for when your life is falling apart

when your life falls apart
can i fall to pieces beside you?
will we just lay down on the ground
and let the seasons cover us up?
let the fall leaves turn us to mulch
and the winter snow make us invisible.
the weeds will grow over our bodies
from other people's springtime gardens.
and we will live on in the bellies
of sparrows that ate our fruit.
the best flowers will bloom from our chests
in the prettiest colors
and the sweetest flavors.
whole trees will grow from our broken pieces
and they will be the strongest.
so gracefully our limbs would stretch to the heavens
like ballerina hands
reaching out to their partners.
so majestic our trunks would be
like capsules
holding time and rings and beating hearts.
our leaves would be so vibrant
like the spark that lit the fires that burned us up.
people will touch our bark
and they will swear they feel a pulse there.
and no one would ever cut us down.
when we lay on the ground
on what was once soft grass
will you hold my hand?
as our tears flow like rivers
down into our hair
spread out around us
like the petals of a flower,
will you be scared?
when your life falls apart mine will too.
and i'll grow with you from our delicate pieces
into something stronger
but just as beautiful.

Skipping Class

Sometimes
You have to stay in bed all day
And study the face of the person sleeping next to you.
As you watch the sun change the color
Of the room every hour,
You listen to footsteps on floorboards
Of the apartments upstairs
And to the right of you.
They remind you that the world out there is still turning
While in here
The only things turning are your bodies
Under bed covers.
You examine the caterpillars
Crawling on the brow ridges evolution gave him,
Observe how the signs of age are replaced by youth
As he sleeps.
Count the pores,
And the number of hairs
Growing on his chin.
Breathe out,
Breathe in,
Try to synchronize.
Your legs, your arms, your hands
Hold each other.
Try to become one.
Erase the lines.
It's good to skip your morning classes
Sometimes.

To My New Girlfriend

I never saw your handwriting
Before today.
I never even knew
You wrote poetry.
I like the careful curve
Of your "S"
I see beauty there
Like the curve
Of your hip.
And the boxy way
You make your "Y"s
They remind me
Of your perfect teeth.

The letter that
You left me,
It doesn't rhyme.
Not the way most
Love poems do.
You wrote of feeling lost
And seeing opportunities
In tree trunks
When you drive.
I never even knew.

Your poem was beautiful
Like your smile.
And when you said good-bye
It broke my heart.
Tomorrow
I'll bury the pieces with you,
And keep this letter in my chest
Instead.
I'm sorry that you felt this way
Like you couldn't share your poetry
With me.
Your handwriting was beautiful
Like you.

Hope: The Eighth Deadly Sin

I counted the number of times you left when you should have stayed
I kept a tally on my wrist
And each time you came back you had a different face
We all regarded you with hesitation
And wondered at the contents of your chest

Would the blood that ran fresh down my forearm
Be enough to pump your cancerous heart back to health?
I’m bigger now than I was when I was four

Could the three of us fill the void inside your ribcage?
Would we do more this time than we did that day
When the flashing lights took you away while we were sledding?

We perfected the art of knowing when you were about to leave
It’s a skill you’d think you were born with
But I have mastered what others call instinct

Like that time you left on Prom day, riding your motorcycle in the rain
They wouldn’t tell me until after
But in all the pictures my eyes reflect my mother’s pain

The thing about this game is, even when you win, you lose
Each time you left you took pieces of us with you
Tokens of our appreciation that we hoped you’d look back on with affection

Sometimes I felt as if you’d taken my whole heart
I sat on the bathroom floor
Trying to fill the hole with something else

The next time you walk away
I’ll be ready
Maybe it won’t hurt so much when I add another tally to my wrist
And when you’re gone we’ll never say it
But we’ll all hope that we’re missed.

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...