What it comes down to.

and you speak / without commas

You are on a stairwell.

so subtle, what I see there / what may or may not / be there

with what do you fill the poem / when it is only words?

i will open up yesterday / like a flower for you

Words in a mirror aren't poetry, just a cheap reflection.

Wondering if it's the same world for everyone.

Destruction isn't as clear-cut as you think.

This is the simple truth.

It's a strange hurt, your breath in my palm.

Trying to get back into the swing of things.

Turns out the light at the end of the tunnel wasn't a train after all. [I wrote this in a burst of optimism. It's short and sweet and it's rather like the end of a story, where for once, everything works out.]

Written while lying on my stomach in the hallway in the dark. And I think you can sense that in the poem, that ambience.

"nothing more than what you are / and it is not enough"

A rose is a rose is not a rose in pieces.

After a while, it's easier to just swallow these words and think of the sky.

And when you strip away everything-

"and i keep looking for things / that mean nothing"

Looking for redemption in all the wrong places.

"And if the halfhearted gestures of your hands are the melody"

The title is the summary, actually. Two people's story turned on its head.

and you have to ask yourself / these questions that have no endings

"I'm going to write you a poem parallel to your delusions."

[Do you know- ] The kinds of questions that have no answers, withering under that endless red sky.

The true nature of beauty. // broken glass and broken smiles, not so very different. //

The pieces of this hell are too small to pick up, and maybe it's better that way.

This is how you put yourself back together when you are broken. This is how you stitch yourself back together when you cannot be fixed.

Vertigo from inside the circles.

A song split at the seams, a chasm.

Tragedy looks different from the periphery. // and this is why nobody talks anymore. //

Fairyland in black, from the corner of your eye.

Desperate smiles and the way things are.

Falling angels, and redemption is just something we made up. [working title, for lack of a more inspired one]

Where is the end of a circle and does it ever die?

Even our beginning was an ending. // just say what you can //

It's not so unnatural.

// and the question has never been //

Light like colored candy, in the dark.

// slitted snake eyes and you // ___ Going full circle.

Full title: Study of a Static Object in A Weather-Related Natural Phenomenon. [Summary: Chaos has a way of blurring what's outside of you.]

Science without the antiseptic.

// rip each other to pieces and why //

As if it means something to be lying here in the dark with the electricity fizzled out and the air heavy with stillness and heat.

Just glide. [My attempt at something easy on the angst.]

..:: petals leading nowhere, one by one.

She pours out her heartbeat into these two-dimensional words and hopes that the picture they paint is elastic enough to last when they are only a memory, when they are all she has.

Nights bleed into nights bleed into this road stretching before me.

"...too much to show you. (i am upright; i am fine"

She would like to think so.

In three weeks, they're gonna thread me like a needle and burn away part of my heart.

"Forgive me for never letting this go, but I..."

"The words are glinting like metal, writhing and melting into something harder..."

Just color in the pale edges of the words that hide in the shadows.

The baby takes up so much space inside of her, and she doesn't know how much longer she can stand this buried pain. // ...but the words clump and stick in her throat like peanut butter, and too late she finally understands the lie.

// there are no sharp lines, not like regular pain, no angles to catch a finger on, not like hurt. //

3 am, and nothing is how it's supposed to be.

"...thready wisps leaving a meager trail of / something smokily unattainable..." (How can you summarize something you've already lost?)

A series of short poems, mostly unrelated. Either angsty or leaning that way ;) Includes Dripping into Disappearance and Slave to Freedom.

"He says he wonders why I don't smile anymore." (Rather hard to summarize in a sentence, so it's easier just to quote the first line.) I'm proud of this piece; I like to think it's multilayered....

do you know that//i sit here with//nothing inside of me//but ashes

It wasn't spite that made me crave it all. (It's hard to explain....but I like the poem.)

She speaks of escape and desperation....

She tries to hide behind cheery, upbeat music when faced with the destruction around her. It doesn't work for me. And I don't know that I want it to. (For the record, I really like this one....please read it....I thrive on feedback....)

Beaten down, but trudging on....right? (Sorry, this poem doesn't lend itself well to summaries)

"The mystery and the stunted bubble of joy that rolls in my stomach could easily be popped if...." 'If' what? :) Read to find out....

"I didn't mean to hurt you, but I was angry and it was easy to find your faults: because we're all flawed anyway."

Based on a horrible misunderstanding with a friend in which she thought I did something I didn't do. We straightened it out, but I was a wreck the whole day. // Here’s a teaser for you: “the screech of retaliation is arrowing through my mind....”

A complex story about finding oneself. Joanna's mother, a closed, dysfunctional woman, tries to stop Joanna from expressing herself as the artist she is. And what's this about her father? I’m really proud of this one and would appreciate your feedbac

"shriveled and bloodstained, my heart cowers // the glass of the bottle is alluring in the half-light..." A drunk hazily contemplates. This poem was well-received by my friends and the two teachers I showed it to.

Title pretty much says it all....I had this image in my head that I just had to describe.

A poem of hope with sad undertones.

"I can just see myself, a whirlwind in a stunned museum of...." An anorexic girl dreams of ripping up Picassos, with their clashing colors and stretched out, swollen people. I realize the summary sounds odd, but please just give it a chance :)

"And dancing is entirely out of the question..." I had a LOT of homework one night, and suddenly, out poured this poem about a "rose" who's dying under the harsh glare of everyone else's expectations....I really like this one, & appreciate all feedback.

This poem sort of just came out of me in a rush....and I really don't know how to summarize it, so here's an excerpt instead: ...Her hands twitch, an anxious insect dance...

Is failed romance considered romance? Because the poem is angsty with a creative touch, but I put "romance" for the secondary genre anyway....

I think it's very poetic, and it's actually not -- *gasp* -- angst. My friend called it "beautiful." Please read it, and I would love to hear your feedback....

Sometimes you can get stuck in a bad situation without truly being aware of how you got there. In this case, her boyfriend is a drunk. (Note: this is completely unrelated to my life or to the life of anyone I know.)

My way of dealing with September 11's tragedy. The poem's sad, obviously.

She yearns for the freedom of the skies . . .

Three poems about red stars (which are dying stars). I like the first one the best. The second is ok, and the third is just a stupid rhyming one. But the first one's good (in my humble opinion). Oh whatever, just read 'em!

The title says it all . . .

I'm not saying anything other than what the title is . . .

A metaphorical way of looking at excitement . . .