Ugh.

a dress for you i shall design
i have a certain style in mind
with cut and seams precise and fine
a better dress you shall not find
of softest cotton patterned floral
roses yellow, red, and pink as coral
made to fit only you
with measurements so true
no other dress shall ever do

She thinks it's good, fuck everyone else.

Often I wonder why the things I say come out so much worse than the things I write. But then I notice even when writing someone a breif note, I will still foul up. I think it is because I let myself do whatever, and with no restraint I sometimes hurt by accident. However, within the pages of a notebook I must stay between the lines and this keeps me civil.


though often i shall
by error of mind
let slip words unkind
they're not meant at all
i am simply too much myself
an unanchored ship
a kite with its string let go
a dog unchained
the only way for you to see
how i feel is in poetry

That was the first time I ever saw that girl smile. She is beautiful. A bitch for sure, but beautiful too.

This morning when I woke up, my fish was upside down. When I reached in to his tank to remove his body, he sort of flopped. He wasn't dead. I had to get ready for school, then leave. I know he will be dead when I get home. It is a very strange and up-setting feeling to know that something much smaller than yourself is dying and you can't stop it.












He knocked me down easily. I stared up at him, and so my mouth didn't have to, I made the look in my eyes say "fuck me". I knew he wasn't gay, but his hand still felt nice in mine. The second I was on my feet again, he turned away and ran back to the game. I felt rejected, I'd been trying to make eye contact with him all day. At least I was sure he'd noticed me.

They're all the music that we used to like.

though many stars at night i see
none of them shine as bright as thee

so dim not your light for jealous thoughts
for a single flower does not make a garden
but it does complete it

and every other shall be gone
even as your bright light shines on

so scar not our trust for envy
though many stars in the sky
i see but a single sun

or:
if you think me inattentive
close your eyes now and listen dear
i will whisper words repenting
and you shall know i'm always near

I keep trying to push my fingers through my hand.

We will have our own house there on the beach
Painted blue and white
Our bed will be as wide as we can reach
We can talk all night
And outside we will have a garden too
With flowers and trees
We can drink our tea there, just me and you
Doing as we please

But if this is a life that you would dread
I'd rather grow cold
In a world of steam, smoke, fear, and tears shed
If we'll still grow old

Acetylated Monoglycerides.

Far off in space, past glittering green nebulae, past all the stars we see, nowhere near any known moon or comet, there is a planet.

It is an unremarkable sphere, possibly a pale purple or pastel blue. It spins lazily on its axis and rotates around a star of average size and brightness. It might have a moon, I can't recall. But I'm sure its days and years last about as long as ours.

On the planet's surface, cerulean seas gently recede and advance on soft shorelines. Green trees grow everywhere, reaching as high as they please, yet the flowers find room too. Bird's wings flutter and feathers fall to the forest floor. Pale clouds, perhaps pink or maybe white, drift along against a backdrop of watercolor skies, and every sunrise is a golden explosion of a million hues reflected in the morning dew.

Each evening when the sun dips down to kiss this planet goodnight, on a special cliff by the sea, one man can be found sitting and watching. No one else ever sits with him. No one else lives on this planet. He is endlessly rich.

She claims to be within reach.

you are every single shining star far-off in space
you are all the sunny days on which the flowers grow you are as an unknown fish, discovered glittering in a dark, deep corner of the ocean
you are a sunset glimpsed on the horizon but never reached
you are a distant planet seen through a telescope and dreamt of by men
you are the impossible perfect combination of chords to a song thought unwriteable
you are a fleeting garden seen to be flawless in sleep, and left too soon in awakening

none of these things, in fact are you;
but they were the best i could do

Holding hands at the seaside.

She told me I looked handsome.
I told her I liked the shape of the clouds.
She asked to hold my hand.
I asked how she thought it would feel to hold the moon.
She reached up to kiss me.
I reached up higher, to speak to a star.
She walked away in disgust.
I rose up to the sky.

I had a dream I was given a song by a dying girl. In the dream I could hear the song but now I can't.

we made eye contact what if she likes me i could never talk to her shes so perfect and everyone else wants her i was sitting in my chair and she passed by and looked down at me even if i was standing she would have to look down to see me when she walks her head goes amongst the clouds and when she talks it is the wind blowing my hair around and when she looks at me it is the moonlight glowing on my face

She said "I have a secret to tell you," then my alarm clock went off and she disappeared.

I think that not enough people pay attention to flowers because they are tiny beautiful things that need protecting, and could easily be harmed by wind or lack of water. A rose believes itself to be fierce with its thorns, but they will not protect it from anything at all. I want to take all the flowers in the world and put them in one field where i can sit amongst them all and we can have a pleasant conversation in the sun.

I feel badly after I walk over fresh snow, as if I have needlessly destroyed something beautiful.

There is a streetlamp directly outside my bedroom window. Every night for the last thirteen years, I have stared at this light as I fell asleep. I feel like it belongs to me. Who else can stake a claim to it? No one else loves it. If it was broken, I would surely fix it myself. It has been with me every night for thirteen years. That is 4749 nights. It belongs to me now. Anything that you love surely belongs to you. Please don't listen to anyone who tells you otherwise.



















In the mornings when I walk to school, I am able to pause on a very particular piece of sidewalk and see between to rooftops, to the mountains in the distance. If I wait ten minutes, the sun will begin to rise and the mountains will be backlit by an array of morning hues. I discovered this four years ago. I have never seen anyone else standing there. I feel like it is a secret thing which I have found, a treasure place which no one else knows about.

On sait tous que les promesses d'enfant sont éphémères.

Je n'avais que cinq dollars dans les poches. Mais ça suffisait. J'étais capable d'acheter pour elle, un bouquet de fleurs. Ce n'était rien de magnifique, mais assez belle quand même.

J'ai marché alors, chez elle, fleurs à la main, et tempête à la coeur. Je doutais que ses sentiments ressemblaient les miennes. D'abord, j'ai hésité à frapper à sa porte.

Elle l'a ouvert avec vigeur, et quand elle a vu le bouquet, son visage s'illuminait. Elle l'a pris doucement entre ses deux mains. Puis elle m'a donné un baiser, un effleurement vite de ses lèvres, et elle a refermé la porte.

J'étais donc seul, à essayer de comprendre ce qui venait d'arriver.

Simple skies seem so sweet.

Amanda.

The kite cost him five cents. It was lying in a cardboard box, amongst other once-loved things. He took it to the card table which his neighbor had set up on the grass. The nickel rang momentarily on the table, and then a gnarled hand snatched it.

the sound of the nickel
reverberated in the boy's head
as he ran; feet slapping the sidewalk
it was all the he heard
it echoed a million times
it was all that he wanted to hear
it echoed a million more
and then he was home

Now he had the kite, and he needed a string. The boy managed to squeeze his excitement into the house along with him. He climbed onto the kitchen counter, stood on tiptoe, and felt around on the top of the refrigerator. He knew there was a spool of twine up there, though he was too small to see, he continued to search with his hand and then

Yes!
Hehadit!
Hisfingersfelthethreadandhisheartexploded!
Thewholeworldbecameelectric!
Nothingmorepastorpresentcouldeverfeelbetterthanclutchingthisstring!
Andthenheburstbackoutofthehouse.

Now he ran towards the beach. The boy knew this was where the best winds blew. He knew the kite to be perfect, though it had already been flown. He knew the kite to be waiting for proper care, because it had never been flown properly before. And he soon arrived at the beach.

sneakers slipping on the sand
the boy ran with kite in hand
surely he thought; it will fly
still he prayed
as he threw it to the sky

Now he laughed to see that kite fly oh-so high! It danced and dipped and dove so playfully. His eyes became so wide, if there had been anyone else around, they would have looked at the boy and seen only his eyes. When the string reached its end, the boy sat down in the sand to watch his kite float above him and dream of being able to soar that high one day.

Earthborn.

I am about to leave forever. I'm already on my way. Blasting off past the clouds, I'm dropping this message back to Earth and you.

I've packed up all my pieces, gathered and assembled them. So long did it take me to find them all.

I have to leave by myself and with nothing, my ship cannot carry anyone or anything more than me.

Excuse me, I must wave to the moon as I pass, and let the sun smile on my back.

Didn't I tell you I was going? I'm going to the Center of the Universe, and I know too, what I will find when I get there; I will find me. I will find that I am all that there is and all that I need.

It is not a coldness or a contempt. I still desire. But I have no more necessity than myself.

Now I know that every night I rode in the back of a car and watched the streetlights go past, it was training for today, and watching the stars go past in the same way, and I don't feel scared at all because I've done this a million times before.

When I'm with myself I don't feel self-conscious, and I only need to think of me. I have plenty of space and I don't have to watch what I say. I can go where I want.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was going. Once I found out, it was already too late. I can't bring you with me but that doesn't mean you can't come.

You just need to build your own ship. Mine is made of songs and sunsets. I wrote the wings, and imagined the engine, and dreamt the parts left over. It took me about eighteen years.

I love you so much you will never know. Or maybe you do. I'm flying so fast.

I know there must be others like me, taking this trip. I hope I'm writing in a language that you understand.

I wish there had been more time. Maybe if we'd only possibly potentially had a second more: you could have come.

I could have built the ship for two. I didn't even know it would fly, it just took off and I jumped in for fear of losing it.

You should come. Follow behind me. Ignite your fuse the next time the sun dips close enough to Earth. I'll wait for you, no matter how long.

Sometimes when I am riding the Skytrain I imagine that it is never going to stop and I am going to be riding with these silent strangers forever.

We are as two children playing house. We are the only two things in all of space. We are looking down upon ourselves and looking up at ourselves and speaking without saying a word. We are everywhere and nowhere and perfectly in the moment, broken when we are apart we are the Yin and the Yang.

I am sitting on this floor a million miles from Earth. Nothing exists outside these walls. All I need for the rest of time is these words and this silence and this perfect child-love. And we are silent, but this room is so loud that my ears are ringing and the music is pressing four walls out, but it's alright because nothing exists beyond them. We love without tiring, for we love silently and untouchingly. There is no need to touch or want to touch or thoughts of touch. We will never break ourselves for sex.

I am landing now and slowing down. No more writing for now, I love you lots I'll see you soon.

Gone Hollywood.

Everything feels better when shared.

She shall shape.

china silk shroud of skin
auburn cascading curtain of hair
twin staring star-shine eyes

excelling in elegance and eloquence
her laugh is like falling glass

softest
dress brushes my
arm; she walks by

Yield: 3.

-The virtue of being a centipede lies in having oh-so many legs that if one should lose a leg, one might not even notice.

-I think I should notice if I lose a leg.

-Yes but you, being human (we suppose) should only have half your original amount of legs were one to be lost.

-And a centipede, should he lose a leg, would have but ninety-nine one hundredths his original total of legs.

-Yes but one half is a much larger difference than one hundredth.

-How many legs then should it lose before the loss is noted?

-I think that the answer lies in which legs are lost, rather than how many.

-I suppose it would rather the legs at its end go first.

-Perhaps the legs on its left.

-Supposing it lost them evenly all around?

-Then it would perhaps feel only a sense of lightness.

-Or a sense of closeness to a worm.

-Or a sense of closeness to the ground.

-A sense such as this I suspect it to already feel.

-True but all is felt in proportion.

-Undoubtedly it thinks the clouds to be far-off.

-Or rather it thinks the far-off to be clouded.

-Clouded are those who suppose about the distances of things.

-Excepting those who make an estimate before jumping over a puddle.

-I prefer to go around.

-Yes, a walk on the beach is always preferable to a leap over it.

-I should hardly think that puddles have beaches.

-A centipede would contradict you.