A Dangerous Tactic

In the war of prose vs revision:

The tactics of poetry are unsafe
The way it draws out thoughts
Not even the mouth can articulate

Because logic distorts truth
(When emotions are involved)

Because emotions distort you
(When logic is involved)

Logic knows,
We are to have a strong exterior
Cool, collected ducks above water
In order to race toward success
We must not let our hearts digress
(from our brains)

But when poetry is involved
Digress! As far from reason as possible
Remove the logically clouded goggles

No, argues logic, the cloud is emotion
And you must not be conquered
By a muscle your blood pumps from

But the heart can feel and hear and see
In prose, it's a thing to be treated tenderly -
And when the cold tactics of logic break in:
Common sense meets pain and becomes poetry.

Anticipation

I'm afraid. I'm anticipating. I'm hoping. I'm wondering.

What I will find...

Afraid that once your skin touches mine,
None other will suffice
Anticipating the brush of your hand,
Imagining how it will end
Hoping for what seems impossible,
Wondering if I'll ever mend
From the wishes for our souls to meet
While I sit here and irrationally dream.

Blue Mondays

Another Monday, you're feeling blue
An unexplained headache
You just don't feel like you.

Another Monday, I'm missing you
An unsurprising heartache
I wish I didn't love you.

Another Monday, recovering from booze
A story for my sake?
I don't want your excuse.


Poem inspired by a disease, a dependence, a habit that finds its way via loved ones to dark corners of brokenness in my heart.

Close Encounters are Unkind

I heard you whisper my name
I turned and you weren't there.

It slips.
Every time.
Where you are.

Someone always tells me.
They must not know
What it's like to feel your glow
Then stand outside of it, cold.
They must not know
What it's like to fall apart
When I hear that you're close.
I imagine your laugh
And I can't help but cry,
Because these close encounters
Are so very unkind.

Mom, What Does the Color Gray Look Like?

It looks empty and in-between
It is a cloud filled to the absolute brim
In a sky that heavily overhangs
It is a day not painful enough to be blue
It is how I felt before there was you.

Paris in the Nighttime

He hung Paris on the wall, as though to explain:
That's where we fall, somewhere far away,
That's where we love, behind the scenes.
That's what he does and then he leaves.

I study the tower at abrupt mornings' ends
Out of the shower and we're back to friends
All intimacy is gone, I stare at the painted lights
I irrationally long for seemingly imagined nights.

He hung Paris on the wall, as though to say:
Please don't fall, but don't go too far away.
Listen for my call, and we'll escape the day,
And crawl again through the cracks of this place.

Breakdown Waiting

I'm waiting for the breakdown
By blatantly avoiding it
My thoughts are foreshadows
"He's nice. I don't trust him, though."
It is nausea over a date at his house
Nausea over drooling, needy men
I am waiting to unabashedly scream
"What the hell do you want from me?!"
Instead I whisper tears that won't fall
And I try to run from a painful crawl.

Realizing Quiet

I am thinking of all the times I have carelessly walked through a door with the noise of my day buzzing around me; loudly throwing keys to the table, dropping bags to the floor as I begin out loud thoughts that end with other tangents; Times I have walked past a loved one without eye contact or touch...

I'm so hungry,

I'm so tired,

I'm so frustrated,

I'm not one to judge, but you understand right?
I'm so ready for bed, I'm excited to meet with friends,
Oh by the way, what was your day like?

Now I'm thinking of how I couldn't know
Of the noise tires make as they slosh through snow
Abruptly stopping in the drive before they even slow
An innocent intruder who brushes in with the cold
Loud breaths to overtake the quiet you came to know
The clashing of keys dropped heavily on the table
All of this interrupts the immersion of you in the pages
Pages that took you from the noise, the fear
From the seeds you you've not begun to sow
The safety of thoughts only you can hear
Of yourself as you, open and hopeful
Of yourself unaborted, with a kiss to leave you vulnerable
A hope that someday, you will feel
A comforting break from your own heavy silence
A welcoming warmth when Good Intention opens the door
Confidence that the other side of the bed won't be empty anymore.

Noise

I am hearing noises I didn't hear before.
The sink drips incessantly
Tap-Tapping to remind me
Of things that don't exist anymore

The sound that water makes
In pipes that surround an empty place
Traveling through the house bones
Spelling out clearly the word ALONE

The stairs whisper and creak
The neighbors argue and scream
These are the haunting sounds
Of nothing, of everything

Turning Twenty Five

In between good and great
A chance to taste
But not to hold
In between young and old
When the world unfolds
While you wait on hold
A momentary glance
An inside view at chance
A realization, or two or three
That you don't know a damn thing!