Archive for April, 2013

Tell me you love me
And tear me apart.
Then build me up slowly
From the ashes you sought.
You’re hell and high water
Everything that’s wrong.
But I can’t stop singing the melody
Of my swan song.
I’m your phoenix
And I’ll rebuild from the ashes
Again and again
While your wave crashes
Against the stone of my soul.
Love me and leave me
Leave me black and blue
Come back and tell me
It wasn’t true.
Tell me you love me
And tear me apart.
Then build me up slowly from the ashes you sought
I’ll be your phoenix
I’ll rebuild from the ashes
Again and again
While that wild wave crashes.


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Standing in the checkout line
The electric hum of florescent lights
Over my head like some kind of manufactured halo.
I don’t believe in God,
But I wish I knew what heaven is.
Because fluffy white clouds and harp music
Sounds as perfect as a half-rotten apple
Buried in the produce drawer of my fridge.
And if I got sent there
I think I’d be begging for something else.
A way out.
A way back.
A way down.
The steady beep of the register scanner is the sound of my focus on life support.
I imagine heaven is a library
So epic that there are no walls,
Just 300 foot tall bookshelves as far as the eye can see.
Jam-packed with every tome, volume, and scrap
Ever created, but where I read everything
On an e-reader because when it comes to books,
I love the smell, but hate the weight.
I imagine that in heaven,
No knowledge is restricted and all of it is sacred.
That facts are not strained through
The coffee filter of faith.
I’m loading my purchases on to the conveyer belt
Like I’m loading my hopes and dreams in to storage boxes.
Tucked away in the back most corner of my mind
To make room for the shiny new set
That surfaced the day I pushed another life in to the world.
His eyes are the color of an April sky when rain is on the horizon,
And his moods are an unstable amalgamation
Of joyful curiosity and explosive reactions.
I’m forking over cash like I’m spending time and effort
To make sure he has all the opportunities I squandered
In the hopes that he doesn’t throw them back in my face
The way I did to my mother.
I’m taking on full shopping bags
Like I’m taking on responsibilities.
Like a sinking ship takes on water,
I’m a cup full of thoughts and musings and I’m pouring myself out
On to the concrete of reality.
I’m putting my opinions and ideas on the line
And bolstering my defenses with integrity.
Fighting to stitch this patchwork quilt of
Inspirations and facts
Dreams and reality.
Because I can’t imagine a child’s future
As anything less than limitless
Any more than I can imagine
Heaven without a library.

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I Am A Tree

I am a tree.
I zero-in on the screen in front of me.
Trying to balance on unsteady feet,
I’m trying to stand on a tight rope of debits and credits
deadlines and due dates.
And they told me this would help.
Focus, breathe, center, balance.
But I can’t balance,
Because I am not a tree.
Because even while my body wobbles
Like some house of cards built on shifting sand
I know that nature is not as peaceful
As the lady on my TV says it is.
Because I know that even if my toes
Could turn in to roots and find purchase in the soil,
The tectonic plates of this turbulent life
We adults call “the real world”
Will eventually shift and physics will inevitably pull me over.
I am not a tree.
Because the truth is I’m not all that in touch with nature.
Because my heart is made of circuit boards
And my skin is a touch-screen,
Showing you the story of my life in high-definition.
I am not a tree.
Because I don’t know what it is to be impassive
Against turbulent rains and winds.
All I know is how to get thrown from branch to puddle.
Soaked through and ripped to shreds
Till all that’s left is the skeleton of what I used to be.
I am not a tree.
Because the thing I love most about the world
Is the part that only exists in digital.
Pixelated memories and dreams in text.
Short-hand love letters and irrevocable, irreplaceable
Sentiments of love, hate, joy, sadness, loss and life.
I can’t stop thinking because my world doesn’t stop expanding.
Images and sounds on the panoramic display of life.
I can’t reach for the sky the way the woman demands
Because her calm, soothing tone is like some
Fake, manufactured past-time that makes me think
She can’t be real or she must be in delusion
Because there is no serenity anymore.
I am not a tree.
And I want to scream it at her as she balances so smoothly she must be made of air.
A cellophane sculpture full of empty promises
And manufactured dreams of a “simple life”.
I am not a tree.
My veins are wires and my organs are data.
My thoughts are limited only by the bandwidth of sleep.
I am digital.
I am ever-changing.
I am shapeless.
I am timeless.
I am not a tree.

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