What an unimaginable feat of accomplishment:
to strive and have, but to live for naught.
When sad moments of reality breach the dam’s capacity,
then overflow into the fantasy of what might have been,
there is a strange area of not “being”, now a part of the epiphany.
Were I to jump from here to the past, unable to wish for anything other than this,
accepting a journey I had no expectation for– losing faith in words;
becoming something I could never have thought to be,
a certain version of me: a person of long, slow thinking.
Why would my faith waiver now?
As I stumble upon false promises for a future I never wanted.


September 2005

Saltwater Fears

She guilts me;
I had cut again
down to my soul,
I could not tell.

Splitting skin shreds like paper,
thick drops of blood
from slow moving red cells,
coagulation is key here.

Feeling better than wrong
I did it again,
running scared,
frightened of healing.

Gather the sorrow,
borrow the rage,
put them all down
on a single white page.

Where do I go now?
I need to be alone,
to cry out fat droplets
of saltwater fears.

White Noise

On the edge of an ocean, I sit
soaking up the white noise
of crashing waves–
trying to seep the silence
into my bones, old and weary,
weighing down this young body.
Mistaken for another me,
a past life I lived
before I knew what a future was.
When at your feet, I begged,
thinking you could hear
the child you should have given up;
there were no deaf ears turned
only blind eyes to a broken world–
I sit in the midst of youth.


Forever in search of being entranced
by the way a person observes
the universe with closed eyes.
I throw away depths unseen
by lovers found before
an understanding of the self
became ingrained within the soul.
An unreliable narrator
has not the right to judge,
yet still I see myself
disrupting a sense of love
while I go look for more.


I color myself with disillusionment
with each inking of my skin
–desperately searching for my soul,
bleeding between bold lines.
As I draw nearer to the surface
I swiftly break to pieces;
fitting forcefully together,
a chaotic organism,
unfit for being whole.
I walk closer to the brink
to look over the abyss
–the soul I’ve been escaping
whenever my mind shifts.

Black Hole

I fell off the face of the earth
–it hurt.
Climactic as anything could be
I pick up the pieces gingerly
delicate egg shells
holding onto a being
haphazard and awake.
Bursting against gravity
and slowly succumbing
bent on imploding.
A star left to supernova–
I am the black hole
disguised in the aftershocks
unintentional hiding
biding time
before becoming me again.