this is complicated, see
even when we feel good
it's not really what's meant to be
i look into dreams and see
he's a little shorter and a little off
daydreams about how light
comes through a window onto my face.
points out how these beams and bricks make up a space.

we walk around a city, cameras in tow
we walk around a field, cameras in tow
and you are kind but you just don't know
that in that last sunset or the final abyss
i don't see you there at the end.
i see a painter, a poet, a dreamer,
the best background singer in a band
hand in my shaking, frozen hand.

Forever Wendy amongst all these lost boys.

Save a spot on your bed that you hope is for me. It won't be.

They told me his love was a test I refused to digest. I guess. I felt nothing in my chest. Prove me otherwise, but all I try to do is see the good in you. Love wasn't ever there, it changed names as many times as I changed my hair. Last year it wasn't so clear - I walked the edge. Save a spot on your bed that you hope is for me. It won't be. First comes love, then comes marriage. Then comes a cage.

i don't have a man to love
just a boy who texts me when he's drunk
and the two dollars on my metrocard
isn't the flight that i need.

some really old writing

I just found these two poems on an abandoned page on my website. They are written in tanka form, I wrote them sometime in the fall of 2004 (my senior year of high school) for my college level English class. There's something sweet about them that I still enjoy.

#1


slow stumbling tree
perfect purity and form
hollow haunting bark
white withers these trying times
this instant in time alive


#2

flying forceful change
colours crack controlling time
everywhere regret
lying living like love can
oh they fall fast toward gone ground

they say nobody's normal, or it simply doesn't exist.
but if you're surrounded by true insanity for most of your life,
you know that normal has to be out there.
in fact, you search for it for a long time.
in a lot of different places.
and as a kid, as a teenager, you crave it.

but idealism fades, you settle into reality.
you wonder what you'd even do with normal if you had it.
because you've lived so long with so little right.
all you are left with is that will to keep searching.
in a lot of different places.
and as a young adult, as an adult, you'll crave it.

it gets hard to put down roots. you open doors, you close them.
california, new york, florence, madrid, montreal, toronto.
they are all the same place.
places you go to never feel lost.
each is a trophy, each is a prize.
to know you can be anywhere in the world,
and still survive.

you know some days i really just miss landline phones.
or trying to find bookstores that aren't gonna close.

it's getting harder to get away from bad people and times.
when all they do is click a button back into your life.

i'm not trying to date myself here but i might as well.
cause it's getting harder to talk to men through a wall of screens.