The Call

You called-
After so long,
How long? -
You called.
You asked questions,
And I answered.
You were polite,
You blatantly ignored our history.
As a lady,
I extended that courtesy.

Hearing your voice though,
Set me back
Like a time machine,
Endlessly moving back further and further
Into the abyss.
you said you loved me still.
What was on your mind?
Why after so long?
I wondered.

I heard.
I bled inside;
I opened up like an umbrella
That guards one from the rain.
Your words poured down on me like a storm,
My very being washed away.
I tried to hold on,
But I still got wet.

Words so close to feelings, suppressed,
That which I guarded jealousy
Was laid bare before you.

You called to say -
What did you say again?
Oh, yes.
Right.
Wasn't I quite a lady when I said I loved you, too?
But,
Did I say it then,
Or so long ago?

For the Moment

I stand on top of this deserted roof.
the orange sky illuminates my soul as I watch the city above and below.
For the moment,
The world seems so simple and carefree.
And its sole purpose of existence is for me to see.

I unclasp my fist and hold on to the dirty locket.
A pretty little heirloom.
Somehow, in the mix of tragic scenes,
I managed to keep a firm grip on it.

For the moment,
I am inefficient.
I am a barrier to any positive or negative thoughts.
I allow the wind to caress my frame gently.
I let its fingers run smoothly through my hair.

For the moment I paint an ideal picture of what life would be,
Had I only ever saw what was in front of me.
I watch the birds fly to and fro,
Blessed with ignorance to the cruel world.
I wish to be one of them - free.

For the moment,
I do not exist inside myself.
I move closer to edge and look down below;
The little souls all move on missions.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

For the moment,
I am unaware of what I am doing,
Of the motives behind my actions,
Or to whom and what I am trying to prove.

I let go of the locket and let it fall...
Down, down, down...

For the moment,
I prepare to take the extra step -
Then I stop.

I changed my mind today,
I shout to the birds.
Don't despair - tomorrow we will take a flight
In the setting sun together.

For the moment,
It isn't my time,
But in a moment,
Everything can change.

The Past

I wonder
When it will end,
My mind ponders
Which way I will bend;

Should I run as if demons
Were on my track?
Should I stay
Without looking back?

Looking at the past,
Wondering the future,
It would seem so absurdly fitting
that I understand the present.

I can't stay.
I must,
I have to look away,
Or risk turning into a statue
At the smallest glance over my shoulder.

Feelings of joy are lost
Never to be found or felt again.
The laughter is gone,
The towers of dreams have collapsed
To heaps of rubbish.

But I must take a glimpse
At who I was then
To even comprehend who I am now.
I take a peek -
A short, fleeting peek
Behind me.

And then I turn rigid.

700 Days

For nearly seven hundred days you were my friend.
We did as friends do;
The laughs, the whispered secrets,
The gossip,
The tears.
What more could two lonely
Souls do for one another
But to be friends for
Just about seven hundred days.
Not too short, nor too long,
Just enough time to capture a heart.

You were organic, wheat.
Me?
Produce, sugars.
Us?
Water and vinegar.
Products of love.

Tales of abuse and bitterness
Were alleviated
By grandiose stories of
Something beyond the Bay;
The sky scraper,
The notebook,
The man.
The lines between struggle
And imaginary difficulties was blurred,
So that, in the end,
All there was was problems.

My friend of seven hundred days,
Where are you now?
Have you settled your peace in your land?
Where have you gone?
Are you happy?

There were promises,
As most friends have,
Of keeping in touch,
As most friends say.

But us, we knew.

After seven hundred days,
My friend,
We knew it wasn't true.

The Reflection

Morning rain clouds touched the wall.
His shadow,
A looming seven feet taller than him,
Omniscient in all the wrong ways.
His footsteps,
The drums of despair,
Resonate in my chest,
Its echo calling out to the door ahead of me,
Willing me to make a move.
And then, oh -
That solid silver he grips
Reveals my shattered reflection,
So sharp, calm, forbearing,
Yet graceful.
What a familiar kind of silver.
He holds it menacingly,
Just three inches from my face.
I see the blurry outtakes of a still film.
Myself,
Crouched in a fetal position.
Acid filled tears
Falling on deaf ears.
Blood on the walls,
A piercing pain on my inner thigh
Burns with question marks.
Had I ever known how to fold clothes as even as squares,
Tie a tie on good timing,
Or assort canned goods label facing forward,
Without instructions,
I could have lived the life of a happy woman.
But I am dumb,
He tells me.
I am a rock without strength.
I repress the thoughts of escape,
For fear of going to Hell.

REVISION of "Stitches"

What is this dependency on me?
Dependency on you?
Look at what you've done to me.
No numbing agents to deflect what pain
Pierced my heart like needles to the flesh.
You claim to be around,
But you're neither here nor there.
A punctured mind was left behind,
Fraught with shades of blues and purples
Like berries in the green fields.
You are blissfully unaware of your status;
The God to my wounds.
You medicate them,
Sew up the reaps of pain softly,
Yet return to pull the strings.
No harmful intentions,
Nor apologies mentioned.
The missing strand in my genetic makeup,
You are the disease,
The disorder I carry
Void of antibiotics.
This permanence is the only reality
In your sick game of repair and destroy.
Strong, maybe unrealistic
Hopes for healing dwell in me.
But there will forevermore be a constant reminder;
A lingering scar.

Stitches

What is this dependency on me?
Dependency on you?
Look at what you've done,
Look at what you've left in
Your footsteps.
You are cold my friend,
Because you are bare.
You claim to be around,
But you're neither here nor there.
You always medicate my wounds that you inflict,
Yet you're not even aware.
Sewing up the reaps of pain, softly.
Yet you don't know that they're there.
And still you return to open those wounds back up,
No harmful intentions,
And pull apart the stitches,
No apologies mentioned.
You will fix it once more,
Then make wounds afresh again.
You will sew it back up,
But see,
The cycle never ends.

They

They block the wind,
And even on their oldest days,
Tired and weak,
When I am around,
They remain strong for me.

Fate explains that these things were
Meant to happen since the beginning of time.
Change knows we were just
In the right place
At the right time.

They Devil has me fooled,
But oh!
They have fooled the Devil.
They are attached to the mind of an angel;
The Devil's traitor.

They cradle my dreams and smooth out
The wrinkles
With a gentleness that I may never have.
But the angel,
Once so confused,
Has killed my heart along the path to righteousness.
To love.

They are filled with mysterious drawings
That I can never make out.
The alpha and omega.
The king and a crown.

Those arms, those arms,
You see.
They are all that's left to love me.

Forget

Can I forget?
Can I burn the memories,
If I burn the pages of the
Journals containing them?

You watched me suffer,
By your side,
Yet you wanted me
Near you.

Have I forgotten what happiness is?
Is it even real?

Is being happy gone,
Along with the days of scraped knees
Ring-pops
And innocent mischief?

Do I even want happiness?
I've simply got the instinct for being unhappy
Highly developed.

Could I forget?

Tempted to Fail

I am tempted to go the easy path,
The one most traveled by.
To give up on my life's desires,
Although I don't know why.

To put down the pen,
Sacrifce the dream,
Throw away the play.
So that I may have just one,
Just one,
Nothing day.

To give up the will, the drive,
The strain,
So that I may learn to breathe.
So that I may wake at the strike of noon
And lay in bed relieved.

I'd like to not wonder to myself,
"Where has my whole week gone?"
To have the time to read,
To write,
To draft a silly song.

I used to have a social life,
Now there's no time to talk.
I used to love to run,
Now all I wish to do is walk.

All I am these current days
Is just a ticking clock.
Until I break against myself,
And then the ticking stops.

But isn't it funny how life works
When you're ready to give in?
You find the strength to run the extra mile,
Just so you may win.

The light at the end of the tunnel
Is so far and faint...
Still I proceed,
For the distant light so small and bright,
Is all I really need.

The Third Box

There was once a man who lost his name,
His sanity
And sense of self.

But he owned three boxes,
Each cardboard shape similiar in size.

This was all he knew.

He lived in a grand old Victorian home,
With a garden full of lilies and roses and petunias,
But he couldn't really see the colors.

There were little golden statuettes
In his study,
And on his desk were two
Golden, diamond studded cuff links -
A Testament to his wealth.

The house smelled of flowers,
But the room -
The room most certainly
Carried the scent of a woman.

Yet he lived alone.

The carpet was an eggshell white,
Brand new,
With a bearskin rug shipped
All the way from Romania.
But there was a faint blotch of color -
A light plum skin,
That would not disappear.

Surely it was a wine spill?

But he only ever drank
In the presence of company,
And this stain was new.

Why, I haven't had a visitor for many years...

He wondered.

But his boxes,
Those identical boxes,
Were up in the attic -
They were the only thing in life
That seemed right.

He climbed up the wooden stairs,
To assure himself.
And there they were.

He opened them up one by one,
A strange feeling of nostalgia overtaking him.
There were old newspapers, antique jewelry,
Clothing, a dusty saxophone, letters.

In the third box,
There were only pictures.
Hundreds,
If not thousands.

He held one in his hand.
There stood a woman,
Tall and elegant with long,
Slender hands.
A man stood next her,
Grinning stupidly at the sight of her face.

He turned the picture around and saw
His own name written in dark ink.

He looked up at the body length mirror.
But he was not at all the man in the picture.

Two

I'm wondering if I should say...
I'm wondering if it's even true?
But if neither of you take it well,
What am I supposed to do?

Stuck between a rock and a hard place,
All I do is cry.
Do I reveal this buried treasure?
Or carry on this lie?

I'm wondering if my love for one was real,
Or just curiousity?
Would my feeling have been the same
Without your animosity?

Then there's the other.
What can I say?
He could push me through the Gates of Hell
And I'd still decide to stay.

Two people, two hearts,
How could I fall for both?
And when the truth comes forth revealed,
How am I then to cope?

My mind is flooded with the memories of two very different souls.
And I've come along to just assume
So many different roles.

One says that I'm changed - I could never be the same.
The other wants to stay - regardless of the pain.

One I have lived to love,
The other I have loved and lost.
How could I sell the products short,
At such a cheaply cost?

One has forgotten what used to be;
He'll deny the past in every single way.
The other could not do without me for a single day.

Two very different people?
How could I love them both?
And when all is said and done,
Which do I love the most?

Is it really true that certain things are better
lef unsaid?
Or should I jump the bridge and simply say
What I feel instead?

The pain feels like an endless tunnel,
But it has just begun.
I really could not live at all
Without that certain one.

Stupid America

We the People of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union...

Stupid America,
See that young girl with a belly
The size of a soccer ball,
Walking lopsided in pain?
She is not a loose teenager,
A statistic.
She is a smart child - with honors courses
Who was raped by her drunk uncle
And too afraid to face the facts.

Establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility...

Stupid America,
See that pretty young girl?
Walking alone in the street,
Trying to find herself,
Without a map or help from society?
The man with the badge filed a report,
Then took her back home.
Not even the Constitution could keep her
Father's hands from touching
Innocent places.

Provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare...

Stupid America,
Remember that lively, bright girl
Who once had a Dream?
She was only thirteen.
Her body couldn't take the pain of
Birthing a child into this world,
And she died on the spot,
A premature baby with a heartbeat
Lying besides her.

...and secure the blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity...

Stupid America,
You will question where her parents were
While she was out having sex.
You will use her as an example and reason
To practice safe sex or abstinenc.
You will nod your head in a typical fashion
While glancing at the Obituaries,
Waving the paper in the air and saying to your nearby daughter,
"See what happens?"

...do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States ofAmerica.

Yellow Roses

You sent me flowers,
Yellow roses.
You remembered,
Good friend.

I form no illusions.

No teddy bears,
Candy-coated chocolates,
Heart-shaped ballons.

Your way
To say
Still friends;
I care.

When you remember
Send me flowers,
Yellow roses,
My friend.

I know they hold no secrets
Nor fantasies
Nor dreams.

I form no illusions.

Your New Wife

Take this poem and deliver it to my husband,
Tell him it's from his wife.
He will be the one with the unshaven face
And the bags under his eyes,
And he will carry with him the smell of
Menthol cigarettes and tar.
He will not greet you kindly.

He will curse you
And give you every threat known to mankind
But you must be persistant -
I have some things to say before
I let him go.

Husband;

There are sheets in the washer
That need to be put to dry
Or they will certainly stink up the house.
Trevor has baseball practice every week day,
From six to eight
Except on Friday's -
Remember this.

The flowers on the windowsill in the kitchen
Need to be watered.
You know I hate dying plants.
Rushing out of the house this morning,
I knocked over our wedding picture.
If you would be so kind to pick it up again,
Thank you.

The shattered glass reminds me of
The time you hit me
"Because you are a man."
Men don't cry.
And I will not depart saying "I love you"
Because I'd like your transition to be smooth.
Despite what you think,
Even now I care very much.

As for the carrier of this poem,
I have selected her to be your
New wife.
I don't know whether to tell you
To treat her like me,
Or perhaps not.

Do not show me regret.
It's too late for that.
Now is the time to be strong,
Remember - we have a child.

I see your tears clearly now,
Your vision of my words blurred.
I guess you were wrong.

Treat her better.

Land

I came around the corner,
The darkness well settled around me.

The usuals were there.
Crazy Abe was hidden between a brick building
And an old warehouse
Where cardboard boxes are made.

Billy was dancing to his walkman;
A song no one could hear but him.

The decaying building which was once
A Salvation Army,
Closed seven years ago,
Was littered with homeless men
And their carts of cans and dirty clothes.

Brian and the gang were on the corner,
Hidden from the moon.

Laughter.

There might have been cat calls,
But I was tuned in
To the land where they stood.

"You and I" Revision

In the beginning,
We were just children.

We had a castle
And a village with horse-carriages
Cobblestone
Knights and merchants
And a forever-after.

In the beginning,
We laughed.

We were one,
Stone replicas of each other,
Twins,
Salt thrown into sugar.

In the beginning,
We had potential.

We had dreams
Of those days ahead of the path.
A white piano, embroidery, delicate lilies,
Golden circles that were meant to unite.

In the beginning,
We could fight the storm.

We clutched what there was
And doors opened and closed in our wake,
Still there was sympathy hidden
Beneath our skin.

Now,
We long for the days of pretend.

We remember the beginning,
When you and I were
We.

How did it ever become
You and Me?

The Garden

Without a word
You left a space














that hung in the air
like a stinging odor.


You were replaced by dusty portraits
And decaying,
Dried up roses.


After endured
The pain became
Like a seed in soil,
That enabled me to grow.

To reach as far as I could.
to enjoy life, and its warm pleasures
At my roots.
To stand alone,
Yet without fear of my oneness,
To Flower.

If your ugliness has touched many
As strong as I,
What a beautiful garden you have left behind,

To Flower.

You And I

In the beginning,
We were just people.

We had real hearts
And real feelings
And we slept with the sun,
Because there was always so much to say.

In the beginning,
We laughed.

We were one,
Replicas of each other,
Twins, if you might,
Without blood.

In the beginning,
We had potential.

We had dreams
And faith
And hope
Of a future.

In the beginning,
You and I were
We.

How did it ever become
You and Me?

The Family

The air outside was tight with laughter and shouts,

But inside the house was a room coated in fear.

They huddled together,

A family – joined - only in these circumstances,

And together,

A unit,

They prayed.

Standing on dewy grass,

They thrust fire into the air

And gathered ‘round the sun-porch,

Built three generations ago

By dark men with strong hands.

Oh, if we survive, they thought,

We will watch over each other in the fields

And teach the young girls how to peel potatoes

And the young men how to clench a fist.

Still the shouts grew louder

More urgent

And the first stone was cast through

The window.

The glass hit the floor inside,

A resounding echo bouncing off the walls.

No one moved,

Not even the young ones,

All prepared, for once,

As a family.

The Pigeon

Those fleas that escaped

earth and fire

died by the cold -- William Carlos Williams

There lay a dead bird on the concrete,

A measly pigeon

But it still counted.

She watched, the cold of the air in her eyes

And on the tips of her fingers

And scalp.

Someone was near her,

Had always been near her but faded into the walls.

No one dared to touch the pigeon –

To check for signs of breath,

To save its life or to call it an Equal.

It?

Why, did I just have the thought of a hypocrite? She wondered

And so she went to touch him to be sure

While someone near her groaned

And faded deeper still into the wall.

Surely, he was dead,

And perhaps his family would never know –

And he had died alone with no one

To mourn him.