& in this moment
I’m plagiarizing the lives of all those before me

Every word and every line
of everything I’m compromised
It’s all been done, been here before

My lungs were dirt
My eyes were flowers
that cavemen wandered through

but my love
intangible love
it’s always belonged to you

My blood hasn’t always flowed;
even those cells multiplied

& I am forevermore
something that’s been here before

The Screening

She told me that she wanted to be a movie but to me she already was and I, the captivated audience
Watching her wind and unfold and twist and turn reel by reel of infinite amazement, I could not turn away. Or perhaps I was the screen, for she projected everything about her onto me… And rather the world was the audience watching us. Deep down I know that she needed me. To everybody else, well, you can’t watch a movie without a screen. I was lucky to be that for her. I hope that she realizes her dream came true. She was certainly mine and more

Because My Eyes Said Otherwise

When you said goodbye you did it as though you were reading lines
written on the palms of your hands.
You never did look up–
there wasn’t a word or phrase on my forehead.
And if your glance, it were to stray,
You might have said things differently.
If you looked me in the eyes, instead of saying goodbye,
I swear you would have stayed

Something Beautiful

If he were to cheat on me, I’d be okay with it if it were out of lust, loneliness. If it were out of love, or simply that he liked the girl more than myself and was showing her true affection, than I would I be pissed he cheated on me. In that case, I would hope he’d break up with me to give himself a real chance with her. I would hate to get in the way of something beautiful. That’s also why I would stay with him if he were to cheat only out of petty desire.

A House Is Not A Home

  A house is not a home until those four walls, perhaps more, have contained it’s own… sense of life. Something it can call its own if it were to ever call at all. A home, in essence, is a soul; A house being its temple.

  I hope to someday be reincarnated into a home. I know such is a strange wish, but just… try to imagine it.

  To become aware of my body structure the moment a young lady enters my newly acquired front door, instantaneously she says to herself,”I’m going to build my life here.” She buys the place as quickly as possible and sets to furnishing it by her tastes.

  Skip forward fifteen years.

  A baby girl is taking her first steps across my beige carpet, rushing for her father. Her father that created a beautiful love with the lady who adopted me, who made his daughter passionately in one of my bedrooms two years after marrying the woman who made me a home for herself and her family so much longer before. She didn’t know then that the kitchen table would eventually have three place mats rather than one, or how soon if she so expected. I watched her cry, laugh, drink, hug, scream, and love within my body, but I was her home. I watched her drown in bills as she tried to maintain me as solely her own.

  To die the day her daughter assists her through my front door for the last time. This is what I dream of becoming someday.

  Who knows though? I mean maybe someday I really will take on the position of a home. Maybe someday I will nurture and love somebody and protect them and I won’t need four walls to do so. Maybe, just maybe someday, someone will find a home within my heart. I’d have my wish, no? Besides… this way I’d be able to tell their soul how much mine loves theirs.

The Day The Earth Stood Still

And that’s when the earth said,”My work here is done. I have no need to rotate for light will shine where the heart is happy and happiness has indeed been set in the four corners of the world by these two.” And from then on light was infinite in the eyes of everyone, including the blind man. And love was in the hearts of everybody, including the ignorant. And life filled every soul, including the suicidal. And dearest I had you.

Incredibly Loud & Even Extremely Closer

I just read the most thoughtful yet depressing story to ever be written (in my opinion of course.) I wonder how many thoughts were left out of the story. One more detail and I would’ve cracked right down the middle into two pieces from which my soul would rise and it would rise to the point that isn’t anything because it’s the line between nothing and something. My soul would float along this border until a heaven was discovered and if that is to be never than so be it. My soul would float on forever. I wish that I could cry for eternity but alas these feelings will stray; I know at least that much of my destiny. I want to walk barefoot for a thousand years along a spitting sea that hollers salty tears upon me in the mornings and washes the sand from my feet at night. I wish desperately to be swallowed by the many blankets of pain that never comforted a soul although so many have worn them since the beginning of loneliness. I hope to be suffocated by the air that’s so clear and fresh, suffocated by how I take in such a deep breath, that I can’t breathe out quick enough before I’m choking on CO2. Because all of this is how you know that you’re truly alive, truly awake. You suffer the excruciating realization that life is scarier than death. I want to have my soul as wide awake as possible, that’s when I’ll be able to die at any given moment ever so peacefully. I’m not asking to die the instant after, no. I just know how much this book made me feel and I don’t know… I don’t know how to say that I’m broken into a googolplex amount of tiny shards but that it’s a good thing. Even though it can be hard to deal with, everything is OK, because…. Because none of it makes sense… But it’s OK. We don’t need to or have to and sometimes don’t want to make sense of everything or anything or something or nothing. It’s OK to feel. For some reason, or maybe not for any reason, it all happens anyways and that’s OK. And although it doesn’t make sense, I am OK. I also know that I don’t want to ever fall in love and that’s OK because some people don’t. Sometimes the most loving people never meet that one person to fall in love with, they never meet their soul mate, but they marry somebody else because they’re scared to be alone. That’s OK too because at least that makes two more people who couldn’t find their true loves at least not lonely.