I had left my girlfriends house around 9. I sat on the cold hard bench waiting for the bus to take me home. For some reason I had an unshakable feeling of guilt brewing deep within me. I had no clue what was causing it I only knew the uncomfortableness of it. I was alone for the majority of the wait until I noticed the warm and sultry smell of a woman's perfume begin to linger near my nose. I stole a casual glance towards the stranger. She was very beautiful which made it difficult to look away. She must have thought I was a creep as I couldn't help but continue to take glances over at her. As I turned to look at her once more I notice the bus in the distance. I stood up to gather my things as well as mentally prepared myself to end my internal fling with whomever this gorgeous woman was. The bus halted to a stop and opened its doors allowing us to step on. I let the belle step ahead of me and load first in hopes of snagging a seat near her. Fate was definitely on my side that night because she took a seat with a vacancy directly across from her. Although I was nervous as hell and thought she'd think even less of me and be put off, I made my way to the seat and sat down using all of the confidence that was still residing inside of me. I looked across at her and only then did I notice the breathtaking smile she seemed to hold. I studied it and imagined the voice it was paired with speaking to me with a sweet melody. Next, I looked around her face not yet prepared to examine her eyes. I noticed a delicate beauty mark right below her left eye which eventually led me to muster up the courage to look at them. I was shocked to see the emptiness in her eyes. I analyzed the rest of her body only to see that it too held a heartbreakingly sad posture. She looked like she was trying to hide her misery all while giving up at the same time. She used the glorious smile as a mask to cover it up. It made me wonde what happens to her to upset her so deeply. I wanted to fight whoever made her feel like this. I studied her more thoroughly and sensed a familiarity within her the more I stared. She reminded me of someone. Only then did o realize she was staring back. Tears were welling in her eyes and I hoped I wasn't the cause for them. I hadn't even spoke two words to her. The harder I looked I began to piece facial features together. Of course she had a familiar sense to her- it was my wife! Why had it taken so long to realize? I don't think I had ever in our six years of marriage looked at her the way I did tonight. My reality came crashing down on me once I realizes the reasons for her tears. She had to have seen me coming out of my girlfriends apartment which means she knows about the affair. No way would the enchanting goddess ever forgive me - nor should she have too! I was ashamed. Her mouth opened and she managed to utter out only five words to me but those five were enough to break me apart completely, "Was I not pretty enough?" If only she knew. 

Too many thoughts rage rampant in my head

i only want to die in the seclusion of my bed.

Negative stigma across this putrid globe

Just a tweak from a shotgun to my frontal lobe.

Who am i kidding? i'm fucking chicken shit.

Pills in bottles, bottles of vodka; that should do the trick.

But if i wake with my head in a vice,

Just stagger toward the kitchen and slice slice slice.

Not the fucking oranges, bread, or 'nanners,

i'll not burn the toast, i know my manners.

But my branded skin will see a new scar,

The greatest relief for my mind by far.

You see, when i burn the world goes away

And the pain is my friend, but it's too fleeting a stay.

So i hide my shame and scabs and pain,

Told i'm acting like a girl, so i do it again.

That was yesterday; I've sunshine in my cup.

Promise of a new start; I'd love to sober up.

Can't explain why the thoughts get so dark,

Just see life as desolate and stark.

i worry all the time about shit i can't control

i worry all the time i'm sinking in a hole

i worry all the time about my stinking life

I worry every time I see a gleaming knife.

Too many thoughts rampantly raging in my brain!

This ain't teenage angst; i've grey hair circling the drain,

If i told you i have cancer would you say get over it?

A pharmacy of meds and i'm still losing my shit.

My raging soul

blazed in wildfire

of you as I flew

to the sun

half-naked in

warm embrace,

pointing the rays

of the gold

at those who will

meander with me

in slice of heaven

spread at my feet.

The wind veers,

the fog hunkers in

as I reach for the age

I’ll someday be,

asleep in the arms

of gun metal night,

seeing a footprint

tucked along coastline

as I ascend into

your moistened eyes

in moon struck goodbyes.

I must tread alone

while loved one rests

in peaceful berth

beneath marble slab

but someday I’ll see

life has not ended -

it has only changed

to an endless truth.

So, I had a conversation with this 6-year-old girl on the NY subway. She asked me what was drawn on my bag, and what was in it, and who I was. And I told her that I am a student, and study biology, but I also want to write books for little kids; and how important it is to have a wish and work hard to try to make it come true, and had a laugh about it. Then she asked me if I would be happy if my wish came true, and I said, "Yes." And she asked if my parents would be happy for me if my wish came true, and I said, "I hope so." She thought for a moment, and replied, "A wish coming true is not that cool if there's noone to be happy for you." At that I lost my capacity of speech.

And I love you. I love you more than the sun and the moon. I love you more than cream and blueberries and gingerbread on a Sunday breakfast. I love you more than presents on the Christmas morning. More than a quiet sunset behind the roofs of Brezi. I love you more than the sea, and more than music. I love you more than life itself, and if I could fly up to the sky and float around, twirling and diving and backflipping and seeing all the birds above and all the cities below me, that would not match the excitement of seeing you. Because I love you.

And when I’m angry, I love you. And when I’m jealous, I love you. And when I’m far away doing tons and tons of other things, I still love you. And even when bitterness talks in me and I say I never want to see you again and I don’t like you, I still love you. And when a person loves somebody, they cannot be completely bitter. The bitterness retreats before it. And then I try to love you more. And when I think it must be impossible to love more, I realize that

you probably love me twice as much.

That makes me feel like a slacker. But a very warm, and cozy, and content slacker :) Because, I mean, being loved TWICE as much as blueberries and cream for breakfast? That’s something.

I wait patiently for a chance

for our hearts to quiver,

spasmed together.

Boldly, I want you in my life.

I stuff the sadness

of your absence

in my right front pocket,

taking it out once in a while

to ingrain you in my mind.

Is this the beginning

or the end

of our existence?

We are braided

closely together,

no matter how far

the ribbons unravel.

We both seek

the worlds in which

we are not,

wanting to tear

down the walls,

living for days

within our sanity.

Yearning, I touch

the glass window,

seeing to break

in pieces

the harsh reality

of you on the other side.

We are 50 struggling steps

beyond our time,

an allegorical street away

but there are no paths

connecting.

Striding down lonely roads

accompanied by hordes

of anxious souls,

my heart is heavy

without you

in my long tunnel

of disquiet,

a blinding haze.

I ran to hug you once

but you were only

lingering in my dreams.

The measure of distance

dashed in futility

on threatening rocks.

My body crumples

like scratch paper

without the pen

of you

inscribing our story.

I delete

my stark emotions

and slip beneath

the crying water,

wishing to embrace,

rather than imagine,

what could be

but never was.

And so, my love

we parted

before we began.

The garden grows slowly. The rains follow the fogs and the sunsets in the place where time has stopped.

Tall grow the trees – they hold up the sky. For as long as I’ve lived, they have been my height – one foot, two feet… Now they loom over me like titans, cover the doors, climb up the walls.

These walls speak volumes. The biographies of toys and pictures, chairs and blankets intertwine, and even the dust in the curtains seems to know things about me none of the now living do.

And that knowledge is about to expire, too. Disappear with a poof. Be scattered to the four winds with the dust from the old curtains.

The house doesn’t feel like home anymore. It used to be a shrine of the summer for as long as I can remember; a living person, a quiet friend. Its sounds and smells have imprinted in my memory so hard I sometimes sense them in my sleep, miles away.

There are traditions. Like putting the tent roof onto the swing-bench. Or watching the sun set behind the red roofs from the top of the wine cellar. Asking advice of the three ancient chestnuts beyond the wall. Walking out into the corn fields, feeding the cows and collecting wild fruit in the acacia forest. Leaving a present in front of an old saint’s statue at midnight. Counting the tolls of the old church bell, and the hoots of the owls. Holding the knob of the one mysterious door on the third floor and never opening it. I used to believe that behind it was a huge golden staircase leading to the city in the sky – a city where people are happy. I’m still afraid to find myself mistaken. So the door remains closed.

I’ve spent months and months alone in this house, yet I never felt lonely. It’s because it’s inhabited. In the little outbuildings live the peasants. The Mayor of town lives in the winery. The wine cellar used to be a prison. In the tiny house with a tin roof and a slanted door lived the blacksmith, Horseshoe Elder. That’s because the door was decorated with a rusty horseshoe. He had two sons – Soot, the older one, a good, diligent worker; and Horseshoe Jr., a hooligan, a scallywag, an adventurer. He was my age, always my age, we grew up together. We stole corn from the fields, and sold rotting apples to our neighbor, and fought the evil Mayor. We fought for the common people. Horseshoe, he had a crush on me. The problem was – I was the princess. I lived in The House, our castle, and my parents were King and Queen, the rulers of the country of Alhida, who, somehow, were never there. But that’s beside the point. They wouldn’t have approved of the relationship anyways. So we met secretly, and not a single soul knew about him.

Now I find myself to be the Governor of this country. Am I a better one? Am I taking care of it well?

Horseshoe Jr. is still here. So are the peasants. But it’s beside the point too.

We’re selling it. I’m selling it. To pay off my college loans. There is no other way. My father’s second wife died in February. Their kids are here with their grandma and me. They’re sick, so I helped to take care of them. My parents both came here too. For the first time in 18 years, they are together. For the first time since I was small, this house is filled with children’s voices. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Slow grows the garden. The rains fall soft on the faint rose petals. The church bell does not tell the time – it may be 20 years ago, or 20 years in the future. I hear my grandmas’ voices here – they fly into the house as butterflies and flutter about in the noise of the kitchen, as per usual. The apple trees outside the window sway dreamily.

One sunrise I will turn a key quietly and walk away as a shadow. The clocks in the house will stay still. And my past will stay with them.

her hair smells like

burnt wind and the light

appears to curl

around her like branches.

she refuses to stand

in front of windows,

but the mirrors before

her double the rays

of the sun.

oh what beauty it is

to be untouchable.

Skinny yellow hound dog

stinky breath and flea infested

wears a red bandana

and stays by old man’s side.

He thinks he’s the boss

won’t come when called

opens one eye to see

old man asleep in chair.

Dog keeps guarded watch

throughout the night

but daylight brings truth -

master doesn’t breathe.

Now hound dog walks alone

along the rocky shore

to lie across master’s grave

devastated on frozen ground

howling at top of lungs

begging to be with owner,

chasing rabbits in the sky.

Our hearts beat as waves

Pumping blood through our veins,

You swallow rivers and I spit rain,

There are some things only oceans know.