Note

Sticky notes on a desk,

Written to remember things we don’t want to be forgotten.

One is red hot pink,

with a detailed recipe for banana bread.

One is a light sky blue,

with a list of tasks that need to be finished.

One is a mid-spring leaf green,

with a quote that needed to be read and wasn’t.

In a car, a note. “I love you”

Tears falling like a harsh summer storm.

Driving, wiping them away blurry,

is that rain?

Snow begins to fall fast as a rabbit running for its life.

Sitting on a bench watching it fall as eyes close, feeling the cold snowflakes fall onto eyelids

Breathe, eyes open.

HOODIE

Warm, 

Like a hug for a friend you haven’t seen in ages.

Oversized,

As if it was from a previous lover,

it was the one thing that couldn’t  be given up,

Even though they hated each other,

still loved the smell of bonfires and cologne

That came from it every time it’s worn it.

It has hair on it from cats that have rolled on it for hours,

Trying to get warm in the winter.

The sleeve is slightly ripped from a nail,

That was not in the door all the way 

The hoodie got caught and ripped ever so slightly.

This giver the hoodie a story a life.

Every owner puts a new stain or ripped on it

Like the coffee stain on the left bottom corner 

From a first date,

Where the girl wearing it had spilled her coffee all over herself 

Within the first five minutes,

They didn’t go on a second date,

The girl was disappointed,

She took up knitting as a hobby to past the time,

She made this fuzzy pink hat,

That went perfectly with her hoodie.

GLASS

A bees stinger,

A knife blade,

Sharp edge of a rock.

Circle top,

similar to a ring that you would wear

to show a loved one you care for them.

Trees, 

Skyscrapers,

Lighthouses,

Clouds,

It’s that kind of tall where,

if you were a child 

you’d think it was a million feet high.

Little marbles fill the base

For plastic flowers and fake decorations.

Fancy people think these things are necessary.

But us normals know they are 

as pointless as sunglasses indoors.

EMPTY ROOM

Tinted windows,

Blood red curtains,

Velvet soft, long as a spiral staircase,

Folded like a blanket that had just come out of the dryer.

Yellow as a canary, the walls tall like a skyscraper,

They curve at the top, like railing.

Golden beam flow along the curves.

Blurred trees you can’t tell whether they are pine or oak.

Blue as a newborns eyes.

The sky.

White cloud,

Remind me of cotton candy,

has yet to be touched by the hungry kids,

That are so excited to have the sugar rush.

White,

Creased from being ironed, 

Pressed for neat and clean look.

Table cloth.

Plastic, clear, temporary, non-existent.

WHY

Why? 

Why must you look,

Talk,

Be near me,

I need to get away from this temptation,

It’s wrong,

the warmth from your arms,

I want to be happy,

I want that warmth,

Honey in tea,

Rain on a sunny day,

The smell of freshly mowed grass,

Mint leaves,

Happiness.

I am trapped in a cage by a band on my finger,

Forever stuck in this purgatory,

Everyday existing through life.

Wake up,

Have coffee,

Go to school,

Come home,

Go to sleep,

Everyday the same,

The wind is blowing around my thoughts,

My emotions are on an elevator, 

Constantly up and down.

I always watch never to speak,

For if I do I a demon will jump down my throat.

I am trying to swim through sand,

Getting stronger,

But choking,

I must not drown before I see the other side. 

MOVING STILL

Moving on,

Forward moving,

Train going one-hundred miles an hour,

Hear the steam rolling through the air,

Coal crackling in the heat of the engine,

Trees sway in the wind,

Birds leap for take off,

Trusting that they will fly,

Worms inside the dirt under your feet,

Moving,

Squirming around wiggling,

Living.

The wind,

Blowing around leaves, clouds, and us.

Lungs filling with air,

Taking one last breath.

Still.

An eerie night when all you hear is a single owl hooting,

Sticks breaking in the brush,

A glass on a table filled to the brim

Never to move, 

unless someone decide to pick it up.

A bird,

In a cage,

Yes it can move around within the cage,

But it is confined to the one solitary space 

A prison in the place it calls home.

A chair,

The most still of them all,

Stuck in an eternity of staying in one place, 

Under a table,

You better keep moving,

Or you’ll become a chair too.

I MOST DEFINITELY DO NOT KNOW

How to live.

How to breathe.

How to exist.

These are the things I know.

To live: 

You must let your heart beat for everyone.

Just don’t let it beat too much,

For you will have a heart attack and die.

Everyone knows dying isn’t living.

To breathe:

Inhale, exhale. 

Not much more to it.

Except when you are so hurt with grief,

you physically can’t make yourself breathe.

Or,

When you are so overwhelmed with excitement,

you can’t take another breath,

All you can do is let out small bursts of squeals and jumps.

To exist:

This is the tough one,

For existing doesn’t come naturally.

Existing is what happens when the world has crushed your soul

by putting you through an event 

An event you can never speak about to anyone,

You trap yourself in a box.

Never to live again,

Barely breathing,

Just existing.

TRAPEZE ARTIST

One-thousand feet high,

less than an inch to stand on,

that feeling of your guts coming up,

through your throat.

Air,

I need air.

I can’t breathe up here,

My throat like walls are closing in on themselves,

My heart is going ninety miles an hour.

My thoughts are as scrambled as freshly cooked eggs,

for breakfast to a family of five.

I walk forward on the unsteady rope.

Close my eyes,

Breathe,

Next thing to do is take the leap,

You know the kind where you hope and pray everything will work out but,

You have no idea what you’re doing.

Jump,

Unsure if you will land or fly.

NOTEBOOK

Spirals bend along the paper in and out of the punch holes, 

curving around. 

Endless, forever going 

only to be used by students.

For learning subjects they could care less about

It’s for those classes you only take because they are required,

those classes that slowly suck the life and all the fun out of college.

It would be that hard for college to be fun

Just take all the yelling and saying things to girls that don’t deserve it.

Take out all the money wasted on overpriced books, classes and dorms.

That guy that grabs you in the hall on your first day 

as you walk to find out where your classes are.

Only to find out that he’s in your last class of the day 

He’s sitting next to you.

Spirals bend along the paper,

going in and out.

A WORN PATH

Driving down an old dirt road 

that has existed as long as I can recall it has many turns, 

up hills and very few down hill moments. 

It twists and turns like the wheel of a ‘09 black ford ranger. 

The road doesn’t seem to have an end. 

The dirt is kicked up by my tires 

that probably should have gotten replaced a couple months ago. 

In the distance I see a tree. 

It’s not a normal tree though, 

this one has bark on half of it 

you can see the inside of the tree on the other side. 

As I get closer I realize I’ve never noticed this tree before 

even though I have been down this road more than a million times. 

I get closer and closer to the tree

it isn’t seeming to get any bigger 

which is something you might expect 

when something is as far away as that tree was. 

I finally get to the tree, 

I get out of the car and walk up to it.

It was dead. 

I came all this way and it was dead.

CINNAMON

Lead smoothly goes against the course paper, 

beats and melodies flow through the air, 

wind blowing the leaves all around, 

a mild rain on a sunny day watching it from a front porch swing. 

These things bring happiness to those who are around them. 

Cinnamon was once a tree,

Then one day someone came along 

sheared that tree of its lovely bark,

ground it up to a coarse and unrefined texture 

that was still woody and chewy.

They left it like that because it was “good enough”

They slapped an organic label on it and sent it to the stores.

It flew off the shelves like a bird taking off for its first flight.

The cinnamon got sprinkled on

non fat no foam skim milk lukewarm soy cappuccino lattes.

Cinnamon was once a tree.

But who cares trees die everyday right?

I mean one died for you to read this.

WATER CROSSING

As I step over a mud puddle 

from a heavy rain we had the night before I thought:

We are all water. 

It is inside of the little leaves on the trees 

inside of the animals that eat the leaves.

It is in the mountains that grow to incredible heights 

and get deathly cold at the top where 

there is no longer even air to breathe.

It is in the foggy mist, on erie winter mornings 

when it is beginning to warm. 

On rainy days in spring water is everywhere.

ROPE

Pull. 

Tie to something sturdy and pull.

That is your purpose.

You are used to pull things from one place to another.

To tie things together.

The hands of a poor little girl that got taken away from her home.

The lamb that did nothing wrong but is being slaughtered.

The horse to a carriage, which is just a walk cage.

Tying together things that sometimes should be left alone.

Pull.

a bucket, 

from a deep hole made in the ground.

small children drink their first water of the day.

Be careful children, 

make sure you don’t fall.

LUCKY DAY

Today is the day. 

The sky is gray, cloudy.

Perfect.

This is it, the ground is slightly damp, with the water from the sky

That falls at different speeds.

The grass is full of mud and rocks that surfaced from the rain.

Worms try to survive through the flooding of their home.

Ants nowhere to be found,

for if they come to the top, 

they will surely die.

Buildings soaked up the rain from their helmets 

that are permanently affixed to them.

People running as if this water is a bad thing.

TUNNEL

Lines of red and pink race across the hard cement,

making it more lively and light. 

Circles of yellow and blue spiral in and out

making an endless amount of openings and pathways. 

Waves of green and purple flow through this tunnel. 

I am filling this tunnel with beams of light. 

This tunnel is never passed by never looked at, so I want to make them look. 

Make them look at me. 

Shapes coursing through the tunnel 

immediately making light up and light shine through the dark place. 

People notice. 

people are stopping and staring at my masterpiece. 

The water is gleaming with the hues of red, orange, green, purple, blue, and yellow. 

As the water flows through the tunnel across the river rocks 

that have settled into their forever home. 

They have been settling for quite awhile now since the river was just a stream. 

A small bird lands on a rock

that is ever so slightly peeking out of the river that is under the tunnel. 

It’s wings are a bright blue like that of the sky.

With thin white lines running throughout the blue similar to clouds. 

With a beak that’s a burnt red

like a deep red lipstick that a 20 something would put on to make herself feel prettier, 

when in reality she doesn’t need anything because she is far prettier than she thinks. 

Its body is pure yellow

like a sunflower garden in full bloom 

untouched and thriving. 

It sits and waits for the wind to come by.

BEAT

Music is like life it has a beginning and an end.

Music has notes and lifts.

Moments of upbeat and moment of low bass. 

Music is everywhere: birds chirping on a warm spring day, children splashing in the bathtub, coins thrown into fountains, people walking around downtown completely obvious to the world and their surroundings. 

Music is everywhere even, in you.

It can heal your soul with one note.

In moments a song can change your mood completely.

It runs in our veins.

The overwhelming pain of living.

IT’S ONLY A LETTER

The subtle serifs that hold the eye at night.

The sharp edges 

it’s geometric feel that makes it align with everything.

So many weights,

so much contrast, 

with only two words.

The space around each letter, 

making more shapes and spaces to fill with intricate design. 

Curves from the leg to the foot of the traditional serifs. 

The ampersand,

that is the most superior to all the other letter forms, 

for it has the most grace. 

The question mark follows it, 

with that little curve above the dot at the bottom.

The off center tittle of the lowercase i in Gill Sans ultra bold.

The inside of an uppercase letter A

Making a perfect triangle.

The O making an almost perfect circle.

Lowercase a making a teardrop shape

inside the beautiful bowl.

Helvetica’s lovely and graceful uppercase R,

which has a slight kick in the bottom of the leg.

ROAD

A slightly tilted tree in the distance, 

the branches had been cracked by a harsh wind that had blown through.

He stopped, 

bent down to pick up these two rocks that caught his eye. 

one was a jagged rock that shined like a freshly polished silver, 

and the other was as smooth as a fresh tomato

that had just been picked that morning.

There came a fork in the path, 

and had discovered he had dropped his smooth and beautiful rock
somewhere along the way.

He fell, 

down this deep spirling hole 

that was similar to a spring from the inside of a pen.

He thought about green grass 

that had been freshly mowed on a nice warm summer day, 

and birds chirping.

As he fell to jagged rocks in an old well 

that had been hidden by the trees that covered the path 

and moss that had grown over time.

CHAIR

It’s gray, metal looking like some sort of heavy machinery 

that is used for making schools. 

The gray is like that of the sky on the rainy days in winter, 

where the winter has that bite to it and you can’t actually tell if it’s rain or snow. 

The curves of metal are as soft as metal can be, 

resembling the curves of an ear, 

it has some bumps along the way. 

It is stained by all the venti, mocha, no foam, cappuccino, soy lattes 

that have spilled on it, 

and ripped from the keys of college student apartments 

that are far too overpriced for them to be able to eat anything other than ramen. 

The seams are not graceful, 

they are out and not hidden in the least, 

almost as if, when it was being made, 

the person didn’t care if it looked pretty or not. 

They just cared it was functional.

THE UNKNOWN

Bridging gaps, 

traveling people, 

walking down a road with no end. 

I can hear the train coming. 

I am falling off the gaps that bridge people together. 

I hit the ground,

my head hits a puddle of dirt, mud and a little grass. 

With frantic yet precise moves of an oil paint brush I run with,

The steam of the locomotive rising in my lungs 

I can’t breathe.

I can’t speak, I’m drowning. 

I am lost in my dreams the consume me like a fire that could never be lit, 

like clouds that never move, 

like leaves that never fall, 

I am lost. 

“Who are you?” said the boy.

“I am god.” said the mysterious man.

“What is a god?”

“A god my sweet child is what I am, I am everything and I am nothing, I am all, I am one, I am the great the pure, that is what a god is.”

“But if you are all you say why are you here?”

“For you” 

The boy starts to weep then shake.

“Fo-for me?” the boy stuttered

“Yes, for you. You are mine, so I shall take you now.” said the mysterious man.

“But why I never did anything! Please! Please! Don’t take me mister!” 

“I have no choice, you must go now.”

“At least let me say bye to my momma.”

“No. now for the last time come here! We are leaving now.”

“I will not go I don’t even know who you are!”