To think I have lived my whole life and have nothing to show for it. Or is that just another cliche? Along with love? Along with trust? These are just false ideas. Or complete bullshit. I've waited a long time to be honest with myself. I want to be able to talk honestly because honesty has become so inconsistent in my life. Lacking, if you will. 

I am a victim of my own mind. The stories I read and the movies I watch only feed into my own desire to be someone I'm not. I trust myself to be something different, something better. Trust? What a pathetically useless word. I can feel it hanging in the air, bitter and rusty because no one ever really uses it anymore. No one ever really (means) it anymore. I always wanted to be better. 

I would like to change. But now there's no one around to notice if I do. Except the birds and the bees, and they're all dying off anyways. My mind trails in circles, I can feel my metaphorical feet sinking further and further into the metaphorical sand. Quicksand, even. I'm sinking and sinking and sinking and the more I repeat that word the more I despise it. Cold and shrill like a heart beat that has stopped, like the scream that follows. Cold like death. 

This mind of mine is dark but still I'm sinking, believe me I would save myself if I could.

Untitled.

You, 

what are you smiling about?

it couldn’t possibly be me. 

I am held in your gaze

(I wish it was your arms)

How can you: light hair, 

dark eyes and me: the

opposite, have anything 

in common? I wish.

Wishing is like walking

and it only gets me so

far, so far it has gotten                         

me to nowhere and back

again, back to where I 

started, and where I started

is still lacking, funny how

you’re still missing.

Missing like a picture frame, 

empty.

Missing like a thousand words              

missing from a book, 

Missing from here and now

with you and I 

Missing,                               

Instead you are on a separate

page in a different story

with another lover,

Instead you are with 

her. 

People-watching

She’s walking 

through 

rivers 

to get to someplace, 

unimaginable. But 

I know better than 

to think it’s 

better than here. 

She’s watching

the water droplets

cling to surfaces with

great intention,

I see her across the 

street with her rubber 

boots and her poncho

and she’s checking her

watch and she’s waiting

for someone and each

time they never show. 

I like to imagine who she waits for.  

Maybe it’s a guy. No, more 

likely it is a relative, her aunt, 

her cousin, coming to take her

far away from here and this 

and taking her to there, 

where ever that is. 

Every time I see a sigh

I see a flicker of something,

maybe it’s disappointment, 

or regret, maybe it’s relief

and she shivers in the cold 

and she gives up, turns 

around and heads

towards

home.

Journey

One day i will travel to

               all the far off places 

in the world and 

maybe i will hide 

in all the distant 

corners of the earth and 

no one will find me cause 

no one can find me 

except 

         for the stars and the moon 

which follow me where ever i go, 

from far away to 

right back home.