Cheerios

I wrote this a long, long, long time ago. I eventually included it in a journal for my high school poetry teacher. Her comment was: "This entry is special! Publish it - somewhere!" So, here we go:

One day,

the first day of school to be precise,

while I was stalling,

trying to drown my Cheerios,

my mother (trying to give me courage I guess)

said: "Just remember, sticks and stones can break your bones,

but words can never hurt you."

I didn't understand,

so stayed confused and scared,

but I took her hand and let her walk me to the bus stop.

It was my first time being on a bus,

and it was so big,

but seeing the support in my mother's eyes

I let myself be swallowed by the yellow machine

with the big sideways mouth.

As I did over and over and over,

the days running together into months.

After a while I thought I understood my mother's words

and even used them

to the kids' amazement.

And they started using them,

to my amazement.

I thought about how smart my mother must be,

and how she must know everything,

just like the kids seemed to think I did.

So I started believing in her words,

utterly.

But it's hard to keep up the illusion

of knowing everything 

when you're learning things for the first time

just like everyone else.

I mean, you can only say: "Oh, I knew that."

so many times before kids become tired of it

and angry at you.

So after a few more years

of being swallowed, shipped and deposited

I began to play with my Cheerios again,

and to dread the big yellow bus

again.

For the kids had learned to USE words

and had turned teasing into an art form.

Disappointed, I realized that my mother didn't know everything.

And I vowed to tell my children,

when they were staring into their cereal bowls,

to beware, because...

Sticks and stones may break your bones,

but well thrown words can kill you.

The Leap

There is always the possibility
that you were just pretending
when we sat talking over a beer.
It keeps getting harder to deny
that I would let you decide what's real
and that I would accept anything you tell me.
But you can't hide the truth
that your body is something I understand
and your heart something that I know better 
than you yourself.
You were the one who taught me that jumping is easy,
and I showed you that falling is fun.
I am living proof that you can survive a broken heart,
and I'm willing to try again,
so why don't we give this a chance?
I'll hold out my hand,
and all you have to do is...
leap.

Circles within circles within.

Why is it that life's journey always seems to run in circles?
And in my life they always seem to circle back to you...
Why is that, do you think?
You did say once that you would always be there,
that you weren't going anywhere.
Why is it that neither of us really seem able
to go anywhere, or at least nowhere too far from the other.
But I digress, for the point 
is that we always return to each other -
to do the same things, to say the same things,
occasionally going but one step further than before.
Can this be mere coincidence - 
this slow march towards a point unseen
where maybe these spiraling circles will come to an end
and we will be able to move forward together?
I know not,
for this is a question for philosophers,
for those with greater insight than mine.
For every time I think I've got my life's path figured out,
here I am again.
And there you are again.
And although I feel these happenings hold great meaning,
it could all still be wishful thinking on my part.
And yet I do know
with a great certainty
that it will all come 'round again.
This time, though, I foresee a great wait.
Perhaps longer than all those before,
mayhap one without end.
And yet there was a time when I thought to never reach this point,
a time when the pattern of our lives 
was not as clear to me,
'though long do we have 'till we can see the whole of it.
Does the pattern end? Come to some eventual fulfillment?
Or is it that we merely have this great inexplicable need for each other,
and thus we force the paths of our lives to fall into synch?
Again I say that I am no studied philosopher,
able to suss out the answers.
I do seem to be quite good at asking questions,
some more well-placed than others.
And this wait that I speak of - 
is it because as our steps become bigger,
the path traveled must become longer?
Or could it be what I dread most:
that as we each tread in our own circles and follow our own paths,
our need for each other becomes less,
and thus the circles I deem are forever intwined 
are instead moving out and away from each other?
And instead of reaching a confluence,
there comes a time where our paths
can not or will not cross again?
On nights like this I pray whole-heartedly
that this is not the truth.
For my need for you is still great,
even as yours may be lessening.
And my life does seem to come ever spiraling back to you,
whether or not we consciously make it so,
and whether or not we like it
seem to have naught to do with it.
And as for those who may walk along with us for a time,
only to be left by the wayside,
I can only say this:
that I try to walk down each path as it presents itself,
and that I try, to the best of my reckoning, 
to stick to the right one.
For what else can any of us do?
Robert Frost, a far better philosopher than I,
advises us to: 
"... take the one less traveled by...",
and yet he has nothing to say about
what's to be done when it leads you back to where you started.
And as I come full circle in these thoughts,
come back to where I started,
I guess it can all be summed up with an innocent statement
that I made, and that you gave new meaning to:
You can never know what's going to happen.

Disconnect

I know that you heard what I said.
I can tell by the tilt of your head
and the twitch of an eyebrow.
I know you understood what I meant
when I said even though we're a team,
it's your decision this time.
I know you didn't believe me
as I glanced at you over my tea
and said: "I can stand on my own."
I know I'm not getting through 
with these things that I'm saying to you
'cause that look is still in your eye.
So all I can do is shrug,
stand up to give you a hug
and comfort myself with the thought:
well hell, I gave it a try.

Blinded

Came from nowhere - 
the sun in my face.
The streets came alive
with the burning,
my yearning
for the places I've been.
I ride my own waves out - 
it seemed like a good idea at the time,
to leave it all behind.
Tried so hard
to justify my jilted pride.
Tried so hard to understand
why nothing's scared anymore.
I lived with your bad behavior,
swallowed down your twisted lies
and this is where it brought me -
standing on this street corner,
living, breathing, burning,
tired of the run.
I'm somewhere in my own world now.
So, maybe it's time
to peel you from my skin
and shed my clinging guilt.
And maybe it's time
to live my life today.
Maybe it's time
you looked me in the face
so your eyes can be blinded by the sun.

Prison of Perception

How incomprehensible it is that I'm here right now.
You're here... but you're one of them.
One of those people.
One of those people with a perfect face and an I'm-made-to-pleasure-you body,
and an endless vocabulary of laughable quips.
One of those people who can enter a room and get noticed without effort, 
who can belong without trying.
At the same time you seem to meet new people,
and yet to already know everyone.
But tonight, you're here with me... 
one of those other people.
I'm the person in the corner,
quietly sipping my boring drink
as my head bounces to the music.
My face is far from perfect, my body has pleasured few,
and my quips are slightly amusing... sometimes.
I meet new people when I'm lucky, and usually through someone like you.
Someone with the perfect haircut,
an adorable (disarming) smile,
and the right pheromones.
I watch you move through the crowd like you move through life,
people making room for you. 
Stopping only if, when and where you please. 
Making conversation. Doing whatever you want.
Glancing at the person in the corner and giving them the thrill of the month.
Thanks for giving me my thrill,
thanks for letting me watch from this corner of my life.
Thanks for showing me what I could have, what I could be doing...
how bad my timing is, how awkwardly I handle situations.
Thanks for letting me taste the freedom I still long for, and yet
am terrified by.
For it seems that in my case,
complete freedom seems to come with a certain loneliness.
As much as I yearn to walk along side you through your world,
I know it would mean losing mine,
it would mean leaving behind something comfortable,
and I like being comfortable.
We all do, right?
Or is it just scared little corner people like me?
You seem to do just fine. 
Or, maybe that's why we're here together tonight.
Maybe that's why people like you glance at people like me
safe and snug in our corners.
Maybe you crave what I have. How ironic would that be...
if the prison I long to escape seems the exit out of yours.
Maybe we could save each other...
Here, take my hand...
I'll come out of my corner if
you come out of yours.
Together, we'll have the best of both worlds.

Prison of Perception

How incomprehensible it is that I'm here right now.
You're here... but you're one of them.
One of those people.
One of those people with a perfect face and an I'm-made-to-pleasure-you body,
and an endless vocabulary of laughable quips.
One of those people who can enter a room and get noticed without effort, 
who can belong without trying.
At the same time you seem to meet new people,
and yet to already know everyone.
But tonight, you're here with me... 
one of those other people.
I'm the person in the corner,
quietly sipping my boring drink
as my head bounces to the music.
My face is far from perfect,  my body has pleasured few,
and my quips are slightly amusing... sometimes.
I meet new people when I'm lucky, and usually through someone like you.
Someone with the perfect haircut,
and adorable (disarming) smile,
and the right pheromones.
I watch you move through the crowd like you move through life,
people making room for you. 
Stopping only if, when and where you please. 
Making conversation. Doing whatever you want.
Glancing at the person in the corner and giving them the thrill of the month.
Thanks for giving me my thrill,
thanks for letting me watch from this corner of my life.
Thanks for showing me what I could have, what I could be doing...
how bad my timing is, how awkwardly I handle situations.
Thanks for letting me taste the freedom I still long for, and yet
am terrified by.
For it seems that in my case,
complete freedom seems to come with a certain loneliness.
As much as I yearn to walk along side you through your world,
I know it would mean losing mine,
it would mean leaving behind something comfortable,
and I like being comfortable.
We all do, right?
Or is it just scared little corner people like me?
You seem to do just fine. 
Or, maybe that's why we're here together tonight.
Maybe that's why people like you glance at people like me
safe and snug in our corners.
Maybe you crave what I have. How ironic would that be...
if the prison I long to escape seems the exit out of yours.
Maybe we could save each other...
Here, take my hand...
I'll come out of my corner if
you come out of yours.
Together, we'll have the best of both worlds.

Suspension Bridge

We sit side by side, yet alone
within the enclaves of our minds.
The sudden eloquence of speechlessness
turns into a long dialogue of silence.
She seems so beautiful sitting there,
innocent to the barely perceptible disharmony
which spills through the room like ether,
threatening our newly constructed suspension bridge - 
our only link across this chasm of covers.
IT  was there between us,
unspeakable, unspoken.
But I knew memory would never let it go,
this endless shared secret.
Then, with the sounding of some imaginary gong
the moment ends.
Her smile returns
and her eyes dance for me once again.
I can see that the little man within her mind
has neatly filed away the memory
and I find myself desperately hoping that he,
like mine, has tagged it - 
the easier to later reenact
the wordless drama of our passion.

Untitled

Sitting here silent,
thoughts of you play within my head
like the movies we always used to watch,
like the television shows
I'd have to drag you away from.
I watch different shows now
and you're not here
for me to share them with.
It took me a while
to grow accustomed to that.
I still turn in expectation of you 
and a certain comment
I know you'd make out of habit.
And people look at me funny
wondering what I'm looking for
and I have to explain it's a who,
not a what.
But they don't care
and no one seems to understand.
I'm not even sure
if you'd understand anymore.
You say I've changed,
but I still feel the same.
I think it's you that's changed,
you that's moved away.
My friends say that people tend to do that
in our given situation,
but that is something I cannot accept
for when have we ever done
what was expected of us
in a given situation?
Besides,
I'm not even sure
of where I am right now,
of what I'm doing.
I need something to remind me
of who I was, who I am.
I need something familiar,
a home base where I can feel safe.
What I'm trying to say 
is that I still need you
despite what I've said.
So, please come back to me?
I'll be waiting
in the glow of the television
watching our favorite shows...

Untitled College Assignment - 1997

You say that what you think about is different.
You say that there is a struggle going on inside you.
You say that you want to get deep.
You say that you want to devour truth.
You say that you are not a narcissist.
You quote C.S. Lewis, saying you are:
"a zoo of lusts, a bedlam of ambitions,
a nursery of fears, a harem of fondled hatreds."


Well, welcome to the club.

Untitled

What might have been is dead:
died in the gruesome exchange
of abject pleading, bitter denunciations,
and magnificent soul-baring.
Hidden messages of love and support
nothing but contrived arguments.
Your self-importance impedes my destiny
and my self-knowledge sets me free...

The Dragon

rage
blinding fury
like I've never known before
I'm not supposed to drive
in this condition
Should I pull over?
No
'cause then I would have two hands free
and you would have to die
I can't believe I'm looking at you
in my passenger seat
rather than my rearview mirror
or better yet,
underneath my tires
stuck in the little crevices
bits and pieces
how I feel right now
shattered
torn apart
by anger
that burns me
instead of devouring you
I should release this dragon
to consume you alive...
but then I would be without you
and all I would have left is
rage

Mixed Up

Mixed up feelings
and fucked up thoughts
seem to go hand in hand these days.


But you know that
better than anyone,
for those were your gifts to me.


I mean, 
why give anyone flowers or jewelry
when you can give them a piece of your mind
whether they want it or not?


Who knows,
maybe I did then.
Want it, I mean.
Maybe I yearned to become one...
although only God knows why.


But hey, I'm stuck with it now.
So I'll deal.
No regrets, right?
Yeah, right.
You want me to give up my "what ifs", too?
Jeez, that would make it easy.


And nothing humans do
can ever be easy.
I guess we feel
we don't have enough challenges yet.


So we give each other
these mixed up feelings
and fucked up thoughts,
wrapped in tinted cellophane,
sealed in sticky tape.


And then we leave each other
alone in silence
to unwrap them by ourselves
with no scissors.
And to assemble them
in some type of order
with no directions.


I think they should come
with age restrictions.
Something like: "50 and up"
'cause a mid-life crisis
shouldn't be allowed to happen
until mid-life, don't ya think?


Well, I do.
I think and I feel
these mixed up feelings and fucked up thoughts
that you gave me.


I try to take them out
one by one
to examine them
more closely, carefully.


But it doesn't work that way.
They overflow and carry me off...
I am surrounded and engulfed
by these mixed up feelings
and fucked up thoughts
that you left me.

Herstory

I used to be an UNKNOWN,
as you did.
We passed each other in the halls,
oblivious of our impending connection.
Then you noticed my comments
and engaged me in intelligent conversation,
which was unexpected and appreciated.
You came to visit me at work,
trying to find a place in my busy life.
I was blind,
content with where I was
until fate stepped in.
I took a desperate risk
and asked you a dangerous question...
You said yes,
emphatically!
and it brought us closer.
We spent a day together
and knew we would be.
We spent a night together
and suddenly we were.
I became a GIRLFRIEND
and we became the consummate couple,
whispered about and admired,
joked about and envied.
I sat on your lap
and you held me close as we danced.
You rested your hand upon my knee
as we drove to your friend's house.
You grinned at me across the dinner table
as you talked with my parents
like they were your own.
We became one,
and I became whole.


Then, a sudden change:
a forced departure,
a struggle, and a triumph.
An "I love you",
finally.
I accept and I calm,
until it changes again.
She is your comfort
while I am away,
or at least that's your excuse.
A drunken mistake, you said,
and I thought.
But it morphed into something more,
something constant,
something unacceptable,
because now I'm a CONVENIENCE.


A silence from you,
an apathy.
A struggle within me,
a decision and a conversation,
confused and rambling.
A break, some time to think.
Then a realization
and resolution reached.
A confrontation, the first.
Perhaps the last,
hopefully the only.
You think I'm wrong,
I know I can't be.
You want me to think some more,
but I've thought enough.
Too much.


Now it's time for you to think.
Now it's time for you to make a decision.
Now it's time for you to take some action.
Figure out what you did.
Figure out who you are.
Figure out what you want.
Figure out who you need.
Make some changes,
or I'll be HISTORY.

Lost

And where was I?
when these decisions were being made,
options discussed,
and plans well laid?
Where was I?
not 'round that table
cause I'm sure I would've been able
to change your minds
had you but given me the time
or consideration.
Where was I? you ask
surely up to no good
probably riding 'round the hood
with my hoodlum friends.
Where was I? I respond
why, right here in this chair
and I don't think it's fair
that you couldn't be bothered
to consult me.
Where was I?
when the question we both want answered is:
Where the hell am I going?

Inch by Inch

Take my hand
and maybe together
wrapped around like good little roses,
you won't leave yet.
Prism perfect
with an inner whirlpool
that will shatter it all - 
not a chance!
Didn't know our love was so small
to be tucked away out of sight,
out of mind.
Sometimes I breathe you in
spinning round and round and round...
She must be worth nothing
if this is worth anything.
You're not anyone I really know,
although I thought I could read between the lies,
and right there, for a minute
I knew you too well.
But now I'm wishing for my best impression.
Inch by inch, and step by step
we follow this ingrained dance blindly
moving apart even as we look back and wonder:
what have we done?

Untitled College Assignment - 1998

My car door makes a disturbingly loud noise as I shut it
but I have learned not to glance nervously.
Around here I keep my blinders on and my steps confident,
except for a slight falter as I snag steel toe on concrete curb.
I shift the bag on my shoulder and reach for the buzzer,
ringing twice in case you're asleep - legs entangled in tussled sheets,
toothpick still nestled perfectly in the corner of your mouth.
Your neighbor comes, and as always, lets me in for the price of a cigarette.
I traverse the hallway quickly 
and enter your apartment with a smooth practiced grace, 
for this is not the place to show weakness.
I step inside, shut and LOCK the door, grinning to myself
because I want to point out to you that I remembered this time.
The smell of your cigarettes invades deep into my lungs 
and brings a sudden pang because I know they are with you always,
tucked close in some inner pocket.
With a sigh, I deposit the brown paper bag into your refrigerator 
and let the weight from my shoulder slump to the floor.
I sink into the couch, the springs digging into my back the way they did that night
we lay here for hours watching movies.
I could have moved, but it was comforting 
being close enough to breathe in your smell
and feel the tingling warmth of your body pressed against mine.
A smaller source of heat brings me back to the present 
and draws my attention to a candle left burning on the table.
Instinctively I want to blow it out, but I leave it be
knowing how you like to let them burn even though some day 
one of your candles will take the apartment down with it.
I also notice a controller left stranded in the middle of the room,
like an anchor with its line running back to the Playstation...
and this reminds me of you lying on this floor one afternoon playing video games,
cursing at the cops giving chase as though they could hear you.
I remember noticing how the cuffs of your jeans rode up,
exposing most of your boots,
and how the back of your neck wrinkled.


Glancing at the clock, I decide it's time to take off my boots
and I loosen each lace in turn - like undoing a corset -
until I can yank one boot off and let it clunk to the floor.
As I attack the second, the lock turns and you walk through the door.
You notice me and smile before your look changes to:
What you're doing right now is all I've wanted to do for hours.
I rip off my other boot and shove over, making room on the couch.
You stand above me, emptying your pockets, pulling out the pack 
I envy so much, haphazardly selecting one to light.
Falling heavily beside me, you tackle one row of laces
while I make a fumbling attempt at the other.
Realizing it's hopeless, I leave you to it and instead retrieve
the bacon, egg and cheese and the Raspberry Snapple I left in the fridge. 
Your face stills as you ponder why I do such things for you,
and I know that that, that is exactly why.
You eat, toothpick now settled behind your ear,
as I bitch about my train ride and my other life, away from here.
You listen, as you always have, and the tension drains away.
You have that effect on me somehow.
At its departure there is suddenly room for more pleasant stirrings
and I deter you from turning on the t.v. by sliding into your lap.
Straddling your legs, I steal your toothpick 
and prepare for the wrestling match to follow.
But this once, you just grin
seemingly aware of where this is all intended to lead anyway.
I grin back and slide the splinter of wood behind my own ear
before leaning in to kiss you.
I linger close, breathing you in, rubbing noses, tracing lines with my tongue
before slowly pulling away with your bottom lip caught between my teeth.
You shake your head because you don't understand the fascination
and I shake mine because I don't think I could manage an explanation.
Instead, my hands find your hips 
and my fingers tug at your shirt.
Knowing how ineffectual I will be, 
you grab the back and wrench it over your head.
What should be an awkward movement is beautiful...
your muscles rippling sinuously like underwater creatures.
My fingernails slide down your neck, over a nipple, 
and to the ticklish spot by your waistband.
You respond with an all-too-quick poke to my ribs before I leap up,
tripping over boots as I laugh my way to your bedroom.
You take your time following, as is your way.
I have trouble thinking of a time 
when your deliberately slow walking has vexed me more.
Finally, you close the door behind you, 
light one of your ubiquitous candles
and shut off the light.
As you approach the bed, I hear you mumbling:
"Those are going to have to come off..."
the only words needed before your weight settles atop mine.


I've heard it said that you're supposed to play your lover's body 
like a musical instrument,
but the sound that our bodies sometimes makes 
is nothing like any music I've ever heard.
The first time it happened you said that you had never 
made a fart noise with a breast before,
and I tried to explain with glowing cheeks and gasping breathes
that it was the same principle as using your armpit.
But now, instead of blushing or laughing, I smile
because I've come to think of it in these terms: we were made for each other.
Our bodies compliment each others' so well that a vacuum is created,
and the noise that erupts as we pull apart 
is a protest to the air rushing between us.
All thoughts end with a sudden quivering
and the next thing I can comprehend 
is dueling heartbeats and deep breathing.
I decide that I don't want you to ever get up,
but after a few moments you lift yourself off slowly and sit upright.
You use the candle to light a cigarette before blowing it out,
encasing the room in a velvety blackness.
I can feel you, sitting there in the dark,
and then I can see your outline as you take a deep drag.
You get up to use the bathroom while I rearrange the sheets.
I glance up at the dusky shapes of knives 
marching row by row across your wall and wonder
at the absurdness of it all.
Why with you, of all people, everything seems so easy, so effortless?
Why I had to come all the way back here to find this, 
this whatever it is that we have?
Why, for once, am I okay with not knowing?


The cherry reappears in the room, bobbing towards me.
Thankfully, you extinguish it before crawling back into bed,
feeling for my body with your hands 
and settling into your place between me and the wall.
Murmuring against my forehead, 
you grip one of my legs between yours,
push one of your arms beneath my neck
and drape the other over my hip.
I started to protest because I usually sleep on my stomach,
but I deciphered the words "my teddy bear"
so I lie still, thinking this position can't be that bad.
I lay there listening for the moment when you drift into sleep.
I can always tell because you start snoring softly,
like a cat purring in my ear.
I turn my head slightly to avoid the ticklish wisps of your breath
and notice a chalky twilight invading through the window.
Dawn has blossomed, still barely perceptible.
I sink towards sleep
despite the sounds of people walking around in the apartment above us
because my mind is quiet, and my heart is content.
Sometimes, this is all a girl needs.
And I know the memories of these moments
will get me through the days and weeks ahead
spent walking amongst strangers,
until I can once again make my way home.
To you.