write a poem every week

“Welcome to the planet,”
the universe told me,
a humble paper square.

cradled in world’s hands
I am flipped over, rotated,
examined quizzically.

suddenly two corners meet
and under the pressure of life’s thumb
a new crease emerges
in my frail being.

Through each intricate moment
of bending and folding
I have been molded
into new life.

shadows of people
I used to know
mill around in the dark.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting so much right now,” she says
resting a hand on my shoulder.
“it’s okay.” I choke out through tears.
“No.” she responds sadly.
“It’s not.”

There is a loud sound
and suddenly a window is broken
and my hand is bloody.

“why?” they ask later
I shrug.
“in case of emergency, break glass.”

walking the line
between life and death
i waiver dangerously.

shadows reach up from the earth
wrapping their arms around me
luring me to go with them
into the dark.

death cradles me,
whispers lullabies that promise
better tomorrows

permanent solutions
to temporary problems
tempt me

no more debating.
no more questioning.
“sleep, sleep.” death murmurs
and i drift off

Walking down these city streets
i run my hand along the chain link fences
which keep me captive.

a sparrow soars over the ten foot barrier
and i wonder what it’s like to be free.

The first tulip of spring startles me
the world is a painter’s pallet of purples and greens.
of reds and blues and yellow.

uncovering my eyes the world is blurry
and i blink into the sun.

Nightlight

Your words swirl in my head,
As I feel along the hallway in the dark.

I’m drowning, drowning again.
I’m tired of treading these tides of darkness
until you whisper in my ear a phrase i fear
will keep me swimming

You tell me I’m beautiful,
But your body,
which cages
a shattered windshield’s
sparkling fragments splayed on the street
cannot be described by the words that have so far been created.

hold me, hold me.
i have woken from a dream, tangled in the sheets.
and you flicker in my corners,
a nightlight to show me the way.

Whispered Interrogation
1/16/10

dank heralds
intrigue questions
that tangle on my tongue

in one of the disorders i have,
1 in 10 people commit suicide.

i think of graphic deaths longingly
wistfully praying
there are no more yesterdays
and no more tomorrows.

precious child,
why do you live in nocturnal heavens
and wakeful hells?

beautiful child,
on the eve of adulthood,
have you so soon lost the lust for life?

what has happened to the fighter
that once shone in your eyes?

Things Left Unsaid
1/10/10

Even though we’re on the phone
I’m looking down
To avoid your beautiful blue eyes.

You’re a whirl wind of emotions.
joking, irritated, suicidal.
And suddenly as you ask
“Can you make it through the night?”
I’m no longer sure.

Something about your voice
cracks the dam of emotions
I’ve been keeping at bay.

Something about you makes me shatter
like an expensive vase

something about you
glues me back together