COMM 100

(My first attempt at Slam Poetry.)

I
Am an awkward person.

My brain works on a different frequency than most
Normal people.
I find myself translating conversations in my head
And most of the time
My translations
Are
Wrong

All the He said She said is just static to me.
Gossip cackles through the airwaves
Creating a high-pitched ringing in my ears that makes me feel
Uncomfortable
My train of thought chugs along the conversational railways
Like the express train to Penn
It doesn’t stop for people who say things they don’t mean or mean things they don’t say
It has no time for liars, deriders, or stereotype buyers.

Most of the time
“No pun intended”
Goes right over my head.

I came to school
To study the English language
But the handiest thing I’ve learned was
“Mind your Ps and Qs”
Originally referred
To brews.
What I learn in class
And what you speak in the Quad
Is as different as Yiddish
And Klingon.

Every so often though
I find myself standing in a spot where the signal comes in clear
And I’ll say,
“Can you hear me now?”
And someone will reply,
“Yes.”
It is then that I discover I am
An Engaging Conversationalist
A Cunning Linguist
And
I can find le mot juste every time.

But it’s rare.

So often am I wandering around on this whirlwind of words that
When strung together the way you do
Like
Totally
Fo’Sho’
Makes zero sense to me.
Forgive me for asking, but
What the hell are you on?
You so obvi lost me at the first deff and second totes.
Are you a moron?
Or is that a joke?

I feel like a foreigner that’s studying abroad
So the next time I say,
“I don’t understand you.”
Maybe you can just say,
“I feel that way too.”

And we can translate.

Muse

Muse

He drums to a beat in his head
On a drum that makes no sound
But still his hands move to the tune.
The noise in the room crowds the air around him
No expression fills his face
Alone in a room full of people
He looks it. Lonely.
Still he taps out rhythms
Whole orchestras in his mind.

Who am I to say he's lonely?
I called the music noise.
He looks uninterested, but interesting.
I look bored, and boring.
This does not surprise me.
His drumming attracts me like a tribal beat
Even in silence.
Does my pen attract him
Even though my words are a mystery?

I'm writing about you,
Silent Drummer across the aisle.
Are you writing that song for me,
The Writer?

Heaven

**This is a work in progress. I still have a lot I want to say here, but I'm taking my time. While I do that though, I was hoping to get some feedback. If you read this and you have anything to say, it would be appreciated.**

Dying

I pushed the last little white pill into my mouth, but it was unneccessary. I could already feel the pull of sleep at the corner of my eyes. I leaned over the sink and took a mouthful of water from the faucet. I left it running as I sank to the bathroom floor.
"Stop it!" he begged. "Throw it up! COME ON!"
"Pease," I said, mustering up some energy, "I'm tired." It was getting harder to speak. I rested my head against the tiled wall.
"You have to throw up!" the apparition continued. "Look, right here." He pointed at the toilet. "Come on sweetheart! Do it now!" But his efforts were fruitless. I could hardly move. I struggled to keep my eyes open, not wanting to let go of his perfect face below his rumpled brown hair.
"You don't...really...care. It's all in...my head," I breathed.
"You're wrong. I do care. Please stop this babe." His face was close to mine and I imagined I could feel his breath on my lips.
"You...would say...that."
"You never did understand, the part of me that's in your head is real. That's the part of me that will always care for you. I care for you." His soft voice broke, but he carried on, "Stop hurting yourself. I need to know that you exist. How can I live in a world where you don't?" His words crumpled the broken pieces of my heart to dust. I stared into his bright blue eyes, the color of the sky, and held them for as long as possible in my own. "Please," he tried once more. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
"Will you hold my hand...?" I felt a slight pressure in the palm of my hand. It didn't feel like flesh on flesh, but rather soul touching soul. I always imagined a soul was a small thing, residing mostly in your heart. But of course it could stretch all the way to my hand, it was big enough to carry all of my existance, wasn't it?
"I love you...." I told him, ".....Always." And with that I closed my eyes and fell asleep for the last time as he hummed softly in my ear.

Heaven

When I opened my eyes I felt as though I'd slept for days. I was no longer tired. Every part of me buzzed with energy. I waited for the despair and discomfort to set in, but I felt perfectly content. Someone had laid me in a bed, the biggest, most comfortable bed I'd ever encountered. I sat up and looked around. The room around me was entirely white, as was the bed covers and the furniture- two dressers and an armchair. The ceiling above me was two stories high. That was all I noticed, however, because the main attraction of the room was the wall I now faced. It was hardly a wall at all, but rather a huge window where a wall should have been. From one side of the room to the other, from floor to ceiling, one large pane of glass stretched crystal clear before me.
Outside the window there was a vast lawn that rolled gently down for what seemed like miles. The grass was a color green I'd never seen before: brighter, richer than i was used to, as if my eyes had been looking through a fog before today. It was early morning and the dew clung to the tips of the blades. This too was different. Instead of water, the droplets shone like little gems. They threw a million tiny rainbows across the room, bathing all the white surfaces in rays of color. It was beautiful.
I sat taking in the amazing sight, straining to see what lay beyond the lawn, but as far as I could tell it just kept going. Then I heard the laughter: a sound I would soon become very familiar with.
"Hello?" I called. The sound of my voice shocked me. Somewhere in the back of my head I realized that I expected to sound hoarse. Truth be told, I thought that I would be waking up in a hospital after throwing up or having my stomach pumped. I was glad to see that this was not the case. This was so much better.
I gave a start as five little heads popped up at the foot of the bed. A girl with black hair and black eyes, another with yellow culrs and green eyes, a boy with light brown hair and blue eyes, and two dark brown haired boys with identical pairs of brown eyes. I could not see their mouths, but I could tell that each one of them were smiling. "Hello," I said again, this time with a smile of my own. They all giggled. "What are your names?" I asked. They seemed to take this as an invitation, and all scampered up onto the bed with me.
"You mean you don't know?" The blue-eyed boy asked as he climbed up beside me. He was older than the others, eight or nine, and clearly the leader. His body was longer, more angular. I looked at the two little girls. The black haired girl was asian, her hair was thick and glossy, and her skin was pale white. She looked about four years old. She held the hand of the other little girl with the shoulder length blonde curls. She was smaller, maybe three. Her green eyes were wide with wonder and seemed to be the exact same color as the grass outside. The boys with the identical eyes were in fact identical twins. Their skin was darker, Indian, I guessed. Their hair was short while the blue-eyed boy's was kind of scruffy. He kneeled at my right side and was looking expectedly at me now. I was at a loss for words.
The girl with the yellow hair nudged her tiny head under my arm. Her curls were warm, as if she'd been sitting in the sun. I thought I could smell sun screen...and pineapple. "Umm," I started, "I'm sorry. Am I supposed to?"
"Well, you invited us here. We've been waiting for you. You slept for a while." A smile played at his lips like we shared some secret that I'd obviously forgotten.
"Really? How long?" I had no recollection of inviting anyone anywhere of course, but the idea that I'd been sleeping for an indefinite amount of time scared me.
The boy just shrugged his shoulders as if to say it didn't matter now. The semi-circle of children were all staring at me patiently. I realized, as my heart- for lack of a better word- lurched with recognition. It was love on their faces, love for me. I expected this feeling to go away with death: the physical tightening in my chest that had nothing to do, apparently, with having a body to feel it with. I couldn't stop smiling.
"Where am I?" I asked curiously. One of the twins handed me a photograph.

"Biz seni bulmaya geldik," he said.

"I'm sorry I don't--" I was about to tell him that I didn't understand, but I think I did. "Wait, what did you say?"
"We came to find you," he said in the foreign language, "'The place where the unloved will find love' they said."

I looked at the picture. It was of me. My favorite picture of myself, taken on a pier in Maine. I was spinning around and laughing. The strapless white eyelet dress I wore in the photo was the same one I wore now. I looked at the five faces, the rainbows dancing on their skin. The place where the unloved will find love. That made sense to me. In life, my greatest pleasure came from caring for those who were neglected, especially when it came to children. So this was my heaven.
I gathered all the kids up in my arms and squeezed. Delighted, they squeezed back.
"If this is truly my home, then of course you're all welcome." Their smiles grew wider than I would have thought possible. "I really don't know your names though..." They laughed and clambered out of the bed.
"Come on! You have to meet the others. They've been waiting too!" And they all ran from the room out a door to the right. I was slow to climb down from the cozy bed, but the blue-eyed boy waited for me. He took my hand in a tight grasp and headed for the door.
"There are others?" I asked.
"Oh yeah," he said, "There are lots."
As we walked down the hallway (white with ceilings three stories high, balconies from the upper floors visible from this one) I couldn't help thinking that the little boy beside me reminded me of someone else with blue eyes and light brown hair, and I was disappointed to learn that that part of me hadn't died as well... The part that hoped.

To Be Continued...

Fire in Winter

Karalyn walked beside me taking slow, deliberate steps. Her cautiousness was making me uneasy. Three years ago the sidewalk would not have been wide enough for her bouncing, dance-like motions. We were circling the pond at Berkshire Park. It was late afternoon but the sun was still high in the sky, a beautiful summer day. Karalyn wore a heavy black sweatshirt. I eyed it sadly. I tried to catch a glimpse of her face but her hair covered it like a veil, shielding her from the outside world. She was looking at the ground as she walked. I kept pace with her, taking a half step for every one of hers.
I was not used to this. I thought it would be…not the same, but similar. This was entirely new. I did not know the girl beside me. But I loved her. Yes, I definitely loved her. There was a time when I could admit this to her and she’d turn those warm brown eyes on me and say, “Well, of course you do! Where would we be if you didn’t?” And she’d press her lips to mine and the fire would spread through my veins, making me as warm as she. I don’t know why, or how, I ever let that Karalyn go. I’d spent the last three years regretting that decision, loving her from a distance as I watched other guys realize my mistake. One of them especially scared me, keeping his arm around her for over a year, making her happier than I ever did. Then he let her go; without regretting it, it seemed. That’s when she started to change.
I didn’t notice at first. I was too consumed with my first feeble attempt to win her back. She pushed me away, of course. So I took a seat again, watching the game from the bench. I watched longingly as some guys struck out and some hit home runs.
It’d been so long since I was actually with Karalyn. I now considered how real my feelings for her could be. I loved her, but to what extent? How could I love a Karalyn that no longer acted like Karalyn? Was it a person’s actions that you fell in love with, or their heart? Their mind? Their soul? Do you love a person’s smile, or how often they show it?
As if reading my mind, Karalyn looked up. Her worried eyes swam through the air until they found mine. Her lips curved upward, exposing her teeth. It was a smile, but it wasn’t right. It was…apologetic?
“I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?” she asked. “Avoiding the lines on the sidewalk.” She shook her head back and forth as she looked back down.
“Is that what you’re doing?” I tried to make my voice sound light, joking, but it came out all wrong.
“Mmm,” was all she said in response.
I scanned the horizon quickly, looking for something of interest. Then I spotted it.
“Look!” I said, pointing to a crane diving on the other side of the pond. Her head snapped up reflexively. She walked fearfully, like someone who was blind-folded walking dangerously close to a cliff. I placed my hand carefully on her left shoulder to guide her. I tried not to let myself get too worked up over the fact that I was actually touching her again. I resisted the urge to reach down and grab her hand, touch her skin. I didn’t want her to think she’d given me the wrong idea by accepting my invitation to this rendezvous. As she became entranced by the beauty of the bird her gait developed into a more natural stride. Evidence, I thought. Proof that my Karalyn was still in there. She could always appreciate beauty.
The crane was gone all too soon, but she didn’t put her head down right away. We strolled along for a few more minutes before she went back to watching the lines in the sidewalk. She stepped carefully over each one, and around all the cracks as well.
“Do you want to sit?” I asked as we passed an empty bench.
“Okay,” she said with the faintest tone of relief.
“So,” I said in an attempt to make conversation, “Are you happy to be home for the summer?”
“Kind of,” she answered glumly, which made me think she really meant “no.”
I waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t I asked, “Home isn’t your favorite place, is it?” She looked at me, her expression blank. Behind her eyes I could see her asking herself whether or not she wanted to tell me the truth. She looked straight ahead again and took a deep breath.
“It’s…It’s not my least favorite place. I like being with my family and seeing my old friends. But there are too many…memories here, ya know?” I nodded. This was the most she’d said all day. “Not bad memories,” she continued, "Well, some bad, but the good ones are worse. They haunt this place. They haunt me.” Her voice broke on the last word. I realized with growing horror that she was scared. She slowed down her breathing, blinked twice, and looked at me. I think she wanted me to tell her she’s not crazy. Maybe she was just waiting for me to get up and walk away without a backward glance. Who knows?
“I can understand that,” I said thoughtfully. Whatever it was that she wanted to hear, this seemed to satisfy her. She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. I watched her as she watched the pond. Something about her posture made me think she was anticipating another question.
This is how our online conversations often went these last few weeks. I started talking to her while she was still up at school. I would ask her general questions, to which she would offer one-word replies. I would keep asking anything I could think of until she gave in and gave me a real conversation. Even after that though, she would only speak in response to something I said.
Online, I tried to hold out until the awkwardness would force her to say something, but I never could hold out long enough- I thirsted to hear more of what she had to say. But now I had her, really here, sitting and breathing beside me. I wanted to hear her voice, of course, but this would be enough for now. I reclined slightly, stretching my legs out in front of me, and put my right arm on the back of the bench. If Karalyn leaned back it would look like my arm was around her. She looked so hopeless. Karalyn wasn’t supposed to look like this. Hope was something she always had an excess of. Hope, and faith, and love. Happy suited her better than sad.
It was different for me. Depression fit my bitter being like a coat in winter. I was naturally negative and skeptical. It took a while for people to notice the difference, and by the time they did I’d already resented them for not seeing it sooner. I pushed them away. I pushed her away. Karalyn’s sadness was so much more obvious. Depression engulfed her like…like a heavy black sweatshirt on a bright summer day.
She looked back at me suddenly, as if remembering I was there.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I zone out a lot. I’m not good at….conversation….these days.” It hurt me to see how hard she was trying, how careful her words were.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind silence.” It was true; I hated it when most people spoke. I found it annoying. Her voice, however, I could listen to forever. She looked relieved again. She nodded a few times and leaned back against the bench. I curled my arm to better fit the slump of her shoulders. I thought I saw her eyes tighten a bit when I did this, but I didn’t move my arm, and she didn’t move away.
We stared out at the pond again. The sun had finally started its descent. We squinted into the golden rays as people passed us by, blocking the sun at uneven intervals. With the cars out on the street and the birds and the people in the park, I was surprised that I heard what she said next.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“What for?”
“I don’t know exactly,” she said slowly. I thought back to one of our online conversations when she’d told me she felt “uninteresting” and I wondered if she thought of that now too.
“You don’t have to apologize to me. I’m not expecting anything from being with you Karalyn. I just know that I want to be. Here. With you.” I saw the first glimmer of hope in her eyes. It encouraged me to go on. “Or anywhere with you, really. As long as you’re there, it’s where I want to be. So don’t apologize.”
“Thank you for that.” She wasn’t smiling, but her features were happy, warm. She pushed the sleeves of her sweatshirt up to her elbows. I reached my left hand across my body and grabbed hers. The fire danced up my arm. Warmth spread throughout my body. At last, it didn’t feel like winter anymore.

Just When I Thought You Were The Last Person Who Could Surprise Me…

Just When I Thought You Were The Last Person Who Could Surprise Me...

You put your hand on my leg
In the back of your friend’s car.
I looked at you,
You were looking at me,
And from what I saw
You never stopped
The whole night long.

We played pool
In your basement.
I lost,
Like you said I would,
Because some things never change.
But a lot changes
In a year and a half.

Your hair is shorter now
As I lay beside you on the couch.
My hair isn’t blonde anymore.
Do you think I look smarter?
I was smarter then.
I broke up with you, didn’t I?
Why didn’t you invite me to that party?

You may be a fucking idiot
Now,
But I wouldn’t really know.
It’s been a long time.
Are we still the same,
Or are we doing this for a reason
This time around?

You’re holding me close
Upstairs in your bedroom.
You never did that before.
And I’m being fair to you.
It’s like we’re in a parallel universe
Where
We get it right this time.

I wouldn’t call this nothing
This thing that we’re doing that
We can’t stop smiling about.
Maybe just for one night
I can be happy
And you can care.
This is for real, isn’t it?

Your heart is beating
Inside of me.
I want to share this
With you.
I need you to feel
One of the most beautiful things
In my world.

Your arms are wrapped
Around me.
My hands seem to have found yours.
There is no mess
Of covers.
Hold on,
I only want to lock the door.

I’m shivering,
But I’m not cold.
I like that
You pulled the blanket up
Because
You thought I was lying.
I wasn’t, but it helped.

You feel at peace
Beside me.
I feel it too.
I guess your necklace
And my earrings
Don’t tell lies
This time.

I keep waiting
For this to not feel right.
You’re playing me.
Usually I’d be smart enough to see,
But I can’t find anything
Fake
Behind your eyes.

You want to know
What’s going through my head?
I couldn’t even tell you.
I have to go now.
I’m sorry to make you sleep alone.
Please put on your clothes;
You have to take me home.

If you say
“Good night”
Will the rest of the hours
Measure up?
If I say
“See you later”
Will I?