My brain is on fire.
Thoughts scald me like liquid stars
And ask me to soar with them.
But my heavy skin chortles and reclines,
Refusing the celestial invitation.

So for now, I sit
In a galaxy of homebound ideas.
My binding words wrapped around me.
Concepts haunting my every move:
Things I should do, start, cry.

I go to the kitchen to invent dinner.
"One small step for man," I mutter.
I become my universe that feels and knows.
Finite, obsolete, dull.
As dark as the sea of space.

How long have you been under there?
You snuck away from the garish light
Until everyone simply forgot your fate.
You have hidden too long behind your carved and painted screens--
I've been forced to avoid your muffled cries.

Come back; join the traffic of human expression.
Life is a loaded gun, with fragile triggers.
Point it at me, brothers, friends, God.
Remember He holds you in His fist.
Let Him carry your baggage into the ignored light.

Don't let your fear morph into solitude.
Stretch your spine from its huddled prophecy
And learn from the grass--
Nature's built-in mattress.

Just let me see your face.

Ode to you, Piano

This song is for you, Piano.
You have given me so many through the years
I figured it was time to return the favor.

I’m sorry I haven’t come to visit.
With everything on my plate,
I simply haven’t made time for you.
For Us.

Don’t misunderstand,
I loved the fusion of fingertip to the ivories
Worn by practice.

I asked about you,
When you thought I moved on.
To see if you were okay
In the gray home found for you.

I hear you’re coming into town soon.
My parents told me.
Don’t worry about finding a place to stay—
I made some room where the dining table would go.
There’s a view, though not grand, of the parking lot
Where you can stay up late watching the moon go by.


I hope you don’t have to wake up early.
There is so much I want to tell you—
It really has been so long
I don’t know where to start.

Do you mind,
Would it be alright
If we just sat and played a while?
It would only be until reality catches up with us.

Just give me a second to remember where middle C is.

Cruise Poetry

Cruise Poetry

It only seems natural I would write about it--
The waves crashing against the steel beast.
I found a pen, a discarded sheet, naturally
And searched the deep blue for its words.

But they were buried--sunk too deep into yesterday's anthology.
Besides, it was humid and no place for a poet's fingers.

Maybe I will write about the little girl
And the waiter who makes her smile.
Or my empty apartment
Patiently awaiting my return.
The friends on their own adventures
I left behind.

Are those as grand as the view from my table in the lobby?
As captivating as the moonlit ocean?

I hope so, because only this came to my mind.

STOP

I need to stop leaving him messages.
I need to stop thinking he will return a favor.
I need to stop telling people he's different.
I need to stop morphing my scars.
I need to stop justifying abuse.
I need to stop disguising my tears.
I need to stop forming his excuses.
I need to stop driving all the way.
I need to stop waiting for wounds to heal.
I need to stop writing his script.
I need to stop imagining the hurt away.
I need to stop avoiding the truth.
I need to stop keeping score.
I need to stop ignoring the signs.

I need to
want to stop.

I'm a creator!

I was thinking about it today and came to the conclusion that I love creating things. Don't believe me?

1. I went to Venice Beach and made a sand pig and turtle

2. I have recently really gotten into making crafts, mostly abstract, modern, decorative stuff.

3. I have written about 60 pages of a book I am working on. Whenever I start writing, my fingers don't want to stop.

4. I sat at a piano tonight and created a song I am really proud of. I wrote it down and recorded it on my phone, too.

5. I love writing poetry.

6. I took a large shelving unit out of the trash, washed and spraypainted it.

I really like to see my creations once I'm done with them. I find myself taking pictures of light fixtures and pieces of art, thinking I could make that! My roommate has come home to find me surrounded in newspaper and paint. All I can say to her is "You'll understand when you see the finished product".

Have any of you caught the "creative bug"?

How

Tell me how to do it.
How to wait so patiently like a fly on wallpaper
with nothing to do but count the faded petals.

Tell me how to bear it.
How to convince my heart to keep its course
when bruises blur the destination.

Tell me how to fix it.
How to synchronize our clocks to the same emotion
ticking incessantly within my halls.

Or
Tell me how to leave it.
How to walk away from the thing most real.
How to pick up the mess where I am drowning

And dry myself off.