to spend hours

thousands of hours

hunched over a desk

huddled under a blanket

shunning friends

ignoring family

neglecting work

to write a book

that no-one will ever read

that will sit silently

in my desk drawer

underneath drawings of rainbows

rendered in crayon

which are far more useful

in the long run

than this goddamned

half-finished

self-obsessed

albatross!

Why do I blush my cheeks?

   You won't notice.

      I know you won't notice.

Why do I line my eyes?

   I hope you don't notice the lines.

      You won't notice the lines.

Why do I gloss my lips?

   I pray you won't notice

      my glossed over words.

   Maybe you won't notice

      how I gloss my words.

Why do I paint my nails?

   I hope you don't notice

      how I've painted my life.

   Maybe you won't notice

      how I've painted my life

         around you.

Why do I dress up nice?

   I doubt you'll notice

      that I've dressed my wounds.

   You won't notice

      how I've dressed my wounds

          that you've inflicted.

Why do I buckle my high heels?

   I don't think you'll notice

      how my knees buckle.

   You won't notice

      how my knees buckle and

   I've buckled my lips

      to hold in the screams

          that you've drawn from me.

   Maybe you won't notice

      my screams.

You never, ever notice

   anymore.

Why do I chant from the womb of summer?

An out of focus isolated dance of dreams

fruitlessly sowing wild oats that lie fallow,

hopelessly rewriting life flashing by.

A slow waltz in a subtle prelude,

looping and swaying between sky’s tears,

spinning the night with ribbons of clay

as daisies wilt in shadowed moonbeams.

My canvas sleeps in distant dawn

as I beg in my dreams to share the sun,

my unfocused faux grin in a thin white stripe,

straining to recognize the faint reflection

as kicked stone tumbles past my woods.

I walk alone in naked vignette of my life.

Why don’t I realize in my never ending dream

that there is only one race that we must run

and I am the only one who can influence

                   how it ends.

Why do I like you like this

When you don't even know I exist?

I'm a masochist my friends would say

Coz I pinned for you even when I'm hurt

Why do I like you this much

When even you eyes I couldn't catch

Why do I act like a fool

When all I want is to be cool

Maybe it's you

So I would just stop feeling too

So my soul can dance

a motion my body can not.

So I can savor the sweet aroma of the sound.

So I can speak the language of the stardusts

Sprinkle my tongue with galactic sparkles

So that I can hear the birds sync with the waterfall.

So that I can breathe what the mountains offer

So that I can hear the rain

So I can calm the storm in me

So I can let others before myself

That I might not nurture selfishness

Dedicated to the songs, melodies, harmonies, poetry that wanted to come out from me but can't.

Dedicated to those who run with me and keep me company on my lengthy solemn trail.

the petals of the bloody red rose fall one by one

seemingly dancing on their way down

enjoying the scenery of the blurry girl far above

until they hit the floor softly

all but one petal fell

that one petal,

the strongest, 

the darkest red, 

and the most stubborn of them all,

remained unshaken yet filled with fright

the girl said a mantra of 

"can-i" and "should-i" 

as she plucked all the other petals

but

to this one petal, she stopped

she deeply sighed and wished instead

she closed her eyes 

she clasped her hands and squeezed the stem of the rose

then, she let go of the stem

without plucking the last petal

and she was careful to not let the last petal 

fall, 

to the

floor

Consumed with extensive introspection,

Endless pursuit of absurd perfection.

Each perceived fault,

Placed in a vault,

Impregnable for my psyche's protection.

I enjoy many simple pleasures in my life. My children's laughter, the warmth of my lover, and the smell of my Spanish Saffron Heat candle holder that even though it's empty from hours of burning, I can still smell it. I cleaned it out and it now holds change, but I can still smell it. That's the problem you see. I can smell things when the smell is gone. Imagine it, really. It's literally all in my head.

I'm trying to make this as poetic as possible, but it's proving to be difficult. Therefore I will cut to the chase and form the questions.

Why do I...do this to myself? Why do I sit here and imagine the smell of the candle I cannot afford? Why do I imagine the taste of the cake that I am not supposed to eat? Why do I see myself slender, healthy, and vibrant while I am sneaking candy to my bathroom? Why do I let myself suffer for mere minutes of bliss?

Why, even though I have a beautiful life, do I want more? More romance, more affection from my son, more obedience from my daughter, more house, more money, more more more....

I can't help but worry that it will never be enough for me, and if it isn't, that karma will come and take it all away.

Why do I do these things? I don't know.