Where do you hide your shame that I do not see it upon your face?

Is it in your pocket? Are you saving it for when you are alone so that you do not have to share your shame?

Is it in your fists, shut so tightly that you won't let it out?

Is it buried in the ground beneath your feet, pounding through the dirt, ready to escape?

Oh, no, don't tell me you don't have any. 

I need you to feel guilt. I need you to feel as bad as you made me feel.

I need that flush of heat across the surface of your skin, and that look in your eyes, reflecting upon your choices wishing you could go back.

I need you to hurt.

How can I move on knowing I got hurt and you feel nothing at all?

It is amazing to think what humans have created.

Flavors from ingredients from across the world, never growing in the same climate that when combined make exquisite tastes.

Paintings on ceilings that project the creation of man and the mistakes we make.

Children born too soon into this world hurried for a breath, and we give them a chance.

And yet we break and hurt and kill so much.

Do we think that we create enough to ignore what we devastate?

Art does not justify destruction.

We should live to create not to destroy.

I breathe you in and out.

I feel the heat radiate from your skin.

It's hot outside but I don't care, I'll take more warmth from you.

And you are all over the place.

You are lightning and fog and hail and steam on the silver concrete.

You drive me absolutely insane,

I am buzzed by your words, drunk on your kiss- pour me another glass so I can regret another night with you.

It's when everything is almost perfect that it completely falls apart.

I still feel lonely in a way that no one can really help. I keep prodding myself with different forms of social interaction, I need it in my veins but no matter what I do there is an emptiness and I don't know why.

And I've felt this before and it was hard then and it is hard now and I think I feel the kind of lonely where I feel hollow when I am alone so I surround myself with poisonous people who fill me up and I'm drunk on a lie and then when they leave I live on the light-headedness that laughing and smiling brings.

I think the reason I talk so much is to fill the silence because I'm scared they'll think I'm boring or uninteresting and run away. I keep talking to lengthen the time that they have not made up their mind up about me. I talk and talk to fill the air and eventually say something potentially interesting or funny and then you'll remember why you keep me around and I can take a deep breath because being alone is harder and its quiet and every thought I have stays locked inside. I talk not because what I have to say is important but that I need to talk to feel important. That you would give me your undivided attention and listen to the words as they leave my lips makes me high.

Awkward Alligators align with architects at an angle.

Billowing Buffalo blinded by bees, bring bananas below the bungalow.

Cartoon Cats combine crackers with crispy cod cutlets.

Darling Daffodils dance dewy during daylight.

Enormous Elephants emit entrancing echoes.

Flouncing Frogs feel free flailing from fern to fern.

Gregarious Goats go grandly galloping gaily.

Humorous Hummingbirds hiccup hilariously in hot hours.

Interesting Igloos illicit Ice-capades ignoring irksome iguanas.

Joking Jordan jams jollily, jotting in journals

King Kangaroos kicking kites kindly 

Lonely lions lie like Larry looking like Leo

Many moons make money milking mooing maidens

No narwhals nest near newly nibbled nectarines

Octupi oppress orangutants over oogled oatmeal

Parrots part pinecones, picking pieces pleasantly

Queen Quill quit queasy quotations, quarterly.

Red rhinos ring ravenously reminiscent of ravens

Silver sidewalks sit with steam seeping slowly.

Ten terrible toddlers toss tomatoes towards tourists

Ugly umbrellas are under ubiquitous unquenching upholstry

Villanous vacuums very variously value ventriloquy

Warm water was waiting where wells were welcomed

Xillerating Xmen Xerox xrays 

Yellow yams yearn for your yawning yak

Zealous zoos zipping, zooming zany Zack to Zanzibar 

She is the first drop of rain in a silent summer storm.

The kind that makes you flinch and look up expecting hovering masses of darkness overhead only to find a clear blue sky. She is the start of torrential downpour.

She is the tree you never could climb, her arms shake you off with every attempt. She makes no moves to catch you as you fall and as you stare up at her, betrayed, she sways and laughs at what she has done.

She is the smoke from a fire that dances with the wind. As you move, she moves blowing her ash in your eyes, forcing you to inhale her with every breath.

She is the ink on your hands, the rust on your gate, the gum on your shoe, the blood in your veins.

She is everything interesting about you. You are what rain falls on, trees drop, smoke blows on. You are just you. She is the storm the wind and the earth. She is the story worth telling. So open the front cover and read.

I am staring up at the ceiling from my new bed.

My bed is very comfortable and is brand new with soft sheets and cool blankets, toppled over me.

On the ceiling there is a light fixture still covered in plastic and I am not tall enough to reach it.

The Air conditioning is broken but it's cooler today than it has been all week so I open the windows and listen to the bustling traffic below. 

Suitcases are my only furniture at this point and I have things stacked on top of them like bed side tables. 

The move to New York has been harder than I'd let on to anyone back home. There have been a million and one problems I could not fix and had to rely on people who did not care about me or my problems at all. 

I like being independent.

I moved to this city all alone for a reason, I can be selfish and I wanted to do things my way.

But now there's plastic on the light fixture, and I can't reach it.

Do I try to contact my asinine building manager, the boy I'm seeing who doesn't seem to want to come to my place, or leave it be?

I think instead I will plant a seed and grow a tree to climb and take it off myself because that is easier than asking for help.

For as long as I can remember I have been running towards something. Now it is very important to note that I have not been running away from anything I just was running towards an unknown purpose, drawing me in, pulling me closer every day. I finally feel like I've stopped running. I am grounded and I am still and I have found it. And it is a place. 

Welcome to New York.

For as long as I can remember I have been running towards something. Now it is very important to note that I have not been running away from anything I just was running towards an unknown purpose, drawing me in, pulling me closer every day. I finally feel like I've stopped running. I am grounded and I am still and I have found it. And it is a place. 

Welcome to New York.