We could of have a house
a place to call our own
you would be in the living room
watching television
stoned.
I would be in the bedroom
or guestroom
or garage
playing guitars
or drums.
Every day, I would serenade you with noise
and you would get annoyed.
Soon I would join you
and feel you warmly in my arms
your hair would sleep on my chest
my chin perched on your skull.
This gentle embrace could last forever
to the soundtrack of my noisy serenade.

We might have had a dog
and named him some incredible name
a husky or a terrier
lazy and untrained.
He'd lick our noses
no matter where we've been
no matter what we've done.
He would have been our first child
a hairy son.
We would have moments in the kitchen
lingering around the fridge
microwaving many dinners
until romance inspired a home cooked meal.
Some wild soup with corn and beef
paper thin cornbread.
A metaphor for casserole
passed down by many of your Mothers.
I would take your hand, dear
and stir myself in with your recipe.
Laughing in the oven.

 It's a lot like this
sometimes.
I feel the need to (just)
do.
And I do.
Not just
but,
because
I can
and I should
so,
I do.

 There's never really
a stopping point.
(But) If there was
I would not stop there.
If I did
(however)
I would not want to
stay there.
I would not want
to want
at all..
..and this is me

a lot like this
sometimes.

Buried

 Meet my Demons

 Haunting me for years

 I buried them

at my feet








and left them to the sand



to one day wash away

San Francisco

If you
asked me
what
San Francisco
was like
I would
respond...

Add caption

Butterfly

This is a butterfly
inspired by the phrase
"biracial butterfly"
A phrase deemed
onto me by
a very attractive brown skinned
girl.
I think she's crazy
though.

Me

This is me.
This is what I look like when
I am on break
taking photos of
myself.
My head is
always
in the clouds.
I like it up there.

The feeling that I'm searching for something has yet to leave me. There's this constant want that my thoughts are pulled toward. Love, friends, money, my own apartment. My mind lingers in this state of wanting. This wanted is partnered with fear. Fear has been fed to me, as if to replace supplemental nutrients. I live in a fear based reality. Everything scares me. Things scare me because I let my mind wander down paths that aren't necessarily true. And for the first time, I spelled necessarily without using spell check. Twice now. I read a poem, it taught me not to identify with my thoughts. I am not my thoughts. Mostly, they are ideas. It's my choice to become the idea. Another program helped me realize that my mind isn't healthy. This is probably because my body isn't healthy. I'm a junk food addict. I eat shit, I become shit. I need colors. Colors to help me breathe. Colors to help me relieve this want. Replace the want with the food from the soil. Replace vanity with rich herbs. Subtract silence, multiply laughter. I am in the room. Where is my mind? The term "losing your mind" seems to take a more literal shape the further I reach. I feel that even in my attempts to not search, I am searching to not search.  I am looking to not look. Change must occur within me. 

Oh tonight.

In this moment I am self conscious.

My back is arched forward

bringing my head closer to the dim

back lit computer screen

Cozma, the love of my life

the cat

is at the foot of the bed

her nights are calm here in my room

This place is her haven

the warm fortress of peaceful rest and solitude

a luxury for most street cats

who am I to disturb her from her slumber?

her life seems so much more important than mine

Moments ago my room went black

like a dark sheet suddenly blanketed my walls

there was no light

and in an instant the light returned

only to be taken away again

returned

and taken away

I sprang to my feet curious and

deeply terrified

the other day I thought that I had been victim of

an alien abduction

"Could this be the conclusion?"

I thought

A strange static sound could be heard outside my window

so I ran to the kitchen to catch of view of the street

Street lights were flickering on and off

Lights outside of house and apartments teased on and off

I sat and stared in awe and utter confusion

Is this some elaborate robbery?
The idea wouldn't settle in me
I hadn't the idea
I glanced over to my Mother
who was asleep on the couch
and returned to my room
that was moments ago
Since then I've experimented with an online
dating site
and realized I'm terribly afraid of dating
What do I have to offer?
Surely there are more interesting people than me
You deserve to talk to them
I'll keep to myself
I'm a fly on the wall
a bad habit I get from my Mother
I observe and buzz around
The fly is scarcely welcome
is swatted at, killed, for doing what it does best
Flying.
A purple tarp lays on my floor
Atop it are containers of paint tubes,
paint brushes
and a few items I've been painting
A couple canvases
A couple soda cans
A couple of guitars
and a milk carton.
This is my life tonight.
Closed off in this tiny world I've built,
relishing prophecies I've foretold
of myself.
How I'll die, mostly.
My heart has been bothering,
I get so deep into thought that I forget to breathe
my temples blush with pain and I know I'm close
So I breathe slow
and feel my heart skip beats
wildly.
Pumping in no sort of sequence
and then in sequence.
It feels as if my heart has been pumping harder than usual these last few days
I'm happy it beats at all.

Hello again, blank page.

Freewrite begin now. This is Monday. I am awake. It is 3:18am. I'm awake because I was asleep and then you woke me up to tuck me in. And now I'm awake. Usually when people are getting tucked in, they are being prompted to go to sleep. Of course, my body chooses to resist. Had another vision last night. These visions, only in the darkness of your room, are fun, magical, little adventures. 

Last night's vision-venture started here on Earth. Where I was pulled from where I lay, through the roof, and into the sky. Above the house, the town, the county, the region, the state, the country, and eventually the globe then out into the vast black and colorful space. Here patterns danced. Patterns of rhythm and melody bounced along this astral plane as I soared with them. Red, green, gold, squares, triangles, stars.

I had a great English teacher. She made us sit and free-write for 15 minutes at the beginning of every class. Just sit and write. "Keep writing" she would say. We weren't supposed to stop.

Wtf... I want to sleep.