day 38

Be my stepping stone

We turn snowed in welcome mats into loving beds

Tell me

I could lay like this for ages

Cradle elbows with tissue paper hands

Be gentle

Kiss wrinkles onto foreheads

We will give home a new meaning

Skip pebbles across melting volcanic glacial waters

Freezing time to keep the warmth in

Your chapped fingertips are all mine to hold

Repair broken skin with stinging heartbeats

This

is where our eyelashes

dance with each and every blink

to the melody of the crashing waves beside us

on a quiet Summer's day.

Admire with ocean deep eyes

No one knows how to swim anymore

but we can pretend

Tell me you hate me

and I know you won't mean it

Don't throw me into the shallow side

My tissue paper lungs will crumble

Love me like pretty bow tied birthday boxes

With you,

my seventeenth birthday is born

time and time again

Be my stepping stone

We turn boulder hard pillow cases into feather light passion

Tell you

I am light,

my bones are brittle,

but I love you close with tissue paper might.

Be gentle with my soul

And in return

I will give home a new meaning

Effortless pretty bow tied birthday boxes

for every day of the week

You make me feel alive

like drowning in volcano glacial waters

pretending to swim to the surface

for another breath.

That breath is the stepping stone to a new lover's heartbeat

Strum me gently with stinging words

Pretend you're falling in love

Keep arms sprawled out

Crawl into open minds

Gift wrap expectations sweetly
I won't be seventeen a year from now,
but sway in the depths of my youth.
Don't forget that I am letting you love me,
so remember:

If I am able to breathe around you,

everything will stay warm.

day 37

Seeking:

I am willing to pay cab fares

across Atlantic oceans and Red seas

no bridges

Contact the dreamers

Count sheep until this impossible task proves possible

The dreamers have a reputation for dreaming with eyes open

Thinking of foolish unpractical love schemes

They paint nurseries yellow.

Virgin yellow.

There is a price to pay

for erasing memories and yearning innocence

Dreamers surgically remove nightmares

They dream with glossy eyes staring

One eye on virgin yellow sunrises

and one eye on naive love children

We are all lost here

Tattoo compass ink onto my hands

New lover,

hold me

Guide me North in East hurricane winds

and South in West monsoon tears

We are all in need of dreaming yellow sunrises

especially me

but let go of my hands

when my past lover is dragging me backward

Reversing into a parallel universe

of broken utopia

It is still virgin yellow there

but the forecast reads foolish love schemes

That house I grew up in

has lead paint

It was painted yellow in the nursery.

I could see the Red sea through my bedroom window

it reflected see-through rose colored pupils

I am teaching children to love cab fares

To love trading virgin yellow sunrises

for foolish yellow cab one night journeys to Atlantic ocean mysteries
They exchange innocence for being familiarly lost

New lover

hold me

Guide me East in North tropical blizzards

and West in South thunderstorm droughts

But be ready to let me go

when virgin yellow melodies get mistaken for foolish unpractical love schemes

I am all lost here

and not awake

Contact the dreamers 

Count sheep with me until this impossible task proves possible

day 36

Distractions cause rug burned skin
I don't know if I will get used to the carpet
Accustomed to loving on bare foot floors
Not ready to surrender curled toes
Only after let loose curls on
distracted ragdoll burning side burns

I feel burned
A burden
Accustomed to fearing splinters on pinky toes
Building bridges to pinky promises

I am burning these burden bridges

day 35

Sometimes

most of the time

I think that I'm fine

I mean

I know that I'm fine,

but there are those days

sometimes

where I'm not

those moments

where I'm laying in bed

and I can't help but think of you.

Sometimes

most of the time

I get this lonely pit of empty in my stomach

where those cheeky butterflies used to dance

And I get sad

most of the time.

Sometimes I'll lay in bed with someone new

most of the time I'll just picture myself doing so

and the lonely pit of empty isn't there

Sometimes

I'm just confused

most of the time.

What do I really want

most of the time?

Sometimes I want you

but I want to be myself

most of the time.

Sometimes I want you

but I want to be happy

most of the time.

Sometimes I want you

but I want you to understand me

I want you to learn from me

I want you to see beauty like me

See,

I want you, sometimes,

but most of the time

I just want you in some other sense.

I remember wanting to hold the shit out of your hand

I still do.

You are a Sunday type of love

but when did Sundays turn into early afternoon secrets

sipping water from plastic cups

inside

on beautiful, warm summer days?

Sometimes

I'd just like to lay in bed with you

most of the time

and just be silent to ourselves

I would save you the right side of the bed

most of the time

and we would sleep

sometimes.

Sometimes

I still really just want you

I still really just want to hold your hand

and sip water from plastic cups

wasting away beautiful days

in your grasps

but

I really just want to be myself

most of the time.

Sometimes

all the time.

day 34

“If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose”

(Charles Bukowski)

To the all the people that sing for better days in the shower

Nature's rain can be too cold

but having the power to cry in warm water

makes a cold soul feel mildly better

There are days you will walk with broken umbrellas

capturing the tears of a million invisible bullets

and you will cry under the pressure

but no one will tell.

We mix water with water

Acid rain with saltine droplets

This soul is a beautifully polluted ocean

This soul is damaged

is tampered

is broken

This soul is drowning in the depths of the deepest darkest waters

but this soul

This soul is still yours to dance in the rain with.

day 33

a haiku:


Last day of band camp

This season will be sexy

Gold gold gold and gold

day 32

32 sugar packets

for an extra bitter coffee

we don't treat each other with love.

money eyes and hungry hands are present

only in the absence of love

you are holding 32

gift boxes of

strawberry frosting

on miniature marble cupcakes

even pastries can't decide whether they love someone or not

everything is always black and white

everything should always be black and white

black or white

or strawberry frosting captured in sepia

distinguish is a silly verb.

why did i bother paying an extra 32 cents for an extra bitter coffee?

32 sugar packets won't make me feel any more awake

and my teeth are going to rot

from our dying tongue kissing hellos

nothing makes sense

your tongue speaks fibs from rented violin bows

ribbon wrapped gift boxes

of miniature marble cupcakes

nothing is either vanilla or chocolate

or black or white

or strawberry frosted indecisiveness

you speak silly words

32 days a month

i lay listening to little neighbor church boy

practice with his rented violin bows

sometimes

i can't distinguish between the screeching music

or screeching tires on this slippery wet pavement

route 32 is slippery wet

we are driving each other mad.

i love you 32 days a month

but

how

day 31

what am i doing with my life?

i want to travel

with just two hands and two legs

with two feet

and ten toes

i want to live

in a rainy city for 3 years

alone

make myself a cup of hot chocolate

every morning

and eat a piece of cake

because i can

and because life will be a piece of cake

i don't want a one family house

with a white picket fence

and beautiful roses and vines

okay

maybe vines

but not roses

i am a daisy kind of girl

and i hope i still will be

i want to live five minutes away from downtown

and a library

and a laundromat

and a museum

and a grocery store

i want to walk into a grocery store

alone

with a basket

and bump into my past lover in aisle 3

he'll be buying cereal

for his beautiful children

and i'll finally meet his beautiful wife

they'll be so perfect for each other

that it'll make me happy to know

that letting go 

was the best decision we've ever made

together

and after grabbing an instant pack of cocoa

and exchanging those

i-fell-in-love-with-you-first smiles

i'll find the shortest line possible

buy my shit

and walk back to my studio

alone

but somewhat happy

and somewhat heartbroken

but mostly happy

and i'll start to spot the gray undertones of the clouds

and be thankful that it's not raining for once

i want to be beautiful while crying.

i want to pick a daisy off a crack in the sidewalk

and place it in a water bottle

on my kitchen counter

it'll remind me of my ex boyfriends

that used to buy me daisies

for birthdays and anniversaries

but remember that he got me a fake carnation

and baby breath

on his prom night

and i still call him my past lover

there are people you meet

that seem so perfect for you

but they make you sad

and they make you bored

and they make you frustrated

and they tell you they want to leave

i want to be able to look back on this decision

and not have to worry if i still look beautiful crying

i want to be thankful that my two hands were once his to hold

and that my two feet and his two feet

once walked the same path

together

i want to be thankful that he makes me want to be alone

for the rest of my life

but seeing that he could be happy someday

in a stupid grocery store

buying cereal for kids we once named

changes everything

i want to fall in love completely

losing sense of my toes

i want to be numb

in love

the way i used to be with my past lover

but not with my ex boyfriends

i want to be able

to stick ten daisies in a single water bottle

and not have anyone question me

i want someone to tell me that i am beautiful while crying

and that someone is a stranger

in aisle 4

looking at the same cake mix as i am 

and i want to tell all of my secrets to him

on a rainy day

and he'll send me daisies and water bottles

on Tuesdays

because he was thinking of me

day 30

this morning i spent time to myself at a park with a camera.

i had a terribly horrible day yesterday,

but today is a new day. cheers to blue skies and pretty flowers.

xoxo

Today is a new day

I live in a beautiful town

full of daisies and bumble bees

The skies are beautiful blue

and even more beautiful when gray

Sadness 

is a blessing here.

I love my surroundings

I've grown to appreciate the beauty of cracked sidewalks

and stinging wasps.

If you are silent,

and daring,

you can grasp beauty by her green grassy fingers

and honey filled locks of hair.

She will grace by you

like a swarm of gnats 

chitter chattering 

gossiping

wondering where all the humans are.

We spend too much time online

and in bed

What we don't know

and what she's telling us

is that you can make a bed

out of dew drops and marble benches

She wants you to take advantage of her

She is the definition of beauty

and we live in her thoughts

bicycling through one ways

and carefully stepping on her cracked porcelain skin.

She is a sweet honeybee wind

Do not be afraid

be daring

and speak with careful porcelain words

She will not sting you

if you hum sweetly.

day 29

HI! FUCK YOU BAND CAMP

AND FEELING SO EXHAUSTED

AND FUCK YOU STUPID HAIKU RULES

AND HAVING TO FOLLOW A MOLD

SO FUCK THAT

I'M SO SICK OF FOLLOWING RULES

THAT ARE SET

AND THAT OTHER PEOPLE CAN'T SEEM TO FUCKING FOLLOW

YET I HAVE TO FOLLOW THEM.

I AM NOT BEING A CONFORMIST

I AM JUST FUCKING

TIRED

OF 

IGNORANT

SELFISH

SELF-CENTERED

MORONS

FUCK!

FUCK FEELING SO ANGRY

AND UPSET

FUCK SEEING YOUR GOOD FRIENDS CRY

AND FUCK BEING FORCED TO LISTEN TO NEW MANAGERS

WHO TREAT US LIKE SHIT.

WE ARE THE FACES OF THE BAND.

HOW CAN YOU EXPECT US TO RESPECT YOU

IF YOU CAN'T RESPECT US?

GOODNIGHT

day 28

learn to let things you cannot control go

1

i feel ridiculously empty inside

with a bloated stomach

and a heavy appetite for my lover's past

2

i've come to terms with the fact that you're gone

but i will love you til i can't anymore

i just 

fell out of love

clumsy kissing tree

we planted the sweet lemon seeds

and chopped it down

3

chopin couldn't have told his piano all the things

he used to tell his past lover

the piano would get insecure

of how strong of a love

he once had for someone

4

how bittersweet

5

how busy do i have to keep myself

to constantly keep you off my mind?

how many more pieces will i write until i grow annoyed of missing you?

how many times do you think of me anymore?

6

being selfish is such a bittersweet action.

as an attempt to make us both happy

i'll admit red-handed that our kissing tree

was chopped down by me in the tune of C sharp

7

the green of the leaves reminded me of you

something so pure 

i don't have a piano

but my notebooks are growing jealous over

the words i used to tell you

8

chopin trees with C sharp axes

hurts

summer is nearly over

i am getting jealous of the trees

that will carelessly let go of their green leaves

if only keeping you wasn't so selfish

how bittersweet

day 27

"hope"

we live in this river city

and it floods sometimes

but there are mattresses in our canals

to remind us that we can sleep anywhere

there are water proof post it notes

singing waves

and open armed currents

i've been swimming in my best friend’s tears

long enough to believe that i've grown underwater wings

and she’s grown into a  mermaid

crystal shimmers and

pretty sequins

we’ve both grown gills to breathe in each other’s cries

lately

her cries could be heard

1150 miles away

inside the crashing tidal waves

of Florida

she’s had her eyes set on Miami park benches

and free bird balconies since we were 12

she would live in the sand

open handed hugging warmth

something New England couldn't give her

and for six years,

we’ve sat on dark alley cat porches

Catching lightning bugs with our tongues

I would aim to fly as tall as her

just to flick away her teary whispers

we would cry together

in the night on empty basketball court floors

theres something about hearing dew drops grow

on open mouthed tulips

that makes you want to cry

and i would hold her hand

not because i love her

but because i love her

and i would bite my tongue

from saying what her love means to me

it is growth

and we are still growing

and i still wish to be as tall as her

to catch her morning growing dew drops with my tongue

she is a rose

in a field of baby breaths

we've been taking baby steps since

we were 12

when she first had her heart broken

and i still clench my fists around her heart

every time he manages to break her ribcage open

my underwater wings have gotten used to

open armed swimming in her

crashing waves of heart break

lena

I will always be a short swim away

In our dirty town canal systems

But there will always be dirt soaked mattresses

In the bottom of your screams

Its okay to want to cry

But its been 6 years and your heartbreak will cause tsunamis

In the midst of growing tulips

They are open mouthed and full of warmth

I will pick them for you

Plant them in an underwater casket

We will all grow breathless together

But full of baby breath park benches

Do you remember

The time we were 12

And we spent half a day discussing dreams

You’ve always wanted to be a teacher

But I never thought that id be here

6 years later

telling you that

you can live on the coast

even if you live in the sahara desert

there are tears worth remembering

and there are tears that just force you to drown

hes been growing with us

but you’ve been carrying leeches on your back

giving your blood away like you only need water in your gills to live

I swore

That I would always bite my tongue

And never let you hear my realities

But there is a free bird

Sitting on a sun warmed balcony

1150 miles away

It is singing to the mermaids

That are crying over lost shimmering leg bones

lena

I know

That you’re already used to your mermaid tail

so if you have forgotten how to walk

you still have hands for me to hold

day 26

We are all in a war.

And so far,

we are all surviving.

There are invisible bullets in the air

they smell like love

and are hidden in magic cloaks

sometimes

the horror of falling in love with someone

is hidden by the sweet scent of their touch

and the sincerity of their laughter.

Falling in love can be like falling face first on landmines.

We all have a quick sense of what we're falling for

but there's no way to avoid the heart gashes

and broken souls

and tangled brains

We are all in a war

and so far,

our hearts may be empty

our souls imprisoned

and our brains washed until no memories could be thought of

but we are still surviving

count the breaths you hold before

falling face first.
sometimes

loving a landmine may be the 

easiest way to know you're still alive.

day 25

Sara is sweet honeybee tongue melodies for your mind

She is sweet

She is wisdom

She is cavity on wisdom teeth

taking advantage of all time left

She is beauty

Sara is queen bee damsel in her own warrior adventures

She is bravery

is respected

She is walking ninety miles blindfolded

in the mist of an underwater cave

She is her own

Sara is wild beach waves during December twisted blizzards

She is frozen beautiful

is something to awe at

She is the chills that hold your spine by hand

impatiently making you hum sweet humble bumblebee melodies

during the midst of December underwater caves

She will hold you by hand

and drag you patiently in whatever direction is warmest

She may sacrifice her words with an honest tiny sting

but she will teach you how to sing underwater

In December

You may be alone right now

but Sara is in the honey comb compartment of your heart

She is the sweet tooth we ache from adventure

she is the hand you hold during the darkest of days

she is what you feel

warm

day 24

Reflection:

I look at myself everyday in the mirror

but I don't see any physical changes.

perhaps my hair has finally grown on me

and my eye infection grew over night

but I am still 

me

no matter what.

I'm still the geek that

fascinates over simple music theories

and masterpiece tuba tunes

and I'm still the geek that

my chess team likes to show off

because I'm the only girl

and I'm still the geek that

will complain over too much schoolwork

but secretly worship all the challenges

like a guilty pleasure.

I'm still myself

I've changed a few tidbits to my look

but I'm still the growing tadpole

swimming in every direction

just to find where I belong

I'm growing more and more everyday

I get a little guilty

and geeky over how excited

my spirituality is showing

but I'm slowly

growing

into someone

that

I love.

And even though

I'm still the same little person

that swears like a sailor

and the geek

that sorta feels out of place sometimes

I'm finally sailing smoothly

into a home on the ocean

these waves are crashing at me

cold and dark

but I've grown to love these mishaps.

I love myself

I love where I've been

I am a geek

and today I have a slight eye infection

and a show in front of 1200 people

my hair is getting a little annoying

and my bones are like tadpoles about to

swim out of my skin

but I'm still fascinated

by the world around me.

I'm still the geek

that loves to face these waves

one day at a time.

day 23

To the boy that can make mosquitoes dance:

We sat by the river and you told me

you like the way I say your name

I didn't utter a word

not because I didn't know what to say

but because

your name is a masterpiece tune

from the bottom of my voice box

It makes my heart sing

at every syllable 

and leaves me breathless

instantly

at each attempt.

Then I remember

that I'm just a shy butterfly

unaware of my wings capabilities

but you take me by my heart strings

and pull them accordingly

 Thank you

for sharing the sunset with me

and humming along to our accordion hearts

You make the mosquitoes dance

and play conductor to the belly butterflies I managed to stomach

I can't make mosquitoes dance the way you can

but speaking your name is a sweet enough tune
for all the wild wings at night

day 22

It rains rivers all morning

and oceans all night

Her tongue curls to catch each drop of salt

She is an angel

floating backward on buoy waters

The salmon are mirror images of her blushing complexion

She will make you blush

and emit too salty of tears

but she will catch you

with her curled tongue and

wavy strands of hair

She is an ocean

driving forces of love towards you

at speeds of blinking monsoon flood seasons

She will make you drown

but teach you to soak up each tear emitted on your lovely face

She will leave you floating aimlessly in rivers

catching salmons to bring them back home

to a riverboat house,

it's empty,

because she is a force

that will crash waves of euphoric misery

into your floating thoughts.

Without her

your house is left homeless

flooded

during the quick monsoon season.

day 21

Healing.

1

    my life is spontaneous enough as it is
    i didn't ask or try to meet you
    it just
    happened
    i didn't try to make those friends i have now
    they just happen to be there
    in the right place and time


2
the truth always hurts


3
as much as we've grown together,
and grown apart,
we are slowly growing into different people
together
apart.

4
we loved like sacrificed grapes in the sun
wrinkles didn't scare us
we would grow old together

5
as much as the truth hurts
our entire existence was a mere coincidence
and a bit of luck
we loved like aged old wine in sappy secret cellars
i was a perfect secret
to a perfect homebody

6
your body became home to me
words wrapped around me like gorgeous vines
you will always stick to me like grape jam
reminding me of my childhood lovers
and the fight to get this homebody's attention

7
the truth always hurts and always hurts a lot
we grew up to sit alone in empty parking lots
sharing childhood memories
and grape jam sandwiches
we soaked in each other's misery like sunburnt raisins

8
to me
you were my hospital tags
reminding me that i am alive
i didn't ask to breathe the same air as you
i didn't try to meet you
we just happened

9
we were just two acts of spontaneity
random fits of growth spurts
we grew into each other like wild unwanted vines
we chopped each other off our tongues
at the wrong place and time

10
you will always
be a reminder of my childhood love
we soaked in feelings like sacrificed grapes
glued our words to each other like grape jam
we sat in quiet secret cellars too often
who knew the truth would mature as quick as us
you were an awkward spontaneous growth spurt
in my constant running life

our memories will never run away from me
i glued them to my soul
with grape jam truths


11
i will always love you

day 20

She was born with more beauty

than the sun

the skies

the cliched galaxies

we don't know if she entirely exists

but my heart believes in her.

She is warm sand between piano fingers

fake secondhand store gems on lovely silver

she will slither alongside your faith

willing to crawl nine million kilometers

to see the beauty you birth

from your own growing hands

She is a warm tulip between lovely strands of golden hair

she can make you cry gems

and awe at your faith

we don't know if a woman can make us feel like this

but our hearts believe in her

day 19

The sun is pretty

Reminds me of your loving

You are my summer

day 18

Cotton bandages 3 meters long

I wished upon 5 centimeter meteorites for tradition to rewind

but tradition is dug skin deep

my mahjong culture has sunken through pale yellow skin

I should be golden

but golden skin is melted ore on dirt floors

It may be beautiful to you,

but it is dirty to my culture

It will stain the cotton bandages 3 meters long

that have become red carpet to fresh soles

I will learn how to walk

5 centimeters at a time

aware of the buckets of Bengal blood in the shoes

my tiger mother have made.

Our mahjong culture forces tradition into our brains

like pretty jade bracelets on pale yellow skin

It has traveled through generations like bright eyed meteorites

Soon,
this will all rewind,

these cotton bandages will be bound 3 meters too long

we will all forget how to walk

day 17

An angry haiku because I've been trying to post for hours now:

Go to hell, Blogger.

Why do you hate me so much?

Stop freaking crashing.

day 16

what do you remember

the truck slid

it slid as far as i could remember

it slid until i didnt see it anymore

like toboggans on snowy hill tops

like sledding through blizzards

like christmas ornaments surfing through empty attic boxes

but this was not christmas

this was a massacre

this was a massacre

this was

a

massacre

i lived in massachusetts

where it snows torn legs and arms

broken noses and 

broken english

where the truck slid down our neighborhood

like slipping snow plows losing control on slippery cobblestone roads

it slid

and i couldnt stop it

it slid

this was a massacre

this wasn't christmas

the train tracks felt like they couldn't stop rumbling

couldn't stop rambling their mouths off

couldnt stop chatting away

it was cold

but this wasn't christmas

a train slid down the tracks

i remember having braces

i remember getting them off on christmas

but this wasn't christmas

the train slid into the truck

and the truck slid down my street

like reindeer down my chimney

like snow flakes melting on my skin

my skin was melting

like candle wax left out for too long

this was a massacre

my life was a massacre

my trucks always slide

like black ice on new england sidewalks

i used to live in new england

where we have fences around everything

they keep the coyotes out

coyotes eat broken arms and english

they eat torn noses and legs

they eat them like christmas dinner

with blessing

but this wasnt christmas

it was never christmas

christmas passes by too fast

the ornaments are always bottled up and 

stuffed in cases of styrofoam peanuts

i drove too fast

i always drive too fast

massachusetts said i drove six times over the limit

but we had six children

and christmas passes too fast

the ornaments

the red ones

they go back into my mother's attic

we painted ornaments one christmas

but this wasn't christmas

this was a massacre

we lived in massachusetts
where it snows coyote bravery and impatience
it snows fingers and torn ligaments

we used to sled down white crystal clear snow

all six of us

we had six red toboggans

we turned the snow yellow one christmas

one christmas we slid down too fast

life went by too fast

life died faster than my brakes did

it wasn't christmas this time

it was a massacre

my truck
it slid down those train tracks so fast
i dont remember any words
the stoplights were yellow
they were YELLOW
they switched too fast
and the crossing sounds
the signals sang like broken english
my brakes were broken
i am broken now
into bite sized coyote bites
into an ornament red christmas massacre

my truck gave birth to torn ears and teeth

broken ankles and intestines

this was not christmas

this was a massacre

it was july

christmas didnt come quick enough

my life slid down those cobblestone roads
like snow off our broken noses

(inspiration:

http://www.unionleader.com/article/20110714/NEWS07/110719940)

day 15

to the boy with the sweetest soul,

thank you

for making cavity smiles

and smiling root canals
worth it.

for showing more teeth than i should.

for feeling overexposed

but feeling modest.

i love it all.

the first time i saw you cry

it was in the serenity of my own eyelid captures

i've never seen you cry

only heard you talk about it

my ears

have played shoulder blade therapist 

to your aching heart

thank you

for turning your shoulders into secondhand homes

arms

and elbows

and ears

and hearts

i love it all

your friendship is my faith's finer replica

i feel the warmth of hope magnified to the thousands

when i spot a wave of your hellos

i throw butterfly smiles

and dimple love you's your way

at every awakening laugh that escapes your lungs

if only seeing you

were as easy as wishing

and if everything were as easy

as i wish
and if wishing were as easy
to stomach.

thank you

for giving me a reason to complain about absolutely nothing
for losing my taste buds when speaking your name
there is nothing more sweeter than to appreciate your presence
i feel myself rotting spoiled when i am around you
but i love it all

thank you for teaching me to never cry over spilled spoiled milk

sweetest soul,
there are things i've never spoken:
there are butterflies in every ounce of broken
drowning ears in every tearful complaint
empty stomachs from shallow cries
drilled dimples on blushing cheeks of girls that aren't worth your time
you are worth twenty six ounces of time in buckets
i wrap my hollow arms around them
and hurl them as carefully as i can.

time is spilling by the gallons
but you will never stop to give me butterflies
your friendship means more than monoxide escaping lungs

thank you

for listening to the never ending octaves of complaints i throw at you

discus style

wherever life throws me

our fate will be a boomerang away

take me with you

like a commercial frisbee

we'll be

an arm's length away

in touch.
i love it all

day 14

Yesterday

my darlin husband left me a good bye letter.

I know he's gone for good.

Yes'm I'm sad, but I'm sure happy for him.

Did I cry?

No'sir I didn't. I don't cry for nobody.

But I'll admit

I did indeed tear up at the picture he enclosed with his letter.

So many sweet memories, sir.

The letter was as sweet as he:

Dear love of my life,

I've only known you for so long,

but it feels like..

so long.

I'm bound to leave soon,

but I'm leaving you with this picture.

this pond..

you see this pond?

I was born here,

I remember it like it was yesterday...

you see that lily pad?

that's where my parents fell in love.

that was papa's good ol bachelor pad.

he had all the ladies.

mama was a jem to have caught his eye.

mama was beautiful, too.

you remind me of her

sweet as honey.

i must be vinegar,

but you make me feel sweeter than the bumblebee's honey combs.

laura,

you make the bees jealous.

i don't wanna get too sappy

but i feel like i didnt have enough time to appreciate you.

i dont have enough time to appreciate you.

life is too short

please tell our children

that i'm sorry i didnt get to live to see em grow

to prosper

to love one another

and to fall in love with someone that reminds them of their mama

their mama is a gem!

i love our lily pad

you've made a bachelor pad, a home

i fell in love the moment you flew past me.

laura

you're the cutest darnest thing

you put em in their places

i was never the type to dance the night away

but you make me want to dance.

like there is nothing left to live for, but you.

i love you laura,

please take care of our children

i hope theyre as beautiful a jem as you sure are

love,

joe the fly

day 13

A series of haikus:

I just snipped it off

Goodbye BNV bracelet

Til we meet again!

I feel kinda sad.

BNV was amazing

There's hope for next year.

Dear my beloved,

Goodbye, sea foam green beauty.

Thanks for the good times.

I don't have a life.

I have been writing haikus

about a bracelet.

I need urgent help.

Or maybe a cat or two.

I love cats..cats..cats.

day 12

i am a wanderer

the feeling of disappointment has never felt so much like home

i feel it

like warmth between my toes

back flat on pigeon stained park benches

closed eyed and grown on apathy.

the i don't cares grow on like moss

rock hard boulder

smoldering thoughts like

spontaneous combustion.

where

did the time go

where did the

times

go

i am a wanderer

lost in the times lost

i am rock hard spirited

wilting away

shove me in solidarity

feels like moss between split ends

and split second decisions

stop

where does the wanderer go when the wanderer is tired?

when the wanderer is tired

the wanderer stops

i collect myself like moss stained rocks

left in the solitude of isolation

i am the echo in coral reefs

no one will ever swim close enough to hear

i bellow

like a yellow belly salamander

whose made home to a smoldering boulder

where does the yellow belly salamander go when its home is on fire?

the wanderer doesnt have a home for it

and the wanderer doesn't know when to stop wandering.

stop

wondering

where everything

goes

day 11

18 questions for my birth

1

If you didn't choose to wake up on the 17th of September,

what other day would you choose?

2

If you didn't choose to wake up at all,

what would my mother's favorite color be?

Would my father's favorite color still be her dark brown eyes

and would unity still be their favorite song?

3

Today,

I fear the dark.

I fear the night in day.

The dirt in peaches,

the grime under my finger nails,

the gum under my sole.

But why does fear matter?

Would you even bother waking up if you had a choice?

After the seventeen years of test driving life,

were you just too scared to buy into life completely?

What makes the 17th so important?

What makes everything so damn important?

4

My favorite color is peach.

For the days that hues of blue get too deep

and as a reminder post-it note for my mother.

I love her.

My father's favorite color may be red,

but he doesn't see my mother in the same tint.

He loved her, too.

I'm sure of it.

5

When you woke up,

were you thinking that you'd be sure of everything upon you?

Like my mother and father would soon travel different paths

Like I would be such a pathological liar on days when I just can't believe anything

Like crude oil ships crashing against dark blue hues of waves would tame me

Like life is tough, but peach post-it notes surround my every thought

Like if you didn't wake up

how sure would you be that my father's favorite color would still be dark brown?

6

My mother's favorite color is white.

I don't think she believes in pigment

because the last time she made sense of color,

it was the black of night

against the crash of blue waves.

Birth,

if you didn't wake up,

how much would the 17 year test drive matter?

Would ruby still be her favorite jewel?

Would my father spend more time staring into her dark brown eyes

into her dirt ground soul

into her own fears

Would he know that she doesn't fear the dark today?

I'm sure it has something to do with him

but why does fear matter?

7

In about a month,

I'll be 18.

Are you finally getting tired?

Like the seventeen years of restlessness have finally caught up to you

Birth

In about a month

will my favorite color still be peach?

Or will I change it?

Because I'm becoming afraid of the dark in day

Who ever knew that the blessing of light

would cause me to fear every ounce of dirt in rubies.

I'm sure you weren't sure of everything.

But I'm sure if you didn't wake up,

my father would still enjoy being down to earth

like the pigment in my mother's eyes.

8

Is my mother's favorite color white because she may also be growing afraid of the dark?

Is her favorite jewel a diamond because diamonds are the beauty in dirt?

9

Another peach reminder post-it note for my mother:

You are the beauty of mud brown eyes

We swim like tadpoles in dirt tsunamis

but we will eventually sprout arms to grasp the darkness.

10

If you didn't choose to wake up at all,

would my mother's favorite color be peach?

Would she leave herself reminder post-it notes to be happy?

would anyone leave her post-it notes

would anyone care enough to remind her

of the beauty she really is?

11

I turn 18 in a month.

I'm sure I'm getting tired of the dripping mud stains

on open handkerchiefs.

12

If you choose to sleep,

I'll trade myself for the eternity of blessings

my father owes my mother.