Why can't I just reveal--
reveal my true feelings for you
Just break the silence one day
and hope you feel this way too
Why can't I just scream at the top of my lungs--
my lungs expelling burdens I've locked up
A sense of empowerment beckons over me
as I imagine just saying 'enough'
Why can't I just talk to you the way--
the way I explain this infatuation to my friends
Slowly going through the reasons I fell
from your beginnings to your ends
I can't let go of this little secret but deep down I know why
Self-doubt arises inside of me and determines no, not I

I'm scared.
I don't know what I fear.
The walls are scaring me,
Like they did last year.

I'm scared.
I just want to know
Why something is still so painful
Though it happened long ago.

I'm scared.
My eyes water, my chest is tight.
You know something's wrong,
When all day long you dread the night.

For truly, I am scared of the dark,
Of it's voices, its talent for decay.
I spend my long long nights,
Praying for the safety of the sun,
And the comfort of the day.

Porous asphalt,
And bandaged, quilt
Homes puncture the
Neighborhood,
Which reads like a tattered
American flag; all
Coke Ads and weight loss
Billboards,

Half-burnt houses slant,
Like the hills of San Francisco—
Our own makeshift cable
Carts, limping up
And down the inclines.

We are slowly being burned
By our once golden sun—
Having been taught to
Bleach ourselves
Pale, tucked shamefully
In the shade.

Makeshift shanty towns
Which smell of mildew
And processed laundry soap,
Flimsy tin roofs
Tied with Kleenex and
Pizza Hut tarpaulins.

The fact that this neighborhood
Was christened "Freedom"
Strikes an empty pang.

but i will.
i will write it and it may take me
five minutes
or it may take me fifty.
and neither of the two is an absurdly long amount of time,
unless you really think about it.
because five measly minutes
is just the same
as three hundred seconds.
and three hundred seconds
is just the same
as three hundred thousand milliseconds.

we've only just covered one-tenth of an entire fifty minutes,
yet already we have before us
three hundred thousand intricate units of time,
each lasting for the blink of an eye -- no, less --
then vanishing,
like the evanescent remains of a flame
that has been reduced
to first sparks,
then dull embers,
then ashes.

the funny part about it is that you never know
what each tiny little bubble of time might hold,
what might happen when it forms,
or when it pops.

a millisecond is incredibly short,
almost unfairly so.

but three hundred thousand milliseconds?

it can't be said what could happen as those fleeting fractions
slip away.

we may try to grab hold of them,
to catch them in our palms.

but time stops for no one.

so you may find yourself
with empty, bleeding palms,
as a reminder that time is harsh, cruel,
tyrannical.

and as you wrap bandages around your wounds
(or maybe not),
those fleeting milliseconds
will laugh with sudden bursts of cynicism,
like fireworks,
deafeningly silent.

they will laugh
at what a fool you were,
thinking you could catch time
in the palms of your hands.

(a.m.)

The skies fell from my eyes as you fell from the skies,
Storm in a skin, and **** did you find a way in to my peace,
i hear your heartbeat through walls, sugar -
I found you sleeping in my dreams, sugar -
and my eyes are dark with the white of your teeth
how fitting that you would be the one beneath
the stars tonight, and the grass is moon grey
as once again I shivered as you walked away
footsteps crickering on the pathway stones -
and the back of your head makes flowers in my bones
growing petals and leaves sprout through grazed knees
Oh Angel Skin, talk to me please.