The Latch Key Life
I wake up daily divided deeply disturbed by both the ease of my life and its listless lack of learning I long to live in love but have not seen such and know not how
Glass Bones
Ebony skin hangs on thin glass bones. As the boys dance I marvel that ankles don’t shatter. Can I have one copper penny is the homeless man’s serenade? And I hum louder, walking by. If I see poverty’s eyes in the man… or the glass boys or the millions of starving dots… then I am stopped by crumbs of light. The eyes, like talking lights tell me about my ragged poor self
Adhesive Residue
My screws are loose And my sanity has been Re-attached so many times with masking tape That my skin burns and becomes rigid From adhesive residue and rejection Madness strips the grooves off of boltsMaking my fingers And my expectations Fall to the floor in a crash And my eyelids flake off And I stare at nothing Wishing darkness was the same thing as peace
At Days End
(written in Iambic pentameter) Like a matchstick withers in a rainstorm I don’t stand a chance to stay dry or warm And survival alludes me, sipping gin I drown, and gasp, and try and claw but never win And I’ve lost sight of my ultimate goal So I wipe my eyes clean of powdered coal And blink the dust free of tired lashes And I can see then that my outfit clashes Pity yanks at my stomach with it’s weight And slows my stride until I vascilate Between the hard truth that I am not loved And softer lies that I can push and shove Into shapes that I can manage with ease As if at three I fed the dog my peas I taste not the truth, but I know it’s there My eyes beat my soul; a relentless glare I tell myself that I’ll survive alone And I look at the dog, with tattered bone And see the truth like a cold hammer whack My eyes, bruised and bewildered, I want my life back.
A Feeling In Your Bones
I open my window to thick heavy air That feels like cement dust, or ashes, or cotton It’s clumpy and sticks to the sides of my throat I’m tired of breathing, and being forgotten I tighten my jacket, and hug my own ribs And look through the winter, around, at the faces These empty reflections tell me a story I realize I don’t know where my own place is I tasted, then swallowed, a love unrequited That burned like a firecracker deep in my throat With ash in my mouth, and embers in my lungs I turned for the door without leaving a note
Dehydrated
I am painting rivers with my toenails so I stand in dry rock beds smearing life back into crevasses that crack and split under the weight of a drought
Soulmate
Does there even exist for me a person with whom to share a deep mutual respect and understanding encapsulated by a fevered undying love? Will I ever find ‘the one’ or am I building fairy tales out of pipe dreams and glue?
Life Is A Ride
A hot dog with just a little bit of mustard color sprayed the sky in gusts and flailing fire “do you have any extra napkins for the little one?” mothers asked of the ice cream man sticky fingers smear the skin on cheeks alive with gratitude and the sprays of color spatter on me like wet mounds of paint when suddenly I realize everything real is an illusion and every illusion is real.
I am NOT in Denial
I I bash myself in the kneecaps daily with a shiny steel hammer I am in love with one who does not love me back and bones crack and blood and blood and and II I eat breadsticks every morning on my way to be the ice cream man and your words are my late night snack I survive on it thrive on it III my soul twists a little when you talk to me about cute boys and I bang it back into place with a shiny steel hammer
Relax A Little
Its hard moving bricks one at a time. Bending over with aches in my back and callouses on my hands I am piling bricks in a formation around me. Bloody memories like cement fortify this new, half-built wall. I stop breathing heavy and with red dust covering my cheeks I see the endless sky the grey of storm clouds smeared across the surface of reality and my bricks begin to seem small. And I notice that I look ridiculous standing behind an unfinished wall enclosed by fear and mortar. So I put down the spatula lay in the grass and sigh. My half wall becomes a monument to my freedom.
