choice

so it was
so it will be
frantically reaching for sanity
stopping at each intersection just to feel like progress is made.
it’s empty
it’s an empty feeling, living this way
taking your words to heart
plastering them among my organs
like, like a collage I never meant to make.
certainly inhibited
certainly fearful, but not naive.
not naive.
maybe the heartbreak is less of losing you, and just more of a tear here, a rip there,
as the plaster of paris falls apart.
adhering initially
but generally falling short.
too much want left me far too open, left me blind.

and “I’m a passionate woman”
she said to herself.
“I feel in the earth and in the streets.
I feel in sand and in heat.
I feel in hunger I do not know,
and hatred I have not seen.
Because when no one is looking,
I see.
And where people try to seal themselves away,
I see.
I see their passion and pain seeping out.
Dripping, melting and disappearing into people like me.”

I wouldn’t have so vividly exposed my core if I didn’t believe you were like me.
I always win.
I always win, this just doesn’t seem right.
generally speaking lyricism breaks all fractions within myself.
oh, but not this time.
I’m a warrior.
I’m a fierce player in this game.
always winning, but I guess not today.

and to you, i suppose today is just another day.
a bit more dust caked on the mantel of your father’s house.
but i found myself caught up in the sheets at four a.m.
expecting out loud what i wouldn’t simply request.
heart racing and fear intertwined with disappointment.
i need to tell you how much i need you here, but i get flustered.
i felt like i was awake for so long.
i felt frustrated and confused.
riding the wave of emotion when there’s nothing left i can do.
and maybe i’m getting sick or maybe i’m falling in love,
but i do know that i’ve got this urge to tell you everything.
tell you every awful, beautiful thing about myself.
maybe then it’d be easier to get that mental image.
worked up, torn up, mixed up, falling down.
maybe you don’t want to be the one i’ve chosen to move forward with.
i speculate about your feelings more than i’ve got the nerve to just ask.
eh.
well i’m awake and it’s eight am, and i know you’re awake.
but there’s not much i can do now save for turn the lights out and wait for my stomach to settle.
but just so you know,
you’re the kind of person i see myself with.
you’re the kind of guy i want to trust.
when i wake up on thirty percent of the week, i’d like you to be there next to me.
and i feel connected to you emotionally more than i’ll dare to admit somewhere other than my own words.
but yeah, i think i like you.

heyyy i found sweet road!

I am worn thin.
I am misplaced.
hot pink pulsating in a sea of blue.
I feel so unlike myself with you.
you being me, of course.
what am I working so hard for?
why am I afraid if my friends find love, they’ll abandon me?
where do I need to be?
why can’t I tell if my emotions are sincere?
when I get like this, I always write how I miss you.
but I don’t think of anyone in particular when I write I miss you.
I think it’s just a feeling that’s best expressed by I miss you.
I feel gross.
I hate shallow minded insolent conversation and obvious compliments.
but I struggle in finding sincerity.
I forget about what’s not in front of me.
just like Jayden did, probably does.
I miss him.
and I’m so frustrated and annoyed.
I turn off my cell.
hide from my facebook
want to talk for eight days over coffee.
and know I’m not deaf.
find a song that fits within the crevasse between my pain and my progress.
I want to talk to people about my weaknesses.
I want to talk to my own mother without obligation.
I want to know I can have whatever I want with happiness.
I want understanding.
completion.
I wrap my head up in this shit because I’m afraid to get real.
just waiting to get real.

jesus christ she said,
thank god for life.
and we were at peace again.
i think talking is good for my heart.
and i like the uncertainty of strangeness.
similar to the bluntness of my whispers.
waking up to a good mess makes me feel real again.

empty pockets
and
a full stomach.
hot eyes and uncertainty.
i laugh out loud and giggle a bit because i know you’re thinking the same thing.
maybe i should have just opened my eyes sooner.
maybe i should write more letters.
maybe, maybe, maybe.

The reason I wanted to meet you here, By Francis Poole

The reason I wanted to meet you here is
Well, because you haven’t been feeling yourself.
As if the same thing could be said about Marsha.
Any thoughts about her lately?
I think you better sit down and rest awhile.
As soon as I can name the show you’ll be on
I’ll let you know. And then all you have to say is,
Welcome to our show.
You can make it any kind of show you want
But remember once we start shooting
All bets are off. Do you still like to write?
Have you written anything lately? Can you even write?
I can only write when I am permitted to write.
It doesn’t really work when I try to write something
I really want to. It’s like water coming down
A sluice. Just open the gate.
But anyway where did you get that talisman
You’re wearing? What does it mean?
Is it supposed to be a circle surrounded by a square
Or a square surrounded by a circle?
Can you go find some hibiscus and
Pull one of the flowers off the stem
And suck the nectar out? Do that please
Before I leave. And have a nice day.