Shout louder, I can’t hear you.
Shout louder, I don’t understand you.
Though I never will,
continue ever more still.
Shout louder, I can’t hear you.
Shout louder, I don’t understand you.
Conversations with no sound.
Little more than tears newly found.
May I know the beats of your heart?
Those that you have loved and those that loved you back.
The moments that excited you and those that made you hesitate.
May I live a lifetime between your breaths?
A beginning, a middle, and an end.
To only start it all over again
May I?
Which words are falsely dressed as fear?
Covered in coats spun from pain, misunderstanding, and rejection
freely provided by my own interior designs.
Labyrinths and fun house mirror started by another but self-finished.
My awareness has a dress code it turns out.
The words dislike these new wardrobes.
They struggle against the ill-fitting fabrics.
Most will tire and comply, behaving in new ways.
But a few, a gift-to-all few, will pop the buttons and rip the seams.
Casting off their coats, their nakedness startles me.
Reminds me.
The world is beautiful and I sometimes forget.
When I asked for initiation,
I did not know the price to pay
You reached out and broke my hand
claiming sorry, it was the only way.
To discard what I could not hold.
To discard what I could not say.
Honestly, I thought you hated me
for taking everything I knew away.
Maybe you knew this and hesitated.
Still you struck.
Aware that without the loss, the pain,
I’d never choose redirection.
Crocodile, Crocodile
face full of leather, skin like a suitcase
Crocodile, Crocodile
You say you need me when I step out the door
Yet, when I return you are only awkward smiles.
Crocodile, Crocodile
Do you realize I need more?
For your tears I listen and I wait.
Do they know your beauty? Your grace?
Do they know of your love? Your hate?
Do they know what was said in that place?
Between two who could not be one,
but instead desired being none.
I squeezed myself small
from the ghosts I hoped to hide.
My parents misunderstood why I cried
never seeing the intruders at all.
Paint as many layers over your heart as you desire.
Who is to say it needs to remain as prior.
Except…
A change in color matters very little
to something you believe so brittle.
Why now?
Everywhere I go, a stream of words.
Everything I do, a river of words.
Everything I feel, a flood of words.
Again I ask,
“Why now?”
On the playground we were wed.
I was waiting for your sister,
but found you instead.
We exchanged vows of self-defeat.
We threw a bouquet no one could eat.
For us, everyday went on repeat.
I still think of that day.
You and I clad in grey,
every raindrop waiting for its day.
And I say:
Was it always destined to float away?
Thomas Typewriter 
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