Brown leaves
October fading
into November
and the Breeze
becomes meaner;
its bites
are a little harder.

And out comes
a jacket
well worn
a little torn
on the right elbow.

But he's
the Meanest
garment I have.
He's filling
this empty cavern in my chest
with a sharp Darkness,
like broken bottles
pieces of glass
discarded in an alleyway.

Jacket around
my shoulders
and I lie
down
couch
bed
floor;
it doesn't matter.
And I am Stuck
trapped
in Thoughts
of inadequacy
of misery
of Darkness invading my soul.

The Jacket is grinning
mocking
laughing
He is pleased.
Because though
I wear a Jacket
I am still
Cold.

.                         it's not
                          that I have
                          any particular
                          desire
to **** myself                                
                          ­it's just that
                          I have no real
                          objections
                       ­   to the idea

Her socks depict the night sky
because she's a little obsessed.
This morning she left on
most of the clothes she wore yesterday.
Opened her shirt drawer
and put on the first one
to avoid getting stuck
with a decision she'd have to make.
Bright red hoodie
clashes with purple tank top
clashes with striped skirt
clashes with blue night sky socks
but she has an exam she never studied for.
And she walks down the hall
stares at the other humans
dressed in clothes
that make them look
stable and
well adjusted
and she feels
a gray nothing
in response.

I type out
a friendly message to you
and I pause
to write a poem about it
about you.

I need you.
I can't even explain
Because I've never felt
this before.
Which is such
a stupid
cliché thing to say.


I slowly
backspace
over my carefully
carved words,
and click
the x next to your name.

And I sigh,
Tonight is not our night.
And maybe,
It never will be again.

There is something about the twinkling in your eyes
as you smile
as you listen
to me say my useless words.

And I desperately want
to explain the rain
to that little twinkle.

And I desperately crave
feeling you
feel the spot behind my ear.

Because at 1:11 a.m.
the rain is pouring against
my window pane
and the sound of it
is happiness
in my soul.
And I consider
this summer
and I decide
I missed the rain.
I've found
one thing
I don't like about California.

And I see
your twinkle
from across 3000 miles.