Look at the ones
with beehives for mouths,
ejecting out opinions
to anyone caught in a net
of overworked words,
every opinion delivered
with a lethargic varnish,
each one a sting
as a glob of soap in the eyes.

But we use our voice
with our lips tightly shut.
Let the art inside us
buzz like a sneeze
waiting for release,
blast out in a fizz
of ink and smudged fingertips.
Hear the consonants trickle
like a tap not quite turned off,
the vowels rising and falling as waves.

Spill your thoughts if you must.
Make a point.
But don’t hurl them at us
with a sour taste ,
sharp as an already grimy blade.
Use them sparingly and well,
let them linger before
evaporating in a trail of steam,
as if a ***** of sunlight
before it slithers
beneath the horizon.

it’s quiet and i hear nothing but the snowflakes
hit the fabric on my shoulder
i hear nothing but the paper
burn as my inhale imitates the gust of
wind that guides the cold to shutter skin —
street lights sit above the lit, white-flowered flakes
as they dance to the ground as a group
that whisper soliloquies to the crimson
lobes that hear nothing but the snowflakes
hit the fabric on my shoulder,
a hazy fog covers the air before my face
as it sways from nostril to upper lip —
a sight down to an illuminating ash,
blinking to meet a lid to whited lash —
as the paper burns
the smokey sky is content
with silence and nothing more
than a look to the fields                             MJB

i hunch my shoulders even though i'm trying to straighten my spine
i'm standing alone at this bus stop; the morning is darker and colder
than me, somehow. i clench my teeth against a bitter wind and
try not to think about the way i barely notice the chill cutting through me.
there's a death grip around my ribs - i struggle to inhale properly
but sometimes i find myself breathing just enough to make a small dent on the air

the combined weight of my phone in the left pocket of my skinny jeans
and my hand gripping my wallet in the right pocket
has my waistband slipping below my hips, jeans just-barely holding on,
and the precariousness of their position - half falling, half hanging -
has me thinking that they fit me better than they seem to.
i relate to them more than i've related to anybody in a long time.

the sun is only just rising at the edge of the eastern sky,
casting an eerie winter glow over this ice-bitten village.
i like these early mornings, my fellow villagers,
the few that are out and about as early as i am,
ambling sleepily to their sunrise starts
and even though i drank my morning coffee, i'm drunk on my lust for sleep.

i blink my bleary eyes and blatantly stare at the old couple
cautiously hobbling over slippery cobblestone,
walking sticks in their outer hands and inner palms clasped
together. the way they grip each other tightly tells me
they trust each other not to let the other fall;
the rings on their fingers tell me they fell for each other a long time ago
and i wonder how many times they pulled each other down over the years

as i catch sight of my bus approaching, slow behind a nervous driver
i'm left thinking about people, and college, and life
how everything seems simultaneously meaningful and meaningless,
all for something - yet, really, kind of all for nothing.
i could walk away and go home, settle into my bed and let sleep pull me under
away from my thoughts, naked and no longer bound by a binder,
comfortable in my skin the way i can never be in public

i don't. i step on the bus, and flash my bus pass at the driver
climb the stairs to sit in the front chairs by the windows
watch life pass by as the engine rumbles into motion.
i'm painfully aware of the way my ribs protest when i slouch in my seat
and my bed tempts me once more as i yawn into my weather-chapped hand.
i don't. college calls, friends await. perhaps it's all pointless
sometimes that's what my philosophy class teaches me
but i'd much rather live it out and see

after some time
and some distance
it's safe to say that
i love you
like a best friend,
and i can't describe
the relief that brings me.

my heartbeat
doesn't feel so painful,
not anymore,
and i breathe
so much easier
now that i know
i'll never have to write
another heartbroken word about you
ever again.

god, i love you still,
i really, really do;
but it's so much easier now,
not struggling to swim
through raging waves
under the weight of
expectations and assumptions,
hesitation and guilt

it's so much easier
to be in love with you
with almost none of the romance
that went with it before,
and i really hope that
you're okay with that,
because you promised me:

"you're enough", you said.
and it took every ounce of courage
dredged up
from the marrow of these aching bones
to trust you,
to believe you,
to dare to allow that someone―
that you―
could love me
unconditionally.

I've been waiting out these rainy days
with my head down
and my ears waiting eagerly for your call

I had my own whimsical hopes about you
and how maybe we could be
because I liked the way you don't say much
and how you only smile if someone actually deserves it
and when you sit alone in the farthest corner of the gardens
because it's exactly where you wished to be

I was captivated by your mystery
and the possibilities I had told myself were more than a good chance
My hopes built higher after you mentioned one evening alone together
they peaked, and pointed to a plateau of so much fantasy I could finally see clearly

There is always a caveat in these situations
and mine starts with a but,
but, you rarely look at me when I speak
but, you never even held my hand
but, you never ask about me
but, I can hardly get a word in when we're alone
but, I can't be with someone who doesn't value me

I've spent my entire life building up fantastical stories and telling myself that boys liked me because it was the only way that I could feel like I was worth something.
My main objective for as long as I can remember has been changing myself to make it easier for people to receive me,
but i'm not a ******* package waiting to be delivered to price charming's doorstep just so he can open me up, use me, and throw me aside.
No longer will I pretend that I am not a whole being.
The parts of me that are not soft and pink are still worth something.
I have baggage and rough patches but I think those scars are beautiful.
My thoughts may come out scattered but they're still worth hearing,
and I cannot go chasing down the love of someone who doesn't care to understand that I am more than just a sum of a few pretty parts.

The way the sun filters
through the window,
switching over the dashboard
as we change directions.
Creating freckles on your skin.
The way it makes your hair glint
red,
spreading out to flicker in your
eyes.

When I was small
I didn't have to worry
There was no stress, no pain
Kids were never bullied
The worst that could happen to you was catching a cootie

When I was small
Kids talked face to face
No texting or email
We played outdoors
Our imagination was all we needed
Hills and valleys were our kingdoms

I remember these times
And dream I could go back
Dream that life could once again be worry free
And just live in my kingdom of imagination
I dream of going back to when I was small

The quiet nights spent alone
Cold as the iciest winter
Wandering wondering
If things had happened in reverse,
Would they be somewhat better?

True Affliction
Unwise decisions
Regretting forgiveness that was once given
Faulty thoughts
Impaired judgments
Logic flawed with justifiable reason

Transgressing to levels uncertain
A tornado of doubt destroys every light in sight
With every dreadful memory that resurfaces
Of the darkest times in her life

The anxiety clouds her mind
Uncertainty glares from behind her eyes
Scars of past loves, past exes, past wounds, past lies
They cover her face

Shown in the bags above her cheeks
The darkness behind her pupils
And the depression contained in them
A midnight black
A dark hole only caused by deep sorrow
Unfathomable Heartache

Overly afraid of the unknown
How will she learn to let go?
As if instinctively hesitant of others intentions
She treads vigilantly amongst
Those of even the utmost caliber

Stern refusal to release her guard
Such little remaining to give
She clings sacredly onto the last of her

To think,
Never again will she slip and fall
Blindly into loves tainted cage
Never again will she be trapped in loves locks
Like an animal untamed
Internally shattered in a zoo of impure emotion
How will she decipher the wrong from the right person?

Passively awaiting
The next bearer of alleged variation
When history has too often chosen to repeat
The differences in being different
Eventually turn out to be exactly the same

I know your mind is tired

Stressed out
Worn out

I know your heart is weak
But so strong
The things you have experienced
I wish you weren't alone in those times

Shaky
But you still manage to smile so beautifully

I know you were meant to find me

And I was meant to make you, your heart , your brain...smile

I am your dopamine