In the Mist

I think sometimes
That this is how Jane felt.
Isolated and alone,
Crouched in the bushes
Observing, never interacting,
Watching others communicate
But lacking something in herself
To do the same.

Cheer Up, Emo Kid

Wow. Wandered right off the face of the earth, didn't I? Summer Break (And crippling depression) got ahold of me. My B, yo.

Cue poem.

My head is cramped.
Like my mother's purse,
It strains to hold its contents
And everytime I reach in
I prick my fingers.

Like Poles Repel

Blue is not good enough.
The accent wall is cornflower blue, blankly gleaming.
The painting is of a woman, in blue and black and purple.
It is a modern artist's rendition of a bruise.
The rug on the floor is Oriental, maroon and three different blues
Navy/Robin/Periwinkle, intricate and expensively hideous.
The countertop is fake marble, blue and black and tan,
Attractive but mismatched.

Just because there is something in common,

Do not assume they match.

Super

I have not overcome any
Great obstacles.
I have not leaped great
Bounds over skyscrapers
Or outrun a bullet.
But just because I am normal
Just normal
Does not mean that I am


invisible.

Forte

I love you!
I love you!
I love you!

We are standing in
The kitchen
Crying and talking
In the third person
Because we are afraid.
We are afraid that
We have misread
Each other and that
A declaration of love
Will break us both.
You say it first
And when I kiss you
I taste Forever.

And Strawberries.

Astrometrics

We are a binary star system
Spinning around each other
And around us the others
Spin like tops-- brightly
Waltzing around-- but we
Are made of nothing.

And We Don't Care.

Ragdoll

We have wandered
The air-conditioned Mecca
That is the mall
Until we have seen
Every store at least twice
And still bought nothing.
You tell me to find
Your perfume
Because you are bored
And when I
Lean in
To smell
Your
Neck
You push me away
And say to loudly
"Stop fooling around!"

To Make You Ask Questions

My name is Michael.
It wasn't, but a Red Sweater
Wrapped around a girl is calling me
michaelmichaelmichael
I don't really understand yet,
But I know that
My name was Michael
And now it is again.

What I really don't understand
Is why my Red Sweater girl
Wants to be called Eric.

Red Light

"When we broke up--"
Pause.
Silence.
The first
Admission
That we
Were
And
Aren't
Anymore.

But you carry on
And finish the story
As if our eyes had not

met

Across the car

Remembering.

Isosceles

I know him. Sort of.
He didn't seem like much to me,
And when you ask me I mind
I smile and say
"If it makes you happy, baby."
But I stab him with my eyes
And I leave a bite mark on your neck.
He'll find it, but I don't think he'll understand.

I certainly don't.

A Body Electric

I sit at my
portalmirrorscryingdish
computer screen
glowingflickeringchanging
and type
clickclackclatter
sending my words out into
himheryou
a world made of
apathymiseryindifference
binary code.

Color Wheel

It's Saturday night
And I am on the
Blue Rug
In your living room
Eagerly pulling off your
Red Sweater
With trembling fingers
While you leave
Purple Hickeys
On my neck.

Phone Call

I Miss You.

That was all I wanted
To tell you.
But when I called,
Expecting your voice,
He answered and I



Hung up.

Depression

People say the depression
Is blue and black and purple
As they moan and wail about
How hard their lives are.
My depression is red:
The hot pulsing light
Behind my eyes as you
Pick up your Red Sweater
And walk away.

I Wish

Whenever I see
The Two of Them
I Wish

I Wish
That I was strong
And violent, like a
Female Vlad the Impaler.

I Wish
That I was cunning
And manipulative, like a
Female Machiavelli.

I Wish
That I was charming
And debonair, like a
Female Cassanova.

I Wish
That I was male,
So that she would see me.

Kisses

Her kisses are a thousand adjectives
Soft and sweet and gentle
Rough and fierce and bloody
But all of them are tainted
With strawberry flavoured lipgloss
And his cologne.

Faithless

I could not be a trusting Sampson.
I knew you to well, Delilah.
I graced you with myself,
I fought your battles,
I surrendered to your whims.
But one night as I lay
Upon our shared bed
I found the Golden Shears
Beneath your pillow.
And when you tumbled
Into my waiting arms
I buried your Golden Shears
In your flawless breast.

I Hate You

I love the way you drink your coffee
I love the way you tie your shoes
I love the way you still ignore me
When I’m trying to kiss you.

I love the way that you laugh at me
I love the way you don’t deny
I love the way that you say “Trust me”
I even love the way you lie.

I love the way you trash my things
I love the way that you say “Just friends”
I love the way you hate it when I sing
I love your face when you see him.

I love the way you make excuses
I love every pen tattoo
I love all of your abuses
I love the way that I can’t hate you,
No matter how I try.

Creshendo

I can't live like this anymore.
We are fighting again
Screaming in the hall
While our friends look on
In mounting alarm
And at the door I stop
One last chance to
Make it right
No matter who's wrong
And you say
"If you love me you will."
But the problem with that is that
I don't love you.
Not anymore.

Southern Cities

We are a City, not a Town.
Because a Town is
camaraderie barbecue a white sheet
Smaller than we are.

We are a sprawling pseudo-metropolis.
Our City is
tradition isolation a thrown rock
Filled with People.

We are tens of thousands among billions.
The People are
masked enraged filled with rot and maggots
Polite and Hospitable.

The Postcards

Wishing you were here.

she still sends postcards
a procession of colors
and places i will never see
from a lover long gone.

Wishing I was there.

Chinese Class

She is laughing,
Her eyes disappearing into her face
Like animals into their burrows.

It is funny to her,
That I am flawed: That I can understand
But not comprehend.

I speak to her with my
Flat Southern Drawl (Immediately Stereotyped- A cartoon of myself)
And wrestle with sounds like ‘tshahi’.

The trouble is that I
Always understand what she says, and without me
No one else would.