Dry

As the homeless man digs through the garbage,
a shiny red beacon of industrial success
breathes next to him.
It's chrome legs shake with power
and currency flows from it's lungs.
And every morning I see the same man
seeking something to eat
in what others would refuse
next to the promise of progress.

And the day you left again
I never mentioned how dry I became.
My skin cracked and mouth wouldn't open,
blood stopped pumping.
Suddenly it hurt to believe in anything.
And anything called a soul
just couldn't survive.

We wait for spring like the second coming of Jesus,
we wait for the rains to bring back
what was once called a worthy life.
How simple water can seem
until it is gone.

Coherent Words

I have constructed a true sentence in a long time. And I haven't believed in any truth for even longer. And I am frustrated beyond any words I can speak because I don't have a God, I am half-way across the world, they refuse to see my point of view, and I am your punching bag all the time. And I am trying so hard to be a stronger person than I was before. And I am trying to smile and love like I have before, but its so hard when you no longer feel like you have a hand to hold or a place to stand. And I never get anything done, and I never go anywhere, and my mind was never open, and I never really learned anything. Someone better explain all of this to me soon or I fear I will be angry and lost all the time.

God shouldn't be so hard to swallow

What was believed ten years ago,
in the eyes of a child,
looking for a home and something to believe in;
cannot transcend what changes when
time passes and experiences are learned.
And maybe I am just lost,
but I've been half-way across around the world;
what can you say about that?
And maybe I am just one in the
hordes of the godless masses,
but I cannot say that the changes in my heart
are wrong at all.
Because I do not think truth is so starkly defined,
and I certainly do not think God is black or white either.

Djuna Barnes

This is the box you placed me in...

Work

I have always wondered what it would take
to break that ice-cold countenance you hold,
and how I could reach somewhere
deep within your passions
to make you see that I want us to be beyond this world.
And maybe if you just gave me a chance
that would make all the difference
to our dreams and our hardest desires.
And I remember thinking of you as so strange
your first day in Spanish class.
Greasy hair strangled your face as you tried
to stand strong against the fierce beast
that was being the new kid in high school.
I remember saying hello out of pity.
I was the too kind Christian girl,
who actually hated herself more than any one believed.
Fat and out of place, trying to figure out the world.
We talked of bands and California.
And now, I am half-way around the world
and hope still flickers on and off for you.
And I see this longing deep within you
to be something greater than just another
Suburban mutt who fell in love with the idea of literature, music and perfection.
And I wonder if you ever saw something in me.
I just want to make it work.
I want to make something out of our nothing.

Carvings in the Snow

There is a something strangely and methodically intoxicating
when I carve paths in the snow.
I let my feet carry me places
and the crunch of freshness
comforts me in knowing that I have been
the only one in the world to touch those snowflakes.
And I want so badly to make
something out of nothing,
to have some other purpose other than carving paths in the snow.
I think that there is some other
things that I could be doing with my life.
But I am not sure yet.
Feet, help me carve patterns in the snow.
Because this is all I know right now.

Light

It's ok to not be able to love everyone,
because we as people are not big enough,
nor humble enough.
No place is home now,
and I carve my place
out of a stone mountain.
It may not be suitable for you,
but for me it's all I got.
And I ask for something sweet,
to keep my energy up.
But you only cover me in salt.
and water is a dreamland.
Where will I go to find rest?
Where will I got to find a friend?
Familiar faces are millions of miles
behind me and I forgot to retrace my steps
so long ago.
And the world's shaky, sticky breath
makes my skin crawl.
Some people decide to never touch it,
but I have found myself deep inside of it;
covered in its stinking goo and puss.
You have no idea what it means to me
when I find a place to rest.
You have no idea what it feels like to be home.
And this idea of rightness surrounds me like
a coffin and I can sleep finally at peace.
I was afraid of this once,
and my heart beat red with the freshness of youth.
But now I feel like I carry a stone.