You all look at me with those eyes.

Beads reflecting light—
illuminating expression.

Are there for me or for someone else?
Are you speaking to me?

Or do I cast your eyes for a reflection of myself?

Some may look at me offended, telling me to back off.
The others look and think to themselves or don’t think at all, just stare.

I wonder what you think of me when I don't force my impressions on you.

Misfired signals; the boat abandoned to the sea.

I was thiknin'

Why do I always need to reorder lists

So that heavier, or worse things

Follow the lesser ones, as in:

"disappointment and tragedy"

vs.

"tragedy and disappointment"

It's like—Disappointment?!  Pft, we have tragedy here, man!

I wonder, would I have this proclivity

If I were from another country

Then I think

Nah

I'd be hangin' in that forest

A haiku stapled to my tie

To create or to consume, that is the question
To cook or to gorge, needs answering
When a leaf flutters down from a tree
Dead, worn and bereft of life
The earth greets it with little mercy
And proceeds to devour it utterly
But ask the tree what she poured into that leaf
And she answers calmly, all the life that came before me
Our duty is to be, but our desire is to set free
What lives within us, from others already freed
From the mortal yoke
It takes a poke, a nudge and sometimes a push
For it comes not easy, not easily shook
But once you breathe the air of creation
You will never again question
Whether to eat or create
You draw upon the joys and pain of the billions before you
And you exhale into being, a beautiful bloom

On a day that was
fraught
with anxiety and anger,
I sailed on
to the
other side.
The two pens that
blew up in my hand
foreshadowed the
prolific writing
streak to come.
Six poems today,
a personal best.
Bukowski would be
proud.
He might even
wonder
How I did it without
******
***** and
cigarettes.

It was easy.
I had bluebirds for
lunch, and listened
to Vivaldi.
I just let the telephone
ring
ring
ring

they told you no.
they meant never.

they tried to carve
a life without passion—
because passion is poverty,
and you deserved better.

just wait, little one.
the world will carry
your name on its tongue.
the dream they stole,
quiet as a matchstick,
burned through a decade.

today
you’ll strike it—

and the whole sky
will burst into flames.

Some poems seem to write
themselves;
I just move the pen.
Others are like lumps
of clay;
they refuse to be molded;
they need moisture and time.
This one is like
a robin that just learned
to use its wings.
It heads west, on a
gentle breeze, into
a tangerine sky.

hate
love
****
save
suffer
heal
empathy
resent
torn apart,
the reality
of everything I had in my heart.

staying awake
to talk to him
is a distraction
from pain,
an escape route
I need.
I stay awake
talking to him
because his voice
settles the static
that’s been keeping me restless
since I opened my eyes
this morning.
staying awake
to talk to him
feels sweet
and pure,
yet I talk quietly,
because I’m 23
and still afraid
of what my family thinks.
talking to him
is cliché, maybe.
but I felt how nervous I was
first lying beside him,
and how it started to diffuse
when he leaned into me.
staying awake
to talk to him...
please
keep staying awake
to talk to me.
people come and go.
I’ve told them to leave.
he comes with flaws,
like I do,
and I don’t care
to judge him
like others might.
because he stays up
to talk to me,
helps quiet my static,
let's me fall apart safely,
and doesn’t complain.
when I’m alone,
he stays up
to talk to me.
and when he falls asleep,
I’m not worried.
because when he wakes up,
he reminds me
he's still there.

I silence myself.
I don’t want conflict.
tiny razor-blade cuts
every time I open my eyes
or my mouth.

walking on glass
for love.
I’m doing it
to myself.

careful
not to overconsume,
because you’re watching
my moves,
monitoring for a mistake
that ends in conflict.

It’s up to me
to isolate in my room,
to decide if I eat,
to change my perspective,
to see your face,
to open my door,
to speak the wrong words
and still show up
for family so hurt
they can't care.

It’s up to me,
to change something,
myself,
if that's what causes it.
anything
but silence myself
and hurt you more.

I want to help save you,
but I save myself
from the pain
of lying in bed at night,
wondering
how a good day
went so bad
everyday.

I can stand up for you,
and I don’t
when I’m “scared.”

it all falls on you,
and that makes me feel
unredeemable.

I’m letting you down.
you tell me,
“get a voice.”
you say I hold more power,
that I need to speak up for you.
that I get treated better.

but I still feel
small.
invisible,
even when I’m the one
who “has it better.”

how do I speak up for you
when you taught me
to fear conflict too?

misunderstood themes
haunting my mind
like I’m serving a life sentence.

you say you could move away.
you’ve said it
more than once.

sometimes I think
maybe I should,
like you said.
and never talk
to anyone again.

I’m scared to leave with you,
because it could repeat.
but if that happens,
it’s up to me.

I’m sick to leave without you.
selfishness erodes this family,
disgracing what it used to be.

after all you did for me,
I can’t leave
without you.

you say you keep it real.
I agree.
thank you.
now I’m going numb
like you.

you say
I’m watching you self-destruct,
push and clear off the tables,
slam dishes,
throw food.

fifteen years have gone by,
and I’m afraid.
it got worse.
I'm not helping.

and if I’m there,
I’m worried
I won’t support you right.
that I’ll add stress
you don’t deserve.

stress you’ve carried
for years.
stress I am still
ignorant to.

you say,
"you think you feel stressed?
tell me about it."

I'll be the icing on your cake
on a bad day,
and you'll say,
"I'll make you feel
how you made me felt."

I’m codependent on you.
you’re like my parent.

and I replay
every time I disrespected you.
every word
I shouldn’t have said.
you still remind me,
because you are reminded.

you say nobody helps you.
I believe it.

I know
you want to die too.
so how
can I say
you hurt me

when I,
and everyone else,
have hurt you worse?

you say I’m the cause.
then, other times,
I’m not.

that I don’t do enough.
that I have power,
but don’t use it
right.

so please,
live my life for me.
or let me
take my own.

I need
a reason
to stay trying,
and to stop blaming you.

something more
and less pathetic
than living
for everyone else.