats.
My hat's off to you for being my frozen rat that's in my exposed and taunting freezer, congrats.
Why won't you let me bury you like my frozen albino rats?

If there's anything I can do for you, you would never have to beg me.
Let me. I beg you.
Be indigo blue for me and I'll be true to you with nothing better to do than you.

I want to dimple your smile and file you away in the mile deep corners of my unkind mind---
even if it means bruising my dusty knees.
Please, be my hopeless Hercules with equally dusty knees.

Is my esophagus so full of **** that I have to purify it just to please?
Do I have to clear it just to breathe properly?
I fear I can merely wheeze miserably.
I hope it's just a stage; a torn out page in my autobiography that's theme I can no longer gauge.
Imagine the heart I could be able to manage successfully if I could only manage to grow gracefully with age.

Hello, see me.
Be with me and then free me.
Believe in me.
Bereave yourself of me.
Heave dust with me.
Believe in rust with me.
Be faithful rust for me.
Trust in me.
This must only be lust with me.

You Don't
Want to
Know
Anything
About Me.

Congrats,
You Don't
Know
Anything
About Me.

I take this blanket of time and pull it over my head
I wrap it around my body
to hold hostage vulnerability
Right now it doesn't help much
because this storm is too ferocious
and this sheet is too thin to contain anything pathological
But as I wait for this thunder to be over
I hope it won't go under without me
So as I pull this blanket of time over my head
and close my eyes and rock and roll
I sing songs and write poems inside my skull
to drown out the noises of cold
With every note and every line
I listen to the noises cry, until I hear them suffer and die
and I know my cries will suffer and die
So as this blanket rests upon my crown
I feel a chilly breeze breathe through its holes
and know the worst is dead
So as I open my eyes, still raining dyes
I squint at the world that has me curled
I stare up at the sky, craning my neck
I watch the clouds leak onto where my eyes leaked
and tears and raindrops leak together
Because I am one with the world
And as we share our pain
I know we share the sun too

Dance with me
my shiny new friend...
until we rust.

I want peacefulness
I want contentment
I want to wake up in the morning after the sweetest of dreams and live the day as a fantasy
I want to go to bed after a fantasy and dream the sweetest of realities
I want to not wonder and not have to think so hard to remember those fantasies that were so real
I want you to wonder and think hard all day long to remember me as a fantasy
I want you to search for me in every woman you meet
I want you to dream about me, think about me, try hard to remember me
I want you to care about me
I want to not care about you
I want you to to be constantly troubled by the fact that you can't remember what my voice sounds like anymore
I want you to be thankful that you at least have those voicemails on your machine as evidence
I want you to listen to them everyday and feel guilty that you do
I want you to feel guilty about a lot of things
I want to live in the same neighborhood as you and
I want you to wonder if I'm home every time you walk past my house
I want you to feel my cheek on your shoulder even when it's not there
I want you to not be able to listen to your favorite music anymore because of me
I want you to be nostalgic all the time
I want you to hate yourself for destroying me
I want you to not be able to sleep or eat or breathe because of me
I want nothing from you and everything from you all at once
I want to forgive you
I want to forget you
I want to go back
I want you back
I want to not hate myself for missing you
I want you
I want you
I want us
I want us to go back

Come back.

I have a dark side
It's just on the inside
Which is why you probably can't see it

The other side of my skin
is the foundation for
a world with no stars

The world would be so different
if I could see it with my body turned inside out
Everybody would see my sadness
the inkiness of my veins
The tears in my blood
making it runny and
my organs aren't sunny
because my heart is the moon

But if everyone else
could see the world with my body turned inside out
maybe they would see that I'm more beautiful on the inside
than I am on the out
Because my organs:
My inky veins and My runny blood and My moon
are more attractive than everyone elses

Or maybe they're not.

Probably not.

My moon just likes to imagine they are.

One was when we were together after the good days ended
It was in my kitchen
We were both just lingering in Alonedom
and then all of a sudden my head was on his shoulder
and I don't know how we got there
but we stayed there
and it wasn't one of those still embraces
we were moving together in place.

The other was another time
that I cannot mention
without trembling.

The flood is here,
that I asked of an empty sky.

Forget it sky,
you always know better than I--
         who has never dried out enough to die.

Despite the absence of presence,
I still have knowledge of existence
which will continue to haunt
my dreams---
          Re-runs of memories,
                    moments of nostalgia.

Some things are bigger than
the razor blades
That now seem to cut shallow

I've always remained in dichotomy
while other souls remained in the universe.

I've always had two,
but not because I had to.
things have always just happened in twos
while other souls remained in a world of waltzes and triplets
without ever capitalizing or utilizing any of it.
Rather they capitalize and utilize all the means to disguise the lies they use to hypnotize the tiny guys under their gargantuan feet.

I've always exercised contingency like its some type of emergency.
but my options are all always only heads or tails.
Let me *** your di so my options aren't just to live or die.
Because until sharing is caring we will never prevail.

I'm restlessly creating calamity,
creating comedy through my restless tragedy,
and unless your majesty dismisses me from my mission of creating maladies I'll never create the melody in which my face yearns to sing, and I'll continue super-imposing the many faces I have, never fathoming if my face is nothing but a window dressing,
messing up its potential to be sunkissed,
dismissed by any opportunity my hands have of discovering if my face is upside down or backwards or fits right at all.
But it has managed to adapt, obstructing my view...
bringing the dimensions of distance and all the backs in front of me into focus.

There are no faces in back of me
no faces facing me
only backs in front of me
and my back is to the wall.

I like how you feel beneath my skin
itching and tickling my organs
crawling your way up the side of my body
fingernails digging into my muscles with every step
Even though it's uncomfortable
knowing you're there
The fact that I'm aware
makes me content

I'm in a coal mine of cold minds
Icycles hang from the ceiling
Stalagmytes byte my iyceberg heart
and stalacytes fill in the hole they ate.

I'm just a piece of straw
Not in the center of a haystack
But off to the right a little
You're the needle
Everyone tries to find the needle in the haystack
But instead of finding you
I just got poked in the back by your pointy tip
But you didn't notice
Because there's a million more of me
But I see you
Because you stand out
and let me tell you
You're quite sharp

Hearkening whispers that remind me of footsteps;
awaiting them to be yours---
I'm ashamed, defeated on all fours.
I'm crestfallen because I'm certain
     that I am devastatingly unsound---
            nose stuck to the ground.

I have a mood indigo so abiding it's embarrassing.
My heart is colliding and subsiding to this pain.
I hear one tick and imagine that it's the lights;
      a plight to know this night hasn't died---
           but it never is one.
I'm pretending its all a burlesque
      but repressing the truth that it never is that picturesque.

It's never a picture show.

I dream unsoundly,
and now my world is despondent and unsoundly.
Here I stand, invisible and indigo.
I've been indigo since "my baby said goodbye."
I'd call myself Ivonne
     but nobody would even care to know.

I have conversations with you in my head,
my mouth is moving
          a silent film with a torn screen
I picture what you would say,
wrap your beautiful words in quotation marks.
          If they were real they'd be wrapped in a sunrise
I imagine that I am funnier and wittier than I actually am
so I can imagine the laughter coming from your mouth
          and even though this is a silent film
          your smile in my mind takes handfuls of weight from my heart
          ...and almost makes up for the locked doors that dominate what I see

But the torn screen warps your smile
and those locked doors mock me,
         pouring shovels full of weight back into my heart.

****.

A walking corpse, undead amongst a society of necrophiliacs.

Under the island is where I sleep,
beneath the lonely and the starving
and the bugs biting bare feet.

When I was a kid I had dreams I was being attacked by flowers.
I had dreams.
I had dreams.
I had dreams.
When I was a kid I had dreams I was being attacked.

What is it?
Wouldn't you like to know?
Well, I'm not going to tell you because I like to be mysterious.

Numbers mean nothing to me and neither does tomorrow.
Tomorrow's always new to me and I'm always unprepared for it.
But that's spontaneity isn't it?
and I've always wanted to be an anomoly.
It's always new.
It's a new day...
tomorrow.

I was dipping my toe in water that didn't have a temperature. There was a string choking my joints between my toes and where my foot began. It was a weight with a heartbeat. It was alive and pulling me under. And then the weight moved through my body and into my chest and I couldn't breathe... but I wasn't suffocating either.
I could sense black shadows all around me and I could feel my body twisting and contorting itself against them.
Black shadows.
Black shadows.
Can you sense the black shadows?
They live your closet, you know.

Colors mean nothing to me either.
And now the colors are colder and cooler and I'm from a different place.
And all these places I've been:
All the restaurants
the bathrooms
through the doors and windows
to church that one time;
they don't seem important anymore.

And they said it was all my fault knowing it wasn't at all.
They're evil
and selfish
and victims of all the paper filling up their ugly paper hearts.

When I was a kid I had dreams I was being attacked by flowers.
I had dreams.
I had dreams.
I have dreams.
I still have dreams.
I still have dreams I'm being attacked.

"Do your poems mean anything or are they just words thrown on paper?"
"I don't understand the question."
"I mean, did you actually think about it? Or are they just meaningless words you wrote down quickly?"
"Just because you write something quickly doesn't mean it doesn't mean anything."
"I just mean did you put thought into them?"
"I'm always thoughtful."
"I don't think you understand the question."
"You're right, I don't."

Alcohol's the devil
and he's my only friend.