i am the firefly.

and there it is,
and there we'll go.
a thousand chances to hold it all,
but not one we'd ever know.

The End of the Garden

Do you break?
Do you shake
When I approach?
Quiver?
Stumble?
I think I saw it once,
A little bit of lessening
in the way you stand so still.
You are an anchor
driven deep into the roots of me-
You hold my world in place.
Sometimes I wish the ground could give a little
and swallow all the world.
Break it.
Shake it.
Watch it quiver
so I'll stumble.
Oh, I'm tired of being so still.

Head-tilt, Chin-lift

Oh,
I screamed--
I SHOUTED
Let me live!
Just let me in and
Oh!
I will give the best of me
to all the ones who
Bested you.
Oh, let me, let me, let me--
Let me save you while you're down.

Very Well Then

The thoughts,
they come like fireflies--
Lighting up
Then blinking out
Just when I think they've landed in my palm.
And, that hand is outstretched
Waiting for
any kind of gift
That tells me I belong inside
These four walls.
And thoughts--
They scream;
Like darts they fly,
Pinned into the cushions of my room.
Embedded--
Waiting for me to find them
And keep their lights lit for good.

Sometimes it's enough to know
the eggshells that I walk upon
have always been my own.

Untitled

A split in the sky slices graying clouds in two.
A trail where man's machine has reached the place that
Before only God had touched.
There are lamp posts blocking my view of heaven
And smog that separates a sinner from redemption.
No stars in that sky.
They've been killed by too many wishes;
Wishes for better things.

Though, what could be better than stars?

Right Through Me

It only
works when I never need it to.
Until then it spits up.
Cracks up.
Freezes up.
Fucks up.
It only breaks
And throws out a final spark
When I need a bit of
Proper functioning
To make it through the day.

"No one is free. Even the birds are chained to the sky."

My soul screams out for splendor.
It's a high-pitched wail
That tears a hole in the night.
Oh, I have longed for beauty,
To hold it in my hands,
But it always whispers
-In that fleeting voice-
There's none for me out there.

All of that.

Oh, love me.
Love.
Me.
Love me in completeness.
Hold me
With the care
You'd show your
Own
Soul.
Slip
Into
All of my well-being.
Right into me
And stay.
Oh,
Stay with me.
Always with me.
Always.
Always.
And I will
Give you
All of me.
No pretenses.

Just.
Me.

Arts&Crafts

I can
only see the
way things are
never meant to be.
I have led myself to
edges of disappointment -
A hobby, if you will.

This is how my writing usually begins.

All My Fault

So fix me up,
Although I am not broken.
Make me, mold me,
Show me what you need me to be.
I am not aware of anything
Or any way
To make you hang around.
So pick me up,
I've fallen.
Bandage all those wounds
That I no longer feel.
I don't really need you
To save me,
But it's such a lovely thought that
Someone would.

collective.

It is easier [for me]
To say it isn’t in the books for me to find
A savior to fit the finest form
Of all my varying needs.

It is easier [for me]
To see a tree and think of seeds
And sun and rain
And time
And not to think of a snap
Of two fingers
And a magical beginning.

It is easier [for me]
To fall asleep, asking myself
For strength I can’t seem to find inside
Than talking to an obscure illusion
That’s really only air.

It is easier [for me]
To doubt, to question, to search, to guess
To make believe I understand
The ways in which I’m never meant to understand
Than to sit back
And listen to words that do not belong to me.

Receive.

(11.20.09)
You were always more like twine,
Wrapping yourself around my neck.

So thin you had seemed innocuous
To my gullible eyes,

But once you had enclosed my airway
I was forsaken to eradicate your embrace.

In Death

(11.09.09)

I crept along the wall

Positive the shadows would conceal me

From the eyes of a hundred

Passers-by

Who knew not what I am here to do.

My shoes provide the silence

With a click

Clack

That resonates and makes my heart thump harder.

I feel the cool paper

Against my back,

And I imagine the swirls

And dips

And paisley prints

Are reaching out

To caress my skin as I slither

Through the hallways,

Missing lights and

Missing sounds

That do not resonate my heart.

There is a room

That glows a sullen blue

At the end of the hall,

And inside I imagine

Would be cooler

Than my favorite drink.

I will find

A mirror that will not reflect the image

Of the man I have become,

But remind me of all

The things I should have been.

A chair with a black cushion

Would hold on to me,

So tight

To assure the world that I am

Just where I am needed to be.

The halls are silent,

No breezes creeping slowly,

No stifled whispers

That reach out to pull me back

To the places I used to sneak.

In there, I can find myself

Wrapped in a dull blanket,

Cocooned by walls of blue,

And I will find peace,

Concealed inside a place

Where no one knows
Who I was meant to be.

Waiting for Repairs

(11.07.09)
I purged myself repeatedly
Because you had filled
Me up so heavily and your eyes
Were made of an amber
I could not,
At once,
Forget,
But forgive me of my trespasses.

You were the only one I loved.