The atheist brother
Has a big mind
           for a teen
And his parents
Do they ever know what goes on up there?
Their thoughts are barred away from his
Metal bars created by their own
           Reluctancy
To understand, to comprehend, to attempt...
They want to keep with what they already know
And he
           tries to discover the unknown
With books,with people, with a globalized community
of those who want- who need to learn more

The atheist brother
Has a big mind
       for a human
Will we ever know what goes on up there?
       We could
             We should
Step out of these predetermined molds
of who
you were taught to be
Go out and want, and need to learn more

We'll talk about it tomorrow,
We'll talk about it tomorrow.
Day after day,
The same reply.
And I accept it.
We'll talk about it tomorrow,
Even though we're both well aware that we won't. .

I'd like to remind you
that I think of you every day--
and the thought sticks to me,
then peels away,
like burnt skin--
as if
I love nothing more than the idea of
being surrounded by you,
no matter how much it hurts.

I'd like to remind you of the lessons you've learned--
rise from the ash, my love,
you are not who you thought you were--
so act like it.

I'll remind you that
the "pain" you feel
is just the sensation of blood
rushing back to the limbs and organs
you left empty for a while.

Please don't stay empty for long--
you're a sad little monster.
And the world,
we did nothing to deserve your cold shoulder.

it was a dry winter
he sang "*** and candy" as i braided my hair
we'd never dwelt so far apart
oceans between us while sharing a bed

he bought me rain-boots for christmas
desert dwellers have little use for rain-boots at the end of december
but i smiled because it didn't matter

he could never see me
only aknowledged the static space i inhabit
his empty eyes sang symphonies in the silence

we were young
and the world refused to cease it's spinning
despite our sea-sick cries while faking love

even the rustiest carousels chase their tails long after the waiting line is rendered empty after dusk

the secret to life inside our discarded cigarette cartons
the history at the bottom of the beer pitcher

it was our hell
our own private galaxy doing pirouettes on the sidelines of time
we aged like newspapers hidden in the hedges

but we meant it
or at least we thought we did
whatever it was
we meant it

the way that one means it when they say they wished they'd died the morning after dollar beer night

it felt right
no matter how bad it always hurt

His arms are strong,
And embraces the weak.

His piercing blue eyes,
Melt anything they see.

His voice is like velvet,
Singing so soft and sweet.

And his heart is true.
He loves no one but me.