Constricted

Not so much bubbling up, but waves
Not so much waves but
Pressure exerted upward, pushing up through my chest and into my throat, down through my knees and making my shins and feet jump and contract
I want to be outside
I want to go places
Is this wanderlust?

I Always Read the Comments Section

I always read the comments section.
Read, and look in, even as my eyes wire words that my brain immediately rejects.
Witness the love, the hate, the ignorance and fear and just plain stupidity
All protected behind the one-way mirror of an internet avatar.
You see out, we can't see in: the perfect mask.

I always read the comments section.
On good days, words of hope and love abound, rationality rules, logic takes the stage.
On bad days, I see a regression of humanity, determinedly grinding backwards towards a closed, closeted world where free speech doesn't feel free.
Freedom of stupidity exists for a reason, as does freedom of ignorance but
Who are we to indulge in spreading those freedoms?

I always read the comments section,
and despite my better judgement (or perhaps because of my better judgement), I never comment back.
I exist as a silent observer, quietly categorizing and balancing, actively judging from behind my own personal wall of tightly clasped ideology.
Is that bad? Probably. I hide and have the luxury of praising myself over others. I never join the battle.
But.
Just by reading, I learn, and that,
I hope,
Makes a small difference.

Captured Moments

Lights behind glass:
Scenes presented, each mine for the taking if I choose to simply
Stop and look for a moment.
Fairy lights strung across a window, reflection of someone's small flight of fancy
The interior of a dining room all wood panels, red walls, and vintage chandelier giving away the age of this particular house.
Apartments only give away a glow of color, or in some cases the soft light of curtained interiors.
Some windows show black.
This person has plants, that one leaves the TV on when no one's in the room.
This room belongs to a child, the one above to adults: a family house.
Basement apartment: order on a small scale, bike propped against a wall, hatstand in the middle.
Small snippets, captured moments, windows meant for viewing: glass, after all, works both ways.

Supernothing (Effort, and Why It Sucks)

Did I mention that effort doesn't come naturally to me?
Have I ever told you that if it weren't for my friends
family
teachers
I'd be a nothing (supernothing, going nowhere fast
and I don't care).
Take today, for example:
Right now, I'm meant to be at a
Dance
(of all things)
Meeting other queer kids and generally having a
Good
Time
(capital letters merited).
And yeah, that'd be awesome but
Effort
Doesn't come easily to me who
Will probably end up on the streets in five years because I
Blow all my money
On knitting needles and
Stolen library books.

Ache

Standing up takes more effort than it should
Muscles and tendons size and compress
The floor pounds into my feet and drives
Up my legs and through my back to my shoulders where
It simply
Sits.
Ache.

Posed

In their eyes, you are not you anymore.
Reduced to a series (collection, grouping, abundance)
Of lines and planes, dark and light,
Shadows and highlights,
Tones.
You look at them but they do not see you,
Only
The precise geometry of your ratios:
Eyes to nose to mouth to chin and shoulders, beyond.
Pure, spatial construction, no
Judgement tweaking fixing just
Faithful recording
Setting your lines down on paper
Capturing
In a moment
What you truly look like.

None For Me

Two for you
None for me
Uneven math, of course. It's what I
deserve.
One plus one is two that's
Two for you and
One plus zero (one) for me.
Hint: that one is
Me.
Is that fair?
Hint: (it's not.)
But I guess that's how
It has to be.
Two for you and
One (none) for me.

Random Bits (My Day)

Last night: a random Target shopping cart, probably stolen and dumped, standing forlornly on the corner of a dark and rainy street. My dog sniffed it suspiciously.

Today: the unexpected surprise of early dismissal from practice, and then the complete letdown caused by a huge traffic jam of unknown origins. The firetrucks didn't seem in any hurry.

The Wasteland: phenomenal. Layers upon layers of words and meanings, waiting to be picked apart: the ultimate cake. Delicious.

Unexpected depth: velvet sky turned liquid, the moon suddenly giving light to thousands of unseen miles between Here and There.

Morning tea: arrived on the doorstep sometime during the night, heaven in a cardboard box. Perfect.

Lovely: a meeting of the minds, beyond class, of books and the power of wishlists. These things should happen more often.

Overall: fueled by caffeine, in the best way possible. Amen.

Interior

Slowly, ever so
Slowly I'm
Learning, infinitesimally, to
Take an interest, even
Care a little talk a little stay a little longer
Branch a little fail a little fall a little more
Each
Time
Until
I resemble
Humanity
No longer boxed up
Caged in
Bottled and stoppered feelings mixing colors until they're just
Dark
Murky
Brown.

Wind-Up Girl

No lock and key exist for me to
Open up your head so I
Drink up, crunch down, mascerate
Mundane and esoteric facts, letters and questions that
Inform me, entice me with everything but
how
you
work.

Some days I just want to climb inside your
Head and walk around and
Build a blanket fort and
Curl up and this way at least I know you're thinking

(Of Me).

Good Things

Morning sun, enough to take the edge off but
Will probably burn my face if I'm out all day.
Suddenly, spring seems within reach.
Good things are coming.

A good hair day, enough so hats
Aren't needed,
Warm enough to go without a scarf.
Good things are coming.

Meet up, new faces in familiar places
Old friends still at hand.
Across the bridge, adventure awaits.
Good things are coming.

Pick through old CD's, new music to my ears.
As reggae-dub plays over the radio,
I smile at the man behind the counter.
Good things are coming.

Too crowded for coffee, back to beat the streets.
Wrapped in the smell of warm pita, I take a bite.
Suddenly, everything feels perfect.
Good things are coming.

Tip my head up to catch the final rays of sun,
Back across the bridge towards home,
Where the downhill caresses my worn out knees.
Good things are coming.

I'm A Car Dancer

There's a feeling, indescribable
Connected, infected, reflected
Up your arms, down your ears, warming you
From the inside out and
Outside
In
Crackle and pop
Radio static clears
And a song
Comes
Through
Crack a grin and sing
Bang your head and dance like
No one's watching
All alone in your car.

Ketchup

And she asked,
"What's that stain
On your pants?"
And I said,
"It's ketchup."
Head held high, daring defiance, messy and exposed.
And instead of judging,
She laughed
And said,
"Good for you! Was it worth it?"
And I grinned right back and said,
"Yes!"
And in my head I thought, in passing:
I want a girl who will laugh with me at
Ketchup stains 
On my pants.

Red Toothbrush

I still use
That red toothbrush you gave me
The first time I stayed over when you said
"Why don't you just stay the night?"
And we both slept close but not close enough until
The next time when
I brought my bag with your
Red toothbrush and
Brushed the taste of you out of my mouth
In the morning and then left with
The smell of you still in
My hair.

Yesterday's Socks

And today I wore
Yesterday's socks.
Extra blue and extra thick
Yesterday's socks
Protecting against wind
(and now snow)
For the second
Day in a row.
Yesterday's socks
Scooped from the floor without
A second thought.
I know they'll make it through the day
After all, I made them.

More Numbers

And suddenly there are

Two days.

That's two times

Twenty-four hours

Four times

Twelve

Six times

Eight

Sixty times twenty four times

Two.

Thirty six hundred seconds a minute

Sixty minutes an hour

Twenty-four hours a day equals

Two days time.

That's

(you do the math)

One hundred seventy two thousand eight hundred seconds

All slowly trickling down

To nothing. 

Disagreement of the Hardest Order

If you don't agree with me
And I don't agree with you
We butt heads.
Even if we agree to be respectful
We butt heads.
Yes, I value you
And your friendship
And your opinion but really
Can't you see how this changes my view of you?
I
try
try
try
not to let your ideas
Poison my idea of you
But sometimes it's
really
really
hard.
I still love you for
Who you are and
The power of your beliefs but
Like I said before,
It's hard.

I know it's best to take in as many different ideas and perspectives as possible, and I know that not everyone will agree with me or my opinions. Your ideas aren't even misguided or invalid or blatantly idiotic like the opinions of so many others; they're lovely, well thought out, logical and rational forces of will, but that's what makes them so hard to swallow. I know that you value your opinions just as much as I value mine, and even though we can talk about them and discuss without taking the other down, the undercurrent of "what if" lurks beneath the veneer of our polite conversation. There's always the backing tone of "I Do Not Agree". Disagreement happens, and I know it happens, but it still makes me sad when I see friends going down a path that I view as blinkered to the wider worldviews on the issue. I try to learn as much as possible, take in as many perspectives as I can, see from all sets of eyes and walk in multiple pairs of shoes. However, I've found that, even as it opens my mind, this strategy makes me more and more suspicious, more questioning, less likely to be bought by one perspective or another. I find it hard to form my own opinions without thorough research and contemplation. I can only hope that my friends do as much research as I do about their opinions, because I feel that one should take make their decisions only after they find at least one viewpoint opposing theirs, and they can still say that their opinion is valid after discussing and researching the other side. It's worked for me, and I can only hope it will work for others.

Ukulele Nonsense Poem

To paraphrase Amanda Palmer:

Play your ukulele loud

Play your ukulele proud

"'Cos even if your grades are bad it doesn't mean you're failing"

She makes me wish I could have made

Any thing so quite as good

So catchy and amazing

It's just three chords

That's all it takes

To banish any evil

So

Play your ukulele loud

Play your ukulele proud

Art's not hard

Just do it! Now.

It's just liking knitting only not so stringy

Or so wooly or so 

Utterly confusing

So

Go out and buy your ukulele

Don't worry if you think you're stupid

It will probably make you feel better

Even if you have

No musical inclination!

I don't even have one and

I really really want one and

Perhaps I'll gift my self with one and

Busk my way though DC.

I'll play my favorite cover song

Even though the words are wrong

Bring joy for all the world to see

With the power of ukulele.

(Apologies to Amanda Palmer, and hear the original song here.)

Some Days

Some days
Some days
Some days I just want to steal other people's words
Make them slip down my throat and then back up
Regurgitated
So I don't have to think about
Everything that makes me
Me.
I feel unoriginal
Burdened by worries, hurries, and
Stress
Crawling up my throat and choking me
Blocking me
Haunting me and hawking me
Tight fingers of a small green goblin
That refuses to let go.

Nonsense Poems

Three line stanza
Three word line
Three letter ending: Not.

One word sentence:
Yes.
No.
Maybe.

Three word line:
I love you.
Don't leave me.
I can't stay.

Six word story:
No time, no sleep, no worries.
Done.

Three word legends:
Go away now.
I hated you.
Take me back

Eleven second thoughts:
I don't know why I
Start and stop and start.
Palindrome?

Numbers:
One: heart.
Two: Legs.
Four: Eyes.
Ten: Fingernails.
Thirty-three: Vertebrae.
Million: Songs.