I am a seeker.
finder of winged creatures,
empty boxes,
black clothes,
a mind boggler
and funny terror,
elusive dreamer,
unwinding a false reality.
laying a line of mystery,
singing a tune of misery,
as a five part circle of one lined poetry...

i believe in parallel dimensions,
imaginary friends with strange food fetishes,
little monkeys riding playground horses,
fairies, elves, and the 7th sense.

I love music that taps my feet and mind,
to swim in the freezing rain,
riding my bike into the woods on fall afternoons,
and talking with friends until the break of dawn.

i know the penguins stole my sanity,
and writing my soul.
i only remember,
why i still go.

what do you believe?

i look out the window everyday, and fear what would happen. would the world change? would anyone care? or, would i just be that stupid mistake we all take for granite- that one confused mixed up kid, using her heart’s ideas more than her own natural minds?
what would i think? would i believe i would find happiness or, would i believe in another life after taking my own.
what do you see in that sunset on the hill, fading from red-orange-to a deep black. could that color be the emptiness in my eyes--stretched to the flawless limits--or just the sun. a reflection of the past?
what lies in the mind when my eyes search those roads and rivers, fishing for my own path to follow. perhaps, i could lead myself into a new line of clothing--a thin rack of denial, changing as the styles do?
i sit to think as the chair wobbles beneath me, wondering if a bowling ball was dropped on my head. wondering, if it’s all a lie--a joke--a false enemy. with all the anger and frustration built into bullshit streamlined television. i can only believe that what happens isn’t real, not happening--to me. only a cycle, a mode, a relentless era of disbelief, that one day will just disappear.
could i challenge my self confidence, and push myself to believe that I'm not alone--lost in the foggy woods--thorns on my feet? or, can i only hope that someone will save me--bringing me to my real home-- someone to tell me what it means to love--be loved--and hold it tightly against my heart?
i am here in a poetic loss of words, using the silence in my head to create this. to dream--think--and fear. to wait and pray, for it all to disappear. to let the wind take me back to the beginning- thawing the wings on my back--setting me free

trapped

trapped
inside my own skin
sounds of clashing pins
there is no gravity here.
wasted night turn into sleeping days
i fall back into spacey miss communicated languages.
like how i dance in my sleep,
dreamless awakenings.
a strange land i must be from,
childhood mistaked me for pure innocence
illogical thoughts
in this imaginary world.
changing so quickly
like the striped socks
fading
on the artificial face
i am lost within...

trapped.
what do you see?

The mad rush never stops in Wegmans.
An ever-present mass of people, just keep coming.
They do not care who you are, or where you come from.
Just as long as you move your ass, so they can get some food.
I fear for those innocent adolescents, whose heads are scanning the cookies
or fruit on the walls, staring out into the deep space called hunger, with eyes
lit with glittery pain. They are the ones who get trampled, the ones whose
hands become stained from the slippery jelly jars on the floors. Even the
ones, whose arms were just never ever long enough,
to reach that one of a kind candy bar in the check out line.
I realize now, that our yearning for food comes from these kids. Our minds,
just as before, are searching for the fulfilling moment of truth. Such as the
natural grasping sensation of your favorite cereal, or, even the smell of
freshly baked cookies, the feelings come and go.
We don't remember these things now. These simple moments of pleasure,
just as the innocent child looks on, it all becomes lost to us. As if that one feeling,
was almost buried deep inside,
the hustle and bustle of Wegmans.

Tragedy.
It struck at 1 and 3.
The meaningless vibrations of a broken heart.
She lifted her hands up to see her face. Her once beautiful blue eyes now
stood bloodshot red against the light. She could feel her steady heart beat
on the mirror, as each hand traced her pale face. The slick glass began
to melt as the blood infused her eyes. Her tears, weaving a chain of sorrow
down her cheek, blessed her fingers as each drop was wiped away.
As she undid her hair, all the strands fall freely back into place.
She liked to think of it as a butterfly forming wings, because of the huge
multicolored locks swarming together.
A complete metaphoric fantasy, as seen written on the back of her hand.
Just a remnant mark of another unfinished story.
Looking again into the mirror, she held her head inside her hands,
cocking her chin from side to side.
"Too much depth," she mumbled.
"I have to look beyond that."
Stammering out of the room, she jumped in the shower. The water
cascaded her face, as each layer of makeup was slowly removed. Her naked
body seemed to shiver, as her feet wiggled upon the
linoleum as if on the dance floor.
The subtle light faded out--the shadow of a disco ball glowed.
She pushed her way through a black tank top and some blue jeans,
as she found her way back to the bedroom. Jolting the sheets off the bed, she
became horrified. An art project gone wrong appeared. Shards of glass mixed
with tricolored blood splattered on top of pale pink cloth.
She squinted; nothing changed.
A cork lay on top of her pillow, which lead the way for rest of the bottle.
The glass reflected her eyes. The pupils, small and yet delicate, circled
around the bright room.
Blue, purple, pink, yellow, white, and red, flashed before her.
The distance of beams was not above purity, just simple fragments
scrambling her mind. Images jumped, and thoughts imbalanced, as she kept looking
inside that one eye.
The silence was broken, with a knock at the door.
"Oh no, not again.."

vanish into my heart.
hold me close and deep,
blink

i am here just to see you breathe.
to watch the simple actions of your body
the movements of ironic charm,
each strange and yet subtle

i want to reach inside you,
pulling all of your thoughts awake
kicking together the broken pieces

i want to glue them to me.
solve the riddle of time
and dive into the pool of your mind,

i wonder some days,
what is it that keeps you alive within me.
a memory of falsehood,
a flame,
a candle of hope,
flickering in the wind.

i watch you ever so closely,
more then you could ever imagine.
but i don't know you.
i am just a martyr
looking beyond the face of a man,
into a soul

i want to touch the rose.
the fine points of each petal,
gracefully dances in tenderness.

how i wish i could be a flower.
blooming in the bright sun rays
within the morn of springtime.
slowly shedding its own tears,
dew drops sheltering away petty green gashes.
slight reconfiguration,
a dance inside the night's air
burnt ends
fly like embers above my head.
swallowing each falling star,
darkness overlays my senses.
i find my flower at rest
closing her eyelids,
a brief moment of prayer
fades into the rising sun.

watch where the darkness falls.
you'll find me their,
waiting for another red rose bud
to pop up.

i wonder what it's like to be you

i wonder what it’s like to be you
pulling your knee high socks up your legs, even though they will never reach your skirt
i wonder what it’s like to be you
pushing your bouncy hair around like molding clay. shaping your thoughts on the top of your head.
i wonder what it’s like to be you
wearing clothing that is sexy but, at the same time, holding the essence of virginity
i wonder what it’s like to be you
grasping a sense of reality, that i may never see
i wonder what it’s like to be you
to stand tall and not be afraid
i wonder what it’s like to be you
pushing your soul, in which i can not compete with
i wonder what it’s like to be you
believing in your heart, and not your head
i wonder what it’s like to be you
being truly in love, and not knowing it
i wonder what it’s like to be you
to feel alive, almost every day
i wonder what it’s like to be you
to dance in the rain, without fear of being struck down
i wonder what it’s like to be you
but then, i look inside, and i ask myself the same question

I dream of starry nights
along magic streams
bursting with flavor
embedded with jewels around the grass
plucking money off of the humongous trees
while eating the cotton candy clouds

colors swirling
as though to drip off the canvas
or to burst into flames of panic
the marshmallow fluff glazes the town
flake by flake
as if we had shaken the snow globe
but it all just melts away
this foggy place
of wonder and demise
so again, all I can do is stare
into the night sky......